Brainiac

Aaahhhh...back to yoga after everybody took an over month-long break. By the end of class, Mary could hardly get us to roll over let alone stand up in the sanctuary. She talked about trying to find that sometimes imperceptible space between inhaling and exhaling, exhaling and inhaling. She said that's where freedom is. I thought that it is sort of like your brain is on auto-pilot for a pause, letting your body take over all of the decisions. Before class, one of my yoga buddies and I were talking about "the switch" going off. How one minute life makes sense, the next you wonder how you could have been living like you were the moment before. She is at the five month point of saying no to alcohol and I stopped eating like a pig around that same time - totally out of the blue, switch went off. Well...there were some onion rings involved. Back then, our bodies took over and gave the brain a new piece of info to ponder, like tonight mine said, "Hey Lisa, look, your boobs are so small now they don't hit you in the face and suffocate you during yoga anymore."

Switch. Breathe. Freedom.

Boobs, Boobs, Boobs

The other day I found a three month old order for a mammogram in my glove compartment, so before one more month got away from me, I went in this morning for the ol' smoosh-a-roo.

Then I signed up to walk the 5K with some friends later this month in the Race for the Cure.


http://ww5.komen.org/FindARace.aspx?id=a0U40000003KZN9EAO

- sign up, go ahead. You can walk, run, or even sleep in for the cure. Do it for the boobs.

The Chaperone

I don't know what the law actually says, but today it forced me to watch Shawn touch some boobs. Boobs that weren't mine. See, I make the guy go to work on Saturdays. Well, every other Saturday. Every other Saturday morning, to be specific (over the summer it's only once a month, but he still moans and groans about it). I figure it's good for business. The patients love it, some just can't make it during the week, plus, he gets Wednesday afternoons off to make up for the whole horrible inconvenience.  But on Saturdays, it's just the two of us, a regular little mom and pop shop, since I can't entice any of our employees to roll into work on a weekend, at least until they run out of vacation time and that usually doesn't happen until later in the year. So unless there's a nurse around, no new patients or vaccines or Paps get scheduled. But every now and then, something comes up and Shawn peeks around the corner and tells me he needs some help, he needs a chaperone. A couple of months ago, a twenty-something had some questionable thing on her back, her low back, low, low, low back, way below her tramp stamp and I got pulled into that one, too. Today the chaperone-worthy part was on the other side and higher up. Appointment couldn't wait. Pre-op visit for surgery next week, nurse is off at Disneyland 'til Wednesday and surgeon needs faxed clearance letter Tuesday am, or else. So Shawn's face appeared at my door, interrupting my very, very important internet surfing. "Lisa, I need to do a breast exam. I need a chaperone." So we went in. I stood there glued to the wall, stared at my toes (overdue for a pedicure), listened to their chit chat and ran out the door when it was over.


Maybe we should just see guys on Saturdays.