I can’t feel my boobs.
It’s a new sensation, so I feel there should be a word for
it. Like ‘Numboobs’ or ‘Noobums’ or something that makes me feel like I’ve just
been kicked out of an African tribe for not being cool enough.
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| Cutlets |
The first time I really noticed was last weekend. Jim and I
were in a dark movie theatre and popcorn kept slipping from my greasy fingers –
and down my shirt. Normally I dig
it out and pop it back into my mouth, but I couldn’t feel it! There was none of
that popcorn itch that I normally associate with ‘date night’. I tried in vain to dig it out but I
felt like I was poking around in someone else’s chest.
That night in bed I tried to summon some sensation. None.
When standing I can feel that there is some weight on my chest. And it’s not
unpleasant. There’s just enough jiggling to feel like they’re actually attached
to me - which is probably similar to a transvestite who pops ‘Natural Touch’
silicones implants into his bra. Which, incidentally, look like chicken cutlets.
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| 6 lb Cat. |
So I lay in bed trying to feel my Numboobs. Apparently our tiny cat had the same
idea. I felt a soft thump as she dove off the dresser and onto my chest. She looked me in the eye, daring me to
do something But I didn’t, so she settled down and tucked her tiny head under
my chin.
(To be fair, she only weighs about 6 lbs, and I can’t feel
her at the best of times. But I hoped that this wouldn’t set a precedent for
our 19 lb cat, or for the 55 lb basset hound.)
Today I went to the hospital to check in with plastic surgery
clinic. There’s a tiny bit of guck escaping from the incision on my right
breast, and I wanted have it checked out.
Mostly, I wanted to know if it was okay to go swimming. (Girls weekend
ahead!) The nurse took a look at the area in question. She started
poking around, but I felt nothing but soft pat, as though I was wearing a ski jacket.
‘Does this hurt?’, she asked.
‘No!’ I said, ‘They’re numb!’
‘Oh’, she seemed delighted, ‘Then I can squeeze as hard as I
want!’
After examining me, she decided that it’s best if I don’t
swim. There’s s still the remote chance that the teensy tiny opening inhales
some lake water and becomes affected. Hmpf.
She left the room, and I did up my shirt. Then I went down
the elevator, and onto another floor for some blood tests. As I rolled up my sleeve, the nurse motioned
for me to do up my blouse. Ooops.
A few buttons had come undone and I was pulling a full Fabio.
That day not only had a tiny cat enjoyed my numoobs and
cleavage, but several lucky patients as well.
