Wow. The monitor works. It really works. I can’t tell you how relieved I am.
And some more good news. But first of all, rewind a bit. A few months ago I noticed a lump on my chest. Not a third nipple, a distinct lump. Eventually I wandered in to see my local GP about it. He said it was almost certainly a benign lymphoma, a kind of tumour of fat, growing just below the skin. Delightful stuff. Nothing to worry about, he said, but suggested I go see a surgeon dude to confirm it, and maybe get it cut out.
So, avoiding telling my mother and making her panic (and thus avoiding mentioning it online, since she occasionally reads what I write here), I went along to see the surgeon dude yesterday. I was completely calm about it, right until the point I was driving over to Cabrini
to see him. Then I started to worry about what he might find.
 The bandage covering the scar, which no doubt helps me look windswept and interesting. |
Anyway, he was very nice, and confirmed what my GP had told me. Then he said that it might grow, and would I like it cut out on the spot, under local anaesthetic? It would be fairly simple to do, only take fifteen minutes or so, and would avoid complications if it ballooned later into some kind of huge lumpyAlienesque thing growing out of my chest.
Well, I thought, no time like the present. So I said yes and lay down. Then I started to regret it, firstly as he shaved away some of my chest hair, then dobbed antiseptic all over it. Then he did something, and nipped off to get some equipment. I looked down. He’d put a texta mark where he’d need to cut. Ugh. All a bit clinical. I made a mental note not to look at it again.
Then he did something else, and nipped out again. I looked down again. Now the lump was bulging out. Double ugh. I made another mental note, to reinforce the remarks in first mental note, and indeed demand to know why I had ignored the first mental note, when it was quite clear that I shouldn’t have looked again.
I didn’t look again. The anaesthetic took effect and I didn’t feel anything as he took it out, except a downward pressure when (I think) he squeezed it out through the hole he’d cut. Ewwww. Then he stitched me up.
Afterwards, he showed it to me in its jar. Eugh. A lump of fat. He sent it off to pathology anyway. I was so glad it was harmless and gone that I immediately went and told my mother about it.
