I don’t have cancer! I have a fibroadenoma, which is nothing to worry about and a phyllodes tumor, which is a fast-growing tumor that can, apparently, grow to ridiculous size and, since I can’t possibly find a place that will make me a three-cup bra, I’ll probably eventually have to have it taken out. I am waiting to hear from my primary care physician about a surgical consult and we’ll go from there.
The dog peed in my shoe. That self-same shoe broke. So… I don’t know if the pee was a warning about the shoe or the shoe was like “Fuck this shit, Phillips. I give up.”
I have a blister on my boob, near where the Band-aid was. And when I pulled the Band-aid off, my boob started bleeding. Like I’ve become one of these people with tissue paper skin or something. Last night, when I was attempting to examine the blister, I started to feel woozy and sick to my stomach. I had to sit down on the edge of the tub and let it pass. I think it’s just that this doesn’t look like or feel like my boob. The bandages that are left have ugly black bruises leaking out from them. I don’t normally have blisters. So, it’s uncanny to the point of making me feel like throwing up.
I have to write this Nashville book. No matter what the news is.