I tire of Blogger eating my posts. Sigh, lament, and such.
It never occurred to me that upon getting a navel ring, I would be subject to endless commentary from each and every medical professional whose little eyeballs wandered upon it. But apparently, I am. Joy and wonderment.
Richard was my sonogram man o' the day. He's the much-too-jovial and ever energetic type of happy little man that one might enjoy talking to at a bar, but not, however, while lying on a hospital bed with your jeans undone and pulled down just slightly too far to be comfortable. Somehow he failed to see my awkwardness in the situation and marveled at the before mentioned navel ring. As if this weren't enough, he then hoisted up his sleeve and showed me his brand new tattoo! Oh happy day, I've seen Richard's tattoo while lying half naked in a dark room with sonogram goo on my tummy. I oohed and ahhed and asked if we were actually going to do the sonogram at any particular time.
He laughed. He then described (in much detail, I might add) his new and improved and ever so much better tattoo that he was planning to get on his back. Richard, it seems, had nothing better to do today. He also delighted me by explaining that tattoo's really don't hurt all that much. For further explanation, he proceeded to give my forearm several tiny pinches! "See," he exclaimed, "it isn't too bad!"
Eventually, we actually finished the 'gram. NO cyst. None. All gone. Finis. Hormones, I shall dump each and every last pill in the trash. I am cured! I am healed! I am well again!
All right, that might be a bit of an overstatement. However, surgery will not be forthcoming.
And I will always remember this lovely day, and Richard, the man with no personal boundaries.
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