I need a Doctor

… yes, I capitalised “Doctor” for a reason.

Well, I went to have an ultrasound on my chest today. Honestly, you can call it a breast, breasts, boobies (thanks Mike), I don’t really care, but girls’ breasts pretty much are their chest anyway.

Allow me to go on a tangent before I explain why I had to have a checkup… because I think the following story is amusing.

I went to Bunnings with Mike and James a couple of months ago, and they bought a large piece of (I think it was) plywood. It was probably bigger than me! Being the girl, and the girl always having to carry the shopping, or at least, most of the time, I helped them carry around this large piece of plywood that was bigger than me. They needed it for some engineering project (oh man, I love engineers 😍 hahaha). It was thin, but it wasn’t heavy. The size was just ridiculously immense. When they stopped to look at something on the shelves I’d stop carrying it and just lean it on my arm or something like that.

Out in the parking lot, once we had paid for all this stuff, including said piece of plywood that was bigger than me, Mike was clearing out the back of the car so we could fit the plywood in there. I didn’t realise but while I was standing there with the plywood leaning against me, just waving my arms around like I usually do, Mike said, “Are you trying to make us jealous that you’re holding that up with an asset neither of us have?”

To say I was amused was probably an understatement, and I think I stifled a fit of giggles that eventually chose to sit in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know why I’m so immature. Am I really immature, or do I just enjoy the good company of my ridiculous best male friends? πŸ˜› I suppose my best friend Lilian would say the latter, because even though she believes herself to be immature, she probably would take another option if there was. πŸ˜‡

Well, back to this little problem I have. I’ve had a lesion on the left side of my chest since about ten or so years ago, though it wasn’t properly diagnosed until about five years ago. It felt like a lump when I discovered it. It became noticeably bigger and I had to keep an eye on it with regular ultrasounds. At that time I had a breast specialist who was male, and normally every girl would freak out and just be disgusted that male doctors would really want to specialise in breasts, but no, I just take it with a grain of salt – and perhaps groan momentarily at the bottom of my stomach. The truth is, if there weren’t any breast doctors, perhaps I, and many other women, would be doomed.

This lesion I have isn’t cancerous, thankfully. I had to get a biopsy a couple of years ago just to make sure. The male specialist actually moved interstate so I got a new specialist, this time female. Perhaps I breathed a sigh of relief in the pit of my stomach again – my stomach might as well have a life of its own, really. As for a biopsy – getting needles stuck in your chest isn’t fun. But I’m glad the doctor was really kind and helped me keep calm. Fucking hate needles.

Today my ultrasound was conducted by a male – mhmm, ridiculously awkward, don’t even mention it. I found out that that lesion is all well and good and hasn’t grown like we expected it to. The problem is now that I have another one on the right side. One of the doctors at the medical imaging centre said that it looks just like the other one, so perhaps it is safe and not cancerous, but now it just bothers me that I have to have checkups on that one too now.

Now you see why having male doctors is quite truthfully the least of my problems. I wouldn’t say I hate being a girl, even given the monthly horror we have to go through and my fears of giving birth but let’s-just-not-go-there-because-I-don’t-want-to-even-think-about-it because I honestly think there is something totally awesome about being a girl. I can’t quite pick what it is. And I don’t think many other girls can say why, either.

Or, you know, maybe we just don’t want to tell. Because it’s our little secret. πŸ˜‰

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