He said 'breast' and I blushed.

First things first, the doctor said my skin lesion is "probably nothing." He even said it is likely something in the wart family. What? Please don't tell anyone I likely have something from the "wart family" on my cleavage.


However, I have to go back (groan) on Monday to have "it" removed and tested, whatever "it" is. He reminded me that, "Well, we never know, it could be (insert big, scary word for "pre-cancer" here)."

Neat, thanks. Let's just go ahead and find out, shall we?

So they'll cut off a piece o' my right boob, stitch me up and send me on my way. From that point I'll pray that it's just a boob wart.


And then I'll have myself a pretty scar in my cleavage. I'll just tell people I got shot. It'll up my street cred.

I don't regularly see a male doctor. I prefer females to be doing medical inspections of my body, thank you very much. Especially when it concerns my nether regions and/or my boobs.

So the doctor walks in the office all, "So, what's going on here?"

And, of course, I blush and tell him I have a skin... thing. And that it's here (while I point through my shirt onto my cleavage). And will he please remove it? Today? Thanks?

He wants to see it. So I sheepishly pull the front of my shirt down to show him my cleavage.


He manhandles it, touches it, inspects, closely.

Ho-hum, awkward, that's my cleavage.

(I'm mature).


When he's done looking, I put my shirt back in working order while he explains the removal procedure. It'll need stitches, he says. And I cannot - CANNOT - get those stitches wet for the first couple days.

"I don't care if that means taping a piece of saran wrap to your breast while you shower," he said.

He said "breast."

In relation to my breast.

I blushed. Felt awkward. Hoped I could make a breast joke, but it just wasn't going to happen.


So, that's that.

I've probably got a breast wart and next week I'll shower with saran wrap across my right boob.

I'm feeling much better about it. How 'bout you?