6 September 2013


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. 

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.

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.

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