02 March 2012

"Stop it or you might pop another boob!"

That's what Matt said when I refused to stop trying to yank open the stupid car door. He ended up opening the door for me, while I retaliated by kicking the door. It totally deserved it.

Meanwhile, Frankenboob has been inflated a total of three times, for a total of 370cc. It's now more ovular than ever, so I had to go buy a couple of new sports bras that would normally be way too big. For some reason, Victoria's Secret doesn't make anything for the irregularly shaped boob.

A weird bump of skin is poking out at the left end of the scar. It's gotten more pronounced with every inflation, even though I've tried to poke it flat. According to Dr. PlasticSurgeon, it's called a dog ear, and is caused by a pleat forming when the skin was stitched back together by Dr. Surgeon. She made sure to stress the part about Dr. Surgeon causing it. But not to worry, she can easily erase its existence when creating the nipple.

Reese, who finds it necessary to say hello to every dog in a five-mile radius, clearly heard about of Frankenboob's dog ear. Sadly, her version of first contact involved stepping directly on Frankenboob while in our bed this past Monday. Not understanding why I suddenly started screaming, she immediately froze. Matt, sensing something was amiss, came bursting out of the bathroom and removed the offending paw, along with the rest of the puppy.

Reese feins innocence, sleeping with what's left of her favorite toy.
Oddly enough, I woke the next morning to find a multicolored Frankenboob. And did I mention it hurt? As the day progressed, it changed from purple to a nice red. Time to call the doctor!

By that point, I had completely forgotten about Reese's attempt to compress Frankenboob into a singularity. All I could think of was that it hurt and it was an odd color, even by Frankenboob standards. Luckily, Dr. PlasticSurgeon's secretary happens to be my neighbor and knows that both Reese and Zero can be jumpy when excited. Perhaps one of them did it? How on earth I managed to forget that, I'll never know.

Since I already had an inflation appointment scheduled for the next day, I decided that I could wait a day for a thorough medical probing. In the meantime, I could continue taking prescription levels of ibuprofen out of an OTC Advil bottle.

At today's appointment, it took Dr. PlasticSurgeon about three femtoseconds to locate the point of impact. And then she jabbed it with a stick! Or she just lightly touched it to make sure nothing was horribly amiss.

Apparently it isn't the best of ideas to inflate a bruised boob, so that was delayed until next week. For today, her minion was dispatched to fetch the brown tape (as opposed to the white tape). I'm not entirely sure how it works, but a few pieces of tape are holding the bruised area in stasis such that it can heal in a more timely fashion.

In other news, this morning I inadvertently discovered that I can flex Frankenboob! It looks very similar to videos of Chippendale dancers flexing their pectoral muscles, except there's a boob on top. And no, I can't flex the right. Believe me, I've tried.

1 comment:

gundrsn5 said...

I am walking down memory lane, and you have me laughing all the way. Instead of a Vallund standing on my chest as I try to heal, I had a German Shepherd when I went through this. Thanks goodness the Shepherds knew not to lay a paw on my new expanding "bolt ons"! Tell Reese her sister Katie can't wait to see her again.