I have to hand it to myself. I'm a really positive person. Like, REALLY positive. I rarely let shit get to me. And honestly, I deal with a bunch of shit. I run myself ragged, and am generally one click away from a straight jacket and institutionalization. So...allow me to bitch for a mere moment.
My past two weeks have been nothing short of just plain 'ol, downright, pissy. The only person i've really complained to has been SMM, and he heard the usual, "I'm just emotionally and mentally exhausted." But here, I get to randomly rant. Aren't you lucky?
Last Tuesday I had my regular 6-month visit to the dermatologist. Where he felt the need to remove 3 more spots on my skin. That, because I count, is a total of 32 skin biopsies since 2003. I've had malignant melanoma 4 times, so I should be used to this. But no matter how brave and nonplussed i try to be, i still worry. So, I worry. In my brain. That's exhausting. Good news is, the doctor called and told me all 3 came back clean. The bad news is, they called while I was at the Ob/Gyn--being told that I had 2 spots in my left breast that needed to be biopsied. I guess more 'good' news is that they move quickly with me because of my fun cancer history. I'm just glad my cervix wasn't involved this time.
So, a few days later (yesterday) I found myself at a boob center getting a double biopsy on Lefty. Easy, right? Not with me. Ever. A simple freaking biopsy ended up taking 4 hours because i would not stop bleeding. For nearly 2 hours, I had nurses taking turns compressing my left boob so hard that I thought my ribs were going to break. There was blood down my arm and all over the floor. Apparently, I have thin blood. And I like to bleed. Yesterday, before they bound me in Ace bandages, I had a hematoma the size of an egg.
The good news? I only got 1 biopsy, it's on my left side (and i'm right handed)...and...stretching here...I got up super early for work because i couldn't sleep. The bad news: I have to go back for the second biopsy, i'm starting to bruise down my left arm, and it hurts to move.
WHY does this shit always happen to me? I suppose because I can "handle" it. What I REALLY want to 'handle', however, is a bottle of wine and a beach vacation. Because this shit sucks goat balls.
Now...feel free to send me some cheese with this 'whine.'