stretching or interpretive dance? you decide

I don't know how deep the cut will be, Mr. Stewart

But it also won't be my first. I wrote a little something about a year ago and mentioned that when I was four years old, I had a tonsillectomy. Until...well, sometime relatively soon, that's the only surgery I've had the unfortunate pleasure of experiencing.

A few weeks ago, after noticing what appears to be a baseball hiding in my thigh, I went to my awesome primary doctor who referred me for an ultrasound to confirm her suspicion that it's a common, entirely benign bump in the road, so to speak. After the ultrasound, the Radiologist, who I swear to Hippocrates, was no older than Doogie Howser (okay, he probably was but he was amazingly fucking young-looking), told me he couldn't confirm that diagnosis but "don't worry, don't worry," which was promptly disregarded because finding a large mass in one's body that can't immediately be confirmed as benign is pretty much all you need to start worrying. Thankfully, one of my co-workers is fantastic beyond belief and sent me to his cousin's MRI practice, where I received a freebie, which is a savings of approximately a metric assload. To any of you readers contemplating opening your own MRI practice, I'd like to take this opportunity to offer you a tip:

- They can be scary tests, I know. And cheery, upbeat music is a delightful and appreciated gesture. But during MRIs, one is supposed to stay as still as humanly possible and when your playlist is full of the most awesomest songs to ever come out of the 80s, it's likely to leave your patient wanting to do nothing but shake her ass. It's maddening!

I did, however, manage to fight the dancing fever and made it through the hour-and-a-half (!!!) test and a few days later, got the results that it "looks" like what we thought it was but doesn't necessarily "act" like it. Apparently, there are subtypes that aren't cancerous but aren't entirely benign. I always kind of hated science because it's all so black and white and I'm a firm believer that ain't nothin' that black and white. But when push comes to shove and I'm being told that it looks like one thing but acts like another, I immediately *want* things to be black and white. If it has atypical characteristics of something, in my mind, that ought to mean it's *not* that particular something. But in the medical world? Not so. While it's...reassuring to be reminded that there are inconsistencies even in the precise world of medicine, it's the opposite of reassuring to be told by my primary doc, "I'd like to send you to an oncological surgeon." Do I have cancer? We're all about 99.9% certain I don't. But because of that possibility that it looks like one thing but is really something else, someone who really knows their shit needs to address it.

So, I have an appointment with the surgeon next week, he'll look at my films, book an OR, and off I'll go. Initially, we had thought I would just have a little local anesthesia but because of its size and the fact that it's apparently growing around and under muscle, I'll be rendered completely unconsciousness, which...well, is the part that scares me.

The act of having surgery doesn't really bother me and I realize it takes far more for surgeons to be certified and handed a scalpel than successfully removing the plastic funny bone from Cavity Sam without his little red nose buzzing. I'm not sure I would necessarily put myself in the "general pessimist" camp but I do put myself firmly into the "realist" column. Shit happens, I know this. And most of the time, you never know when that shit is gonna happen. I just don't like the idea of being completely oblivious to the world around me while someone slices up my thigh...hoping for the best. It's not exactly the world's most difficult surgery but we're talking about bones and fat and muscle and blood vessels. Essential pieces that help legs function properly. If I could watch him do it, I'd feel worlds better. I liken it to my desire to be fully awake and looking out the window watching along, should I ever be in a plane crash. If I wind up on a crazy, time-shifting island with my limbs still attached and blood still pumping through my body, I want that memory of what I was just equally lucky enough and badass enough to live through. And if I wind up dead as a doornail, I don't want to have closed my eyes while plummeting to my death in an attempt to pretend it's not happening. I want the very last thing I *am* in the world to be...frighteningly awake.

And that's simply not an option this time around. I don't think fairly simple surgery is the same as an ugly plane crash and I don't think I'm going to wind up dead from a few cuts in my thigh. But still. Shit is just easier when you're four years old.

Then again, I didn't have things like this to listen to when I was four years old either.

familiar comfort

skin to the wind, baby!

I spent most of this past Saturday naked. Nude. In the buff. Sans clothes.

(Image via 9gag)

This little tidbit wouldn't really be blog-worthy if it weren't for the fact that I was also outside. More specifically, outside at Lake O' The Woods Club, a nudist club in Indiana.

