A Lumpy Curve Ball

I have learned in the last few days, what it is like to face a curve ball.

I used to play co-ed softball.  Catcher.  I could catch just about anything and it was a good time in my younger and single days.  Young and carefree and waiting for my handsome prince to arrive.

He was late.  But better late than never.  And it has been a wonderful and mostly magical thirty years.  Hopefully there will be thirty more at least.  I want to chase him around in wheelchair races if that needs to be the case.

But I am no longer sure.

You see, with no family history and enjoying good health, I went in for my annual boob squeeze expecting the same result that it has always been:  Normal.

Not so.  I have discovered that lumps really ought to be found only in oatmeal.

Not breasts.

I have joined the pink brigade.  After years of normal, there is a lump on one of my ta-tas.  The same ta-tas that I used to beg for when I was thirteen.

BAM!  One minute, okay and the next the world turns upside down….

I am having a lumpectomy and will figure it out from there.  With my wonderful husband by my side, we can lick this.  Because, apparently, I have what is considered a “good” cancer — an oxymoron if there ever was one.  I have the “good” receptors.  Who wants to receptor this shit?

But a lumpectomy and some intervention should (and WILL) solve this latest adventure on this train called life.  Sorry for the cryptic posts.  I thank you all for being my friends.  For right now, you can reach me in my cave – where I will be pondering the meaning of life, this issue and the blessings of my friends.

P.S.  I have always hated oatmeal anyway.  More of a Cream of Wheat person – less lumps.

Keep smiling.