Let’s not even beat around the bush here.
I’ve got a rant.
And I’m all giddy and flusterfucked about it….yet at the same time, not really. An odd concoction of emotions, right?! But also? There needs to be some tangy, fruity alcoholic drink named The Giddy Flusterfuck or just, The Ely. That’ll get you drunk for sure! Hold on I’m taking notes in my “shit that could make me a billionaire some day” notepad. Alright I’m done. And now I can’t stop thinking about Steve from Blue’s Clues with his handy dandy notebook. For fuck’s sake. Get out of my brain weird dude.
So. Remember that one time,
in band camp when I was bitching about my left boob giving me a hard time recovering after my breast augmentation surgery?
Well guess who’s going under the knife again tomorrow?
You see I have this “luck“. In a nutshell my life is basically cursed by a demon-zombie-leprechaun
who was hired by the Universe to ensure that I trip over my own feet at any given moment and that my almond milk carton leaks inside of my gym bag which I now use as a lunchbox for work and ruins everything inside of it and then leaks through and stains my pants before work, and that my children simultaneously get into trouble in school on the same days so that I’m forced to deal with a whole shit load of sheepy sensitive teachers who can’t handle a basic eyeroll from a child, and that my left boob fails to recover from my recent augmentation…like, ever.
Am I the only one who holds her breathe while actively typing a run-on sentence? I almost passed out with that one. I need to stop that none-sense. Breathe, woman. Breathe.
I guess there’s a whole lot more to rant about than my left boob, but this is her moment to shine beneath the spotlight so let’s just let her live. Well hopefully she lives… oh please let the boob live. Take something else! Take my new Becca/Khloe contour palette and my Fenty primer but pleaseeee not the boob!
BUT WAIT GIRL! WTF HAPPENED?!
As it turns out, ya girl developed some fuckery called capsular contracture. And yea. Yea I would. Without sounding too sketchy and throwing wild terminology and medical conundrum your way, this basically means my left implant is “trapped” by an overproduction of scar tissue and we must set the bitch free! Oh I need to make a t-shirt for that. Ok no I don’t.
Something along those lines. And in order to set her free, I have to go under general anesthesia all over again, my initial entry scar must be cut, again… and I must recover, AGAIN.
Per my Google-researching-expert-knowledge, this capsular contracture pretty much just randomly happens to some women, at any given time, for unknown reasons and I happened to win myself a spot on that statistical chart. Way to fuckin go, kid. LOOK MA’, I MADE IT!
My surgeon says it’s possible I tore a muscle or caused a small bleed while working out, to which my body responded by forming more scar tissue in order to heal the area.
I say? My body is just a cunt trying to ruin my life and I should’ve never done this to begin with.
My surgeon also suggested I smoke weed as needed for pain. I’m not sure if that was a legal piece of sound medical advice here in Miami…but it happened and it was followed by a moment of awkward silence. Honestly, whatever he said following that comment was a blur, but pretty I said something like..
Oh. Ok cool. I need a drug dealer first though…
And so tomorrow I get butchered once again, for the sake of vanity. And now I sit here and can’t help but wonder if it’s ever worth it, especially being a mom with small-ish kids. Sure, I’m healthy. But sometimes things in life take sudden turns and there’s no going back. Needless to say I’m terrified of dying. It’s the Morbid Morticia side of me taking over, but it’s just my nature. I’ve already made sure someone knows what’s I expect my funeral to look like (please spray glitter on my casket, bitches) and goodbye letters are in the works. I’ll make sure to remind my kids that I love them to the moon and back one billion times infinite katrillion times, as we always say to each other. And I’ll remind my husband that I WILL haunt his ass for the rest of his life because he’s not allowed to ever love again. I don’t care. Fight me.