It’s October, so I’ll throw caution to the wind and talk GORE with a spooky tale called “THE REAL BOOB TUBE.” Though this boob tube is truly bloody, scary, and horrifying, it has absolutely nothing to do with scary films or television. Oh, and you’re going to be singing the praises of my oldest offspring by the end of this article, mark my words. Let me explain.
As I write this, I’m preparing to undergo yet another surgery in the chain of surgeries I’ve had as a result of learning of my BRCA2+ genetic mutation. If you don’t know what a BRCA+ mutation is, please go here and read the article I wrote this past week for the Huffington Post. I’m sorry, I just don’t have an explanation in me right now. The way I feel, after sitting in front of the Big Screen for most of my weekend, tweeting about clients, posting about my upcoming book, writing more of said book and yes, sharing the HuffPost article and posting important messages about Breast Cancer Awareness month etc. etc. etc. infinitum, ad nauseum, I’m plain tired of talking about it.
Suffice it to say, I’ll be under general anesthesia this Wednesday, and I’ll be doing it SANS M.C. Nugget, who, wouldn’t you know, booked a couple of GREAT television gigs over the last couple of weeks. One of them takes him to HAWAII to film an episode of Hawaii Five-O while I’m being doped up and held at knife-point. So, though I’m pretty happy for Nuggie, I’ll be over here, while he sips Mai Thais on Waikiki.
And it’ll be a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kinda surgery. We aren’t living back in 1950, when hospitals were happy to keep you for weeks for things as minor as a tonsillectomy. If I weren’t spending my first night at a very fancy after-care hotel, I’d be going home, left to my own devices. Yeah, since our lovely insurance companies don’t care to fork over the money to nurse us back to complete health before sending us packing, my older son will come to care for me.
Stop the presses. Yes, it’s true. I’ll be chillin’ with my chillen’ who will care for me and my bandaged boobies through the rough patches after surgery (that is, after my first night in the very fancy after-care hotel).
He’s in for a shock, because something most docs don’t tell us in “detail” in regard to surgery (but since it’s October and we’re talking bloody, gooky GORE, I’m here to help) is that often patients are sent home with “drains” (big looonng-ass tubes – aforementioned “Boob Tubes” — that empty out into little pop-open “fluid collection” receptacles). They’re there to allow me to continue oozing and goozing “fluids” to my heart’s content during the initial after-shock of surgery… all from the comfort of my own home.
They did it to me last year after my double mastectomy, and they’ll do it again this year.
I warned you. It’s going to be pure, unadulterated gore over here… a real Halloween Shriek-Fest. I haven’t really warned him yet (oops).
So, while you are all chillin’ in front of your boob tubes, my chillen‘ will be drainin’ my REAL BOOB TUBES.
Before You Go:
Please post on Facebook or tweet the below statement, in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month
SAVE.THE.BOOBIES. If your relatives suffered Ovarian or Breast cancer, GET THE GENETIC SCREENING. #BRCA #BreastCancerAwareness @MsCheevious
And if you’d like, feel free to share this image on your Facebook as well:
DISCLAIMER: We do not own the copyright to Holly Madison in the above picture.
Thanks everyone. Have a great week! I’ll write something super fun and Percocet-induced next time. Wait for it.
Love you people!!!! Mmmmppphhhuuuhhh!!!!
Lisa Jey Davis
aka Ms. Cheevious
Editor in [Mis]Chief
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