A couple months ago, a good friend told me about Chicago Fun Club, a local group of nudies that has what appears to be at least one event a month where they get together, shed the clothes, and frolic about doing any number of things. The plan was to go a couple months ago when my friend made a weekend trip to Chicago but I couldn't quite bring myself to do it. A few weeks later, he told me the Chicago club was meeting up this past Saturday at LOWC for a skinny dipping event and all-around day of hanging out.

And hang all out, we did.

My morning started off on a less than pleasant note and despite the fact that all I really wanted to do was lounge on the couch and watch the one thing that always helps adjust my perspective, I would have felt shitty backing out. So, we hopped in the car and a little over an hour later, arrived at our very first nudist event. Which proved to be exactly what I friggin' needed that day.

Since everyone and their brother can't just pull in, ditch their clothes and roam around the grounds, we were buzzed in by what I imagined was a woman inside somewhere sitting behind a desk completely naked. Once we parked the car, we looked like the oddballs of the group walking toward the clubhouse with our clothes on. Everyone and their brother (and sister and wife and husband and children) were either in the pool or lounging around on the chairs surrounding the pool but there were some people just laying in the grass and some standing around talking with others; all of them, naked. We made our way into the clubhouse to sign in, where we were greeted by the mystery phone voice who buzzed us in, who was indeed, sitting behind a desk naked. She crossed our names off, scanned our driver's licenses, took some general info, and sent us back outside to join in the fun. So, we headed back to my friend's car, ditched our clothes and walked back over toward the clubhouse, finally looking just like everyone else.

We found a little spot to throw down some towels and sat for a bit to take in the sights. There were women who looked much like I do...there were women who were smaller and women who were bigger. Short guys, tall guys, white guys, black guys. I'm not sure, number-wise, how the gender scale tipped but there seemed to be quite a good number of both men and women. We chatted it up with a man from Maine whose family often travels with him but for reasons I can't remember, he was solo this time. We chatted with an Army vet who has been a member of the club for years and years. After swimming in the pool for a bit, because of the torrential downpour, we wound up huddled under a big tent, where we struck up conversation with a few people closer to our ages (we've dubbed the male of the group, "Horse Cock" because...well, yeah. I managed to keep my eyes in check for most of the day but a girl couldn't help but notice that tasty little treat floppin' around all afternoon). Since there wasn't much to be done in the rain, we went inside with them and into the sauna with a few other people to warm up. After which, once the rain stopped, it only made sense to take a swim in the lake, which is, I must say, amazingly fucking delightful after coming out of a sauna. Because I'm firmly in the anti-Mexican food camp, we didn't stay for dinner and left shortly after the skinny dipping.

New people tend to scare me. I'm shy in the sense that meeting new people and making new friends is unpleasantly difficult for me. I hate crowds and I'm not really much of a 'group event' kind of girl and much prefer spending my time with just a few people at once. But I was amazed at how little of a concern that was to me. I suppose it's really no different than people who get together and hang out because they're Cubs fans or Buffy fans or The Flaming Lips fans...there was a common interest between everyone that, at least for me, put me much more at ease than I had expected. There was...a brazen honesty about everyone that I positively adored.

I didn't grow up in a "naked house" but it also wasn't one shrouded in shame. We left bathroom doors open, we brushed our teeth while someone was showering...nakedness was just never that big of a deal. Thankfully, for me, that's carried over into my adult life. I'm not one to wear what most would call "skimpy" clothes when out and about and like a lot of people, there are days when there are parts of my body I'd rather not look at. But if I'm in my apartment, I'm most likely wearing as little as possible. It's just more comfortable. Hell, I have to wear clothes any time I'm outside of my apartment so why the hell would I want to be stuck in them when I'm just hanging out in the privacy of my own home? I don't.

My Saturday morning had started with my body...turning on me and left me wondering exactly what sort of ugliness was lurking around inside. Thankfully, not only am I on the upswing of taking care of that little health bump in the road, but the perfect way to combat that feeling last Saturday was to spend the afternoon being reminded that no matter what may be going on in the inside, the outside...just like everyone else's...remains beautiful.

do not enter

spark it up!