I'm too sexy for my tumor...

You like that title? I came up with it all on my own while skipping out of Mansfield Methodist Hospital this afternoon. Sidebar: Texas, it is too effing HOT. Seriously, I'm so sick of sweating it's redic.

Back to the tumor thing. So, about 8 months ago (ish? I can't be sure, my memory sucks) I noticed this little quarter sized squish ball on my rib cage just south of my left chesticle/boobala. No big deal, right? I didn't think so. I just figured I'd put on some weight (which I had) and in return God decided to ridicule me by giving me awesome under-bra fat (also commonly referred to as underboob) that nothing but a one piece bathing suit could hide. Whatever, God, I got this. You think I'm going to wallow in shame over a tiny little dumpling that is not exactly anatomically correct? Well, you're exactly right. BYE! Bye self-esteem! See ya on the flip side.

Fast forward to the present and I've been working out like a Nazi (the last week not withstanding because of the puking virus I had) and losing weight slowly but surely. For some reason in my head, I had decided my cute little tumor ball would diminish as I blasted (or dusted, because ya'll, getting fat is so much easier than getting skinny. Cruel.) away body fat. *I really don't have body issues I just like to complain that I no longer wear a double 0 and that I"m the only person in my family tree with a butt. Sorry for the confusion*

Unfortunately, that's not exactly how this medical stuff works. The skinnier I get, the more noticeable said tumor becomes. Actually, I'm pretty sure it's taking on a life of its own because now its the size of an egg. Awesome. So today, I call my doctor and finaly decided to go find out exactly what's going on (and you can keep the "OMG, Lauren you should have gone to the Dr. immediately" comments to yourself. My mother took care of all of those this afternoon. She says you're welcome). One cold exam table and a legal "let me feel your boobie region" later and bing, bang, boom we have a diagnosis. It's called a lipoma and you can read all about it here. Pretty much its just a BENIGN little fatty tissue tumor. No big. Except for the fact that, due to it's stellar location, I'm just one nipple short of being a three tittied side show at this year's state fair. I called Victoria Secret and asked if they would make me a custom tri-cup bra and they just said no and hung up on me. Rude? All I need is something fashioned in the shape of a tetris piece...you know, the one's that look like this:

And I'd be all set. TMI? Sorry. So, since Victoria's Secret is rude, and I'm no good at sewing my own undergarments, I was only left with once logical solution: get the little bastard removed. I have an appointment on the 22nd to meet with some special dumpling-tumor-remover and figure out when I get to say farewell to my unwelcome little guest. I'm hoping for an awesome scar that I can either: a) incorporate into an incredible tattoo, or b) use to make up a super believable shark-attack-giant-squid encounter in which I conquer the animal kingdom like a Jacques Cousteau/Steve Irwin Ninja. It's ok to be a little jealous.

So, yeah...there's the story of how I'm just too sexy for my tumor. I'll keep you posted after I visit the lipoma guru and let you know when I'll be holding the memorial service for my dead/detached tumor, because y'all are all invited. Feel free to bring beer flowers.

I'd like to apologize to anyone I unknowingly embarrassed with this post. But really, if you know me at all, you had to know it was coming...so I'm not all that sorry. It's the thought that counts right?

Happy Monday!!

Always,

L

P.S. I'm in no way blaming Nathan for my tumorfriend, but there might just be something to this video...



...Just sayin'