Paint me like one of your French bosoms

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So today The Lovely Rhonda was compelled to visit the local “Breast Health Center,” or as I like to think of it, that place where they feel you up and get paid for it.  She had been having an Undisclosed Symptom that scared the bejeebers out of her medical provider and, by extension, us.  I was so disquieted by the whole thing that I could not find the words to talk about it to anyone.

Spoiler alert: everything turns out okay, but we’ll never get the four days of trying not to think about the worst case scenario back.

As you might expect, dear reader(s), tensions were high and we were both totally rocking the puffy-eyed hollow look of the frightened-beyond-our-wits.

They led her off to the dungeons to squash her bosoms flat and drag them into the next room to shoot some pictures of them, and then to some kind of foul antechamber where they further violated her frontal regions with an ultrasound.  I was then summoned to witness the sentencing.

The doctor came striding in and sat down and in the friendliest, most relaxed way said, “You know, I just don’t see anything at all that points to cancerous growth of any kind.  There is just nothing here at all that concerns me in the slightest.”

After the relieved shouting and confetti-tossing died down, we repaired to the dressing room with the nurse who could not have been nicer and insisted on giving TLR a warm, heartfelt hug once she was properly dressed and not in danger of goobering the nurse’s scrubs up with ultrasound medium.

Later over a late breakfast TLR described the process as being rather like taking part in a very bizarre photo shoot.  “They drape your arm around the machine.  Okay now drop your left hip.  More.  Try arching your back a little.  Closer, closer… turn… a little more… Okay now throw your head back, toss your hair, purse your lips.  WORK IT, WORK IT, MAKE ME BELIEVE IT, I AM THE CAMERA!  Make love to the machine!  Be a part of it!  … And I’m spent.  Lunch break, there’s bottled water and cigarettes in the green room.”

Just some evil hormones at play here folks, nothing to see, move along.

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