If It Falls Off

I will not see a doctor if I didn’t think something is wrong. But I am in pain. Unfortunately I seem to be the only one who realizes that this could be bad. Even my health care provider is postponing my diagnosis to celebrate the holidays. THEY will celebrate the holidays while my right boob is probably rotting and who knows, 11 days after my trauma, my boob may be falling off.

Call me unlucky for being the only one damaged during a minor accident in that friggin FB van during my sister’s wedding. My right arm, boob and rib cage slammed at the solid metal back of the front passenger seat when the driver hastily stepped on the breaks. He said a cab tried to cut us. To hell with that cab! For a moment I thought I lost my arm.

None of my family was there in the van to comfort me. No one in the van had the initiative to care even if I was telling them that I think I just lost my right boob. I guess they thought I was joking.

Of all the times to incur pain, why during my sister’s wedding? Why when I am wearing a red sparkly gown? And we were on our way to the church—meaning I had to suppress my pain during the whole holy matrimony thing until the end of the reception. The moment I got off the van I told my parents what had happened to me. Of course, everyone was busy with the wedding. No one seemed to have absorbed that this time, I wasn’t kidding. I had no choice but to procrastinate grieving for my dead muscles and, probably, broken bones.

The show went on. Ergo, I proceeded with my maid of honor duties albeit my internal, physical throb. And when the lights went out, I burst into tears. My brother asked me if I wanted to be brought to the hospital. I avoided his question by crying some more. Heaven knows how I am afraid of hospitals!

When I retired to bed, my trauma site ached like crazy. I celebrated my mortality by crying just as crazily. The tears that I shed lasted until 10 AM the next day. In one episode of Grey’s Anatomy, the character Christina yelled, “Make it stop! Sedate me!” She was pertaining to her tears. I never thought I would be her. Lucky me, I slept through my sobs and pain. When I gained consciousness at around 5PM, my tear ducts were dry and my eyes were beyond bloated. My vision had turned panoramic! I swear, what comes after a crying festival isn’t the best hangover there is.

I no longer worry about my arm. In fact I’m beginning to like my bruise. I look like a dog with one giant spot. It’s not everyday that you get a chance to look like a dog. I am happy to have been given that opportunity.

Yesterday, I mustered enough courage to see a doctor. Then again, I was still hurt. I had no choice but to have my bump checked. The doctor said that the stinging feeling on my bruise will last for another one to two more weeks. He ordered that my arm and ribcage be X-rayed to be sure that I did not break anything.

A while ago, I went back to the hospital to get the result of my X-ray but some cosmic force wants to prolong my agony. No doctor accredited by my health care provider will be able to take a look at my X-ray not until December 27. On my way home, I could not stop myself from thinking that December 27, 11 days after my accident, maybe too late to treat a blood clot. I am afraid that by that time I may be facing muscle death. (This is what watching too much House episodes does to you. Still, I could be right.)

Throughout all this, I manage to feel pissed off. I take care of myself—a lot—because I don’t want to get hurt, then this happens. If the fates think it’s funny then they should die laughing. This is what I get from being involved in a wedding—to think I did my part amidst my occasional whining. If the fates are still laughing, then they should die. Now.

My mom reprimanded me for saying that I may lose a boob. She cannot blame me for thinking negatively. The thing is, a part of me aches leaving me less than assured that I will be fine. It doesn’t help that I am hypochondriac thus explaining my tendency to magnify my injuries. Then there’s my sense of humor that thrives on hyperboles. I find exaggerated things funny. You see, I am worried but that doesn’t mean I have lost my sense of humor. I wouldn’t allow the fates to cannibalize my mishap. I will share this comedy. And if ever my boob falls off five days from now, at least I made a big laugh out of it.

Perhaps after I grieve, I’d know what to ask people next Christmas—a one-cup bra for a one-boob chick!

COMMENTS

okay. now i know how much you hate hospitals! kaya pala hindi ka mapakali nung wedding ni ate windale. hahaha!!! tye, it won't fall off. it might shrink but it won't fall off, that i assure you. now, do i sound more positive than your doctor???
sa pose mo ba naman sa picture nating tatlo ni Leng (The Singles/Attack of the CommArts), mahahalata bang you were in pain???
miss you!!!
at don't worry, okay ang resulta ng x-ray mo. may right boob ka pa next year.
mwah!!!
Posted by: Addict | December 22, 2006 06:21 AM

if it's of any comfort, "there's more to chicks than boobs"
ah, kaya siguro ako naging artist at hindi writer...
Posted by: Poli | December 30, 2006 01:22 PM