The Curious Case of the Disappearing Nipple

The first week of the new year-and it feels like the old year. Same again: more being poked and prodded and blood letted.

I went to see Steve-that's Steve, the boob and nipple man-for a checkup, and to ask him for a re-do-given that one replacement nipple has disappeared without a trace.Where it's gone is anyone's guess.
The bottom line? He said to leave it as it is, because there is very little extra tissue, and it would probably not make much of a difference-if any. So, now I just wait to get an appointment for the tattoos, and then I'm just about finished. It's nearly the end of a four year dance with cancer. I beat it this time (again). I can only be cautiously optimistic.

I did ask Steve about a facelift-eye lift? De--wrinkling? He just laughed at me, and told me that I don't need it. Huh-I think I've had enough surgery for ten people, so I'll take Steve's advice and accept my lines and wrinkles-or perhaps wear a mask.

That was almost all the excitement of the week. I did my infusions, as usual, and I decided to stop making jokes, anecdotes, being amusing-and just go very, very quiet. I'll save the jokes for my blog. This might have something to do with the trauma of starting a new year, and realizing that I have been in survival mode for so many years (seven) that I have forgotten how to live. Now is the time to get my backside moving-if not now, then when?

It seems that being here for so many years has made me a wellspring of useless information. I naturally pass all this on to anyone who is reading this. And have I got a new year story for you-and it is absolutely true. It tells you a lot about the people ...

I was coming back from the hospital the other day, got on the bus, all as usual, and a man came up behind me; he had a baby buggy with him. Now usually nobody really looks carefully at the baby, especially when it's facing the parent, and when it's covered up (it's cold out there). So I was sitting in a seat just behind this guy, and he was fussing over what I thought was his (or someone's) child. He looked up at me and glared, and I admit that I thought this must be a really ugly baby if he didn't want anyone to see it.

He was distracted by someone coming past him, and I looked down and saw-I promise that this is absolutely true, nobody could possibly make this up- a cabbage. That is what I said: a cabbage, as in the vegetable. And this cabbage was huge, it looked like a normal cabbage on steroids. I'm no expert on cabbages-although I have dated several in my lifetime, and even married one-but this was a whopper.

Even worse: it was partially covered by a pink baby blanket, and it had a pink ribbon around its middle-with a little bell. I was gobsmacked. And he turned and saw that I was looking, and I quickly looked away. I desperately wanted to say what a cute-um-cabbage, and why the bell, and did the bell work-but I decided that discretion was probably the better part of a punch in the face, so I said nothing. ~But why pink? Did he decide that his cabbage was a girl cabbage, not a boy cabbage?

Honestly, the bus was stuck in traffic, so my mind was going to all kinds of interesting places. What kind of weirdo puts a cabbage into a baby buggy-then covers it with a pink baby blanket-or any baby blanket, for that matter? What if it's really a boy? How would he know? And, of course, the really important question: was he having sex with a cabbage? And if so, how was it?

The last two questions set me off. I covered my face with my scarf, pulled my hood down, and started to laugh. Then I couldn't stop. And I obviously couldn't look at the weirdo, so I looked out the window and shook with laughter. I must have looked like I was having a seizure. The worst part of all this is that everyone was either texting, or talking, or in deep space-and if anyone noticed, nobody was talking. Or laughing hysterically. Only me. He could have had a machine gun in the buggy and nobody would have noticed until he started shooting. But, no-it was a cabbage. It could probably feed a family for a week.Or whatever he actually did with it.

When he finally took his buggy-and his cabbage, complete with ribbon and (presumably working) bell off the bus, he looked up at me and shook his fist. I waved. And laughed. He made my day.

Is there a lesson in this, apart from the fact that nobody looks around on public transport? Yes- never separate a man and his cabbage.