I'm ready for my close-up

So I had a little surgery last week. No worries at all unless you count my obsession with the photographs of my innards a worry. I have gone from not breathing a word about this surgery to anyone to now showing every person I come across the actual pictures of my tumor. Keep in mind that I am an incredibly squeamish person. In fact, I just now looked at my incisions a few days ago. Sportsfan once had 3 moles removed from his back and I fainted when I had to change the bandages. So this makes my preoccupation with my insides that much more confusing.

I carefully explained to my daughter the importance of privacy in matters such as these. I emphasized the fact that we did not need to talk about this outside of our family. Now when people ask her how I’m feeling, she replies, “I would prefer not to talk about it.” Oh dear. Now look at me! I’m broadcasting my tumors on the World Wide Web! I even sent my prized photographs to my niece’s 2 year old birthday party in my absence. I could not wait for Sportsfan to return from the party with some great tumor admiration stories. I must admit I was a little disappointed that everyone didn’t share my enthusiasm.

So this obsession finally culminated the other morning at breakfast. As usual, I was examining my glamour shots over an English muffin, and as usual, Junior was reading the sports page asking all sorts of questions about the stats for the Titans game. He asks, “What’s an assist?” And of course I say, “Well honey, it’s a fluid filled sac that sometimes forms in your body.” His reply snaps me out of my trance. “No Mom. An ASSIST. Like in football. Not a cyst. I know what that is.”

My literal self absorption started to fall apart right then and there. I have put the pictures away for now. But, if you want to see them, I’m sure I could make an exception. Just as long as you brag.