Humor

I think more people should try humor out. Today I got some "mastectomy" gifts - pink socks, a homemade card featuring gorgeous, round breasts with a removable bra on top (hysterical and, really, does Hallmark make a mastectomy card???), a book of adorable animals with really awkward and inappropriate comments (right up my alley), a melon baller (something I had envisioned they could remove the cancer with when I initially was diagnosed - now they need a freaking bulldozer, but I'm glad THAT wasn't gift wrapped!), and a copy of Why I wore lipstick to my mastectomy . Which, I believe, I will have time to read.  Finally! Time to read, watch movies.  This mastectomy thing might be a good game plan for me to be able to chill out! I told the girls that I might just have the other one removed next year, so be prepared to get me more presents!!!  Though, we also figured that we could celebrate by having a one year old party for my new breast.  I could strap a party hat to it. Sounds like a plan! Maybe I'll bake a boobie cake!  And how fitting, during Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

Which I find kind of funny. I'm SO aware of Breast Cancer.  I'm pretty sure I will be aware year-round. Round. Hah.

Now I'm trying to motivate and get my arse to the gym - it's so close to busy time, and part of me wants to laze around until tomorrow. But, I'm overbooked until surgery and I certainly don't want to be a fat-ass on the table, and especially through recovery. Ok, I'm not a fat-ass. My ass is never fat, no matter how much I gain. But, you know, I want to feel good about myself. And yes, I will wear makeup in the hospital. I've instructed dear hubby that he will learn to do my basic face. Who knows - maybe he'll be so good that he'll become my makeup artist! FABulous!!!  The eyelashes might have to be bare - I'd rather not go blind at this crucial time in my life. But, who knows... glitter solves all.

Back to my issue.  What I really want to do is eat a box of cereal, curl up in bed with a mug of coffee and Baileys, and watch a movie until I'm comatose. I don't see "workout" fitting into my scenario, but I'm enjoying an iced coffee with vanilla almond milk (sadly, sans Baileys) and am hoping it will kick my little booty into gear.

It's funny how few people I've told. I'm not ashamed or embarrassed or anything. I just don't want people to worry, unnecessarily. I'm going to disappear for a while and come back. Perhaps with a perkier breast. But at least with a cancer free breast. I hate that look people get when they know you have cancer. I'm not the best at handing the "poor dearie" look. It makes me cry. Luckily, not a lot of folks have used it on me, but perhaps it's my attitude, my general demeanor.

Anyhoo, this coffee is not helping somehow. But it's a gorgeous day out, so maybe I should just put my gym clothes on and walk toward the gym. Doesn't mean I have to go inside, right? If I can get that much done, then at the very least I can do an hour of cardio and watch some mindless tv. I'm really a lifting weights kind of gal, but I find recently this feeling of apathy toward the "Man Section" of the gym. Maybe I'm jealous because the rate of male breast cancer is so much lower. Then again, us ladies don't have to walk around with all that weird stuff hanging between our legs. I still don't know how they do that.