rocking the Lawful Good
Not entirely the highlight of yesterday's day off work doing errands: the doctor at the radiologists telling me, "In the nicest possible way, you have terrible breasts". In his defence, in context it was funny rather than insulting, and he's perfectly right: I have terrible breasts, in the sense that they are infested with cysts and fibroadenomas to an extent which requires a rigorous annual mammogram and attendant ultrasound. (Score! this year they didn't have to biopsy, as apparently nothing much has changed from the last time). Mapping the gazillions of little dark spots makes the sweet radiologist lady mutter to herself and become ferociously intent, and also leads to her telling me, in tones of cheerful surprise, "well, at least there are some areas of this breast which are perfectly normal!" Actually, all the little lumps are apparently entirely benign and may, given that they're sometimes referred to as "breast mice", actually be considered cute.
I should hasten to add that in purely aesthetic terms I am perfectly satisfied with my breasts, thank you, doctor's comments and lack of actual cleavage notwithstanding, and this whole mammogram process is reassuring rather than traumatic, however hard they squidge me (I'm a bit bruised today). My Lawful Good apparently gains contentment and calm from feeling that I am monitoring the Terrible Breasts for potential Evil with the full weight of Science. Science is cool. I love watching those grainy ultrasound images and marvelling at the radiologist lady's skill.
Yesterday was apparently thematically dedicated to Detect Potential Evil in more ways than one, as I had to haul Golux off to the vet for a slightly paranoid check-up of the current scratch on her nose (probably courtesy of Hobbit), which is not healing and which may thus be the first step on the thin edge of the skin-cancer wedge. The vet had to scrutinise with a particularly intense scrute to spot the pre-cancerous crater, but he concurs that it's better safe than sorry, and Golux goes in for the first in three weekly histofreezes tomorrow. Poor kitty. I'd feel more sympathetic if I didn't know perfectly well that the trauma is infinitely less than that of a nosectomy down the line, and she's going to take her suffering out of my hide in meeping and guilt.
All in all, a slightly satisfying day in which we achieved a score of Vigilance 2, Cancer 0. I also booked a driver's licence exam. In a couple of month's time, which is the earliest I can get at the moment, but by gum I booked it. Take that, neurotic procrastination. (Therapist to me, suggestively: "What makes a driving test so painful that you have to avoid it?" Me: "Nothing. Well, I suppose it's undermining my grown-up competence on a fairly fundamental level. Oh, and I can't replace my Zimbabwean one because Zimbabwe is a disaster, which is all about loss. Wait, I'm in tears. Definitely Zimbabwe.") I make yesterday's overall score at Chaos 0, Lawful Good 3, so go me.
I should hasten to add that in purely aesthetic terms I am perfectly satisfied with my breasts, thank you, doctor's comments and lack of actual cleavage notwithstanding, and this whole mammogram process is reassuring rather than traumatic, however hard they squidge me (I'm a bit bruised today). My Lawful Good apparently gains contentment and calm from feeling that I am monitoring the Terrible Breasts for potential Evil with the full weight of Science. Science is cool. I love watching those grainy ultrasound images and marvelling at the radiologist lady's skill.
Yesterday was apparently thematically dedicated to Detect Potential Evil in more ways than one, as I had to haul Golux off to the vet for a slightly paranoid check-up of the current scratch on her nose (probably courtesy of Hobbit), which is not healing and which may thus be the first step on the thin edge of the skin-cancer wedge. The vet had to scrutinise with a particularly intense scrute to spot the pre-cancerous crater, but he concurs that it's better safe than sorry, and Golux goes in for the first in three weekly histofreezes tomorrow. Poor kitty. I'd feel more sympathetic if I didn't know perfectly well that the trauma is infinitely less than that of a nosectomy down the line, and she's going to take her suffering out of my hide in meeping and guilt.
All in all, a slightly satisfying day in which we achieved a score of Vigilance 2, Cancer 0. I also booked a driver's licence exam. In a couple of month's time, which is the earliest I can get at the moment, but by gum I booked it. Take that, neurotic procrastination. (Therapist to me, suggestively: "What makes a driving test so painful that you have to avoid it?" Me: "Nothing. Well, I suppose it's undermining my grown-up competence on a fairly fundamental level. Oh, and I can't replace my Zimbabwean one because Zimbabwe is a disaster, which is all about loss. Wait, I'm in tears. Definitely Zimbabwe.") I make yesterday's overall score at Chaos 0, Lawful Good 3, so go me.