Saturday, 8 November 2014

A Bit of a Boob

Five weeks ago, whilst doing the housework, I hit my chest…okay, left boob…on the Dyson.  How did this happen?  Well I blame my daughter actually.  In times of trouble, it is always soothing to have somebody to blame.  So Eleanor can take the rap.  I was cleaning her shower room and vacuuming the floor in a confined space.  Common sense should dictate removing the vacuum cleaner when finished so there is space to manoeuvre whilst cleaning the smallest room in the house.  Except my common sense apparently did a runner.  Stupidly I carried on cleaning around my Dyson. Perhaps I should also blame the builder of my house for not making the shower room bigger.  Yes, I’ll blame Eleanor and the builder.  So there I was, polishing away, hair flopping over eyes and not properly seeing what I was doing.  I’d failed to tie my hair up because I’d lost my hair scrunchy.  The cat stole it, and it’s never been found.  So I’ll blame Dolly too.  Three culprits.  The daughter, the builder, and the cat.  Anyway, blinded by hair and working in a confined space, I accidentally stood on the back of the Dyson sending the upright pole ricocheting backwards into my left boob.
        Now it's been said that if you accidentally catch a man in a certain place, he will writhe in agony.  I can only assume that where I was smacked was the female equivalent.  I screeched, clutched my boob and shouted words that haven’t been uttered since giving birth.  Not that I actually said anything out loud when I was giving birth.  I said it all in my head.  And even then it was directed at the midwife, because she was the midwife from hell.  But I digress.
        Two hours later my left boob was rivalling the chest dimensions of Katie Price.  In fact, agony aside, I was quite amazed with the overall look.  A firm buoyant boob as round as a watermelon was blooming from my chest.  Shame it was just on the one side.  I presumed Mother Nature would step in and the healing process would eventually reduce it.  Apparently not.  My GP sent me for an ultrasound.  I was also put on antibiotics.  Eventually I was told it needed draining.  However, when a breast consultant stuck a tube in to aspirate it, out came a lot of blood.
        ‘You’ve torn something.  And you’re still bleeding.  And all this voluptuousness is in fact a massive hematoma.  You need an operation.’
        So there you have it.  Vacuuming is bad for your health.  I think in these days of hype and tripe I should lobby the Government to issue hard hats and body vests to all women when cleaning their homes.  I could - thanks to a compensation society being the norm - probably sue Dyson, my daughter, the builder, and the cat for contributory negligence.
        Meanwhile I’m packing my overnight bag in readiness for hospital and getting deflated.  Wish me luck.  Which reminds me.  What do you call identical boobs?  Identitties…

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