Merry Heppy Flyday!

Wouldn't you love a box made out of pickles? I know I would. A magically pickly-delicious pickle box.

Ok, so I regret to inform you that this will be my last post as your babysitter. I had something go down this week and as such am going to be pretty absent this weekend getting my shit together.

Basically what happened is my doctor found a lump in my breast when I was at my appointment on Wednesday. I can't tell you what happened after that on Wednesday because the day is pretty much a big old fat mess of diarrhea. Not literally; I didn't get the nervous squirts or anything. That could have been fun though. I did have an egg salad sandwich for lunch that day.

Let's get serious for a minute. Doctors are always saying, you don't need to worry too much about breast health until you're in your 40s. Well, let me be a prime example as to why you should worry about it long before that. I'm 25 years old.

Now, I don't know what this lump is yet, and given the statistics, it's probably just a fybrocystic mass, so don't go feeling any pity for me or anything. Well, you can, and I'd think it was sweet, but that might make me cry a little, and I don't want to do that.

It's been two days since I found out and I can tell you that my life has changed since. The minute you hear your doctor say things like 'lump' and 'history of breast cancer?', it's not really a hypothetical situation anymore. I've spent my entire life thinking forward: "What am I going to do this summer?" "I'm going to spend 2012 in Ireland" blah blah blah. Now, all I can think about is today.

When I left my doctor's office, he sent me away with a requisition for an ultrasound and mammogram, and the first place I talked to said, "We can get you in on May 12th." Excuse me? I called a few more places and the best I got was April 29th. Guess why. Because I'm young. Women in their 40s, 50s, and 60s, who may not even have a problem, come before myself who has a lump. Why? I don't fucking know. With all due respect, I've got my entire life ahead of me. I should be buying my first house, getting married, having babies, flipping out in preparation for my 30th birthday. Most women in their 50s have already done all these things. Why is my life much less deserving of seeing these things than theirs are of remembering them?

This pissed me off significantly. So I fought. And fought. And I got myself an appointment for March 10th. Only a week and a half if I know whether I can think about the house, the husband, the babies, being 30th, without a big 'if' being in front of them.

I'm only a couple days into this experience, but if I can share anything it's this: look after yourself. If you think anything is wrong, ANYTHING, get it checked out, and don't listen to a word they say if they try to tell you it's nothing to worry about just because you're young. Kick them in the balls, tell them to cut the shit, and pay attention because it's your health. Do the breast self-exams, even if you're terrified about what you might find. Trust me, once the brain starts working, it becomes more of an issue of what you're terrified to lose. Finding it is the key.

It's been a fun week kids, and I wish you all the best. Love, pickle boxes, and German hardcore wishes go out to all of you.

Liz