My doctor moved without telling me, which could have been terribly problematic if they’d left the building and I couldn’t read a directory. In its origional spot on the ground floor, there was now a cosmetic surgery practice. The opportunity was trying to present itself but my boobs haven’t hit my navel just yet, so I went on up to the fifth floor.

While filling out my paperwork in holding pen #1, a woman tried to check in at the desk. Her voice was unnaturally soft and overly pleasant with a twinge of snotty. I couldn’t help but judge and chuckle when they informed her she was in the Breast Care office and the cosmetic surgery office had moved to the ground floor. *snicker snicker* As she walked out I looked up, I’m not sure she’ll ever need to come back, because those weren’t her boobs.

Moving in to holding pen #2 I took a quick inventory and surmized that 90% of the women there were surly. Surly, angry and self important. Laptops, PDA’s, scowls. I took turns knitting, updating my twitter status and watching the women roll back out to the pen from their ultrasounds and mammograms.

It was a lot like American Idol auditions. I was Ryan Seacrest, listening at the door and trying to guess what would happen next. Which women would come out with watery eyes? Would they come bounding out with smiles and a golden ticket to LA? Which women were here for the first time? Which ones - like me - had done this so many times they’d fallen out of practice with their self-exams?

Thankfully, I saw no tears today. Not mine, not theirs.

What I did see was the piece of equipment doing the squishing telling no one in particular via a digital display I probably wasn’t meant to see that there were 20 newtons of something or other going on. Whiskey tango foxtrot? Translated tonight via my other boyfriend The Google, I now know that:

1n = ≈ 0.22481 lbf of pound force.

That doesn’t sound like much. x20 = 4.4962 lbf of pound force. Hm. Still not much, but then I wasn’t a physics major like someone else who sleeps in my bed.

It also says that the force of Earth’s gravity on a human being with a mass of 70 kg is approximately 687 N, which is getting closer to describing it if you use poetic justice as I’m prone to do - it’s like having the a little over a third of the earth land on your knockers.

What this means is that it hurts a little. Mostly though, I observed that this time I actually felt the skin on my neck being pulled downward as she closed and tightened the clampomatic 3000. I asked her if that was a sign of my age and she laughed. The women in that office laugh at all my smart azz comments and I have to wonder: am I that funny (answer: yes) or is every other woman that comes through so serious that it’s all business and no levity? That’s no way to fight cancer if you’ve got it, I’m here to tell ya.

Long story longer, I have more cysts in addition to a few oldies but goodies, but there were no tumors on todays report and I get another 12 months to get my habits back: self exams and harassing girlfriends about their self exams.

That means you. Or your wife or PFL or sister or mom. Gittagittin.