No, for real, though, I know a lot of people try to sneak a look or two once they notice things are... not as they should be. I mean, it's not hard to see that one of my sweet cheeks is, shall we say, a lot sweeter than the other. Okay, fine, I'll show you a picture.
Ooh, CHECK OUT MY BUTT!!!
It's hypnotizing, isn't it?
Okay, can you see what I'm talking about? I'm (justifyingly) having a hard time finding picture of me from the back. If you can't see it yet, I'll let you in on the not-so-secret secret: Lefty is a little larger than Righty.
This issue has caused concern at least since 2002. The size difference wasn't really as noticeable, but boy did it start to hurt! I thought maybe my back injury from my high school weight lifting class from a couple months before messed up some of the nerves from the small of my back on down, causing the pain, and eventually the size difference. Ever since then I'd always meant to get it checked out (and even did, a couple of times, by people who obviously had no idea what they were talking about (not that I knew that at the time)).
Well, a month or so ago, my sister expressed concern once again over my impressively large derriere. She made a deal with me that if I would get it checked out, she would do something for me that I've wanted her to do for a long time. The details of her side of the deal are unimportant, but it was a deal I couldn't refuse. So off I went to the physical therapist, thinking that maybe, as I said before, my nerves were messed up from a back injury, and if I fixed the back injury, voilà, my fanny would go back to normal size.
The physical therapist poked and prodded my keester during the appointment, all the while drilling me about the whats, whens, and hows. The conclusion that he came to was that I needed to see someone else.
So that leads us to last Thursday. I had my first, and hopefully last MRI. It was such an uncomfortable experience that I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Would you like to see a picture of one of the scans, though? I know you do. I can see you holding your breath in anticipation. Keep in mind the view is from the behind me, so you're looking at my bottom, this time without pants on. (*Gasp!* I can't believe you!) Also, it's flipped so that right is left and left is right. Also keep in mind that it's a picture of a copy of the printed version of the screenshot, so it's not as high of quality as I wanted to show you, but oh well. Drum roll, please...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
..
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
See, I told you that you look at my butt.
Long story short, it's a ginormous tumor. On the left side of the picture (which is the right side of the body, you see my normal (and rather awesome looking) gluteal muscles. And then, on the right side (which is actually the left side), you can see that there is a small-volleyball-size tumor right in the middle of the gluteal muscles, which are trying really hard to act like normal muscles. I imagine they feel quite annoyed, being pushed out of the picture right at their time to shine. [*shakes head*] Poor glutes. If you're still having a hard time picturing how big it is, I found a medicine ball that's comparable to the tumor:
Don't freak out, though, people! I made sure that I knew what was going on with it before I told y'all so that you can sleep tonight knowing that my hiney is going to make it through this difficult time. I imagine you have questions like, "Holy crap, that's big!" and "I can't believe she didn't get it checked out before!" To which the answers would be, "Duh," and "I just told you that I had. The people just didn't know what they were talking about."
Just kidding, I know you are wondering the same thing that I wondered when I found out it was a tumor last week. I'll save you the wait that I had to endure and just tell you up front that it's not cancer. There's like a 0.5% or less chance that it's malignant. No, they haven't done a biopsy, because on this type of tumor they just have to cut the whole thing out and biopsy the whole thing. So yes, I'll need surgery, which will happen in the next week or two, and yes, you can come visit me at my parent's house while I recover and you can also buy me flowers. I'll need about 2 weeks off of work, so you'll have plenty of time to visit! I don't know the dates of surgery yet, I'm still trying to get things worked out with insurance, but it'll be soon.
Anyhoo, it feels good to tell people this. I'm not the kind of person that keeps secrets (as in my own; don't worry, all of you that are gay and/ or pregnant and not telling people yet, your secret's safe with me (just kidding, I don't know anybody right now that's pregnant (just kidding again, I don't know anybody that's in the closet, either (how many parentheses can fit into other parentheses before it gets ridiculous?))), so it was hard to keep this on the D.L. for a week.
That's all I know for now about what's going on. I'm so grateful that it is what it is, because it could be so much worse. And I mean SO much worse. Who would've thought that a tumor that size wouldn't cause any problems besides some discomfort when I sat? I mean, I know itty bitty tumors in the wrong spots like the brain, thyroid gland, or pituitary gland, or heart can wreak havoc on people's health; that's not even mentioning the damage that the treatments for cancer can cause. So I'd pick my volleyball tumor any day, no matter how ridiculous my rump looks.
Oh, and by the way, my family named my tumor. Pearl Wilson is its name. Pearl because like an oyster, I've managed to grow something inside me that doesn't really belong there, and Wilson, because it's the size of a volleyball. Yeah, my family's kinda twisted. That's why I love them.
