Tuesday, on my commute home from work, I had a little itch on the right side of my lower scalp. I itched it like I normally would and felt something protruding from my head.
“Wait, that’s not supposed to be there,” I said out loud.
I continued to feel my head while gingerly surveying the entire area with my fingers. To compare, I began to drive with the top of my thighs and used my left hand to feel the left side at the same time.
Holy fuck, I have a massive lump on my skull!
Do I go to the ER right now? Do I wait till morning and call my doctor? Would I even make it to morning?
As soon as I got home I did what I always do. My cheap-ass texted my nurse practitioner friend with all the symptoms expecting a full, thorough diagnosis via text:Next I needed someone other than my 8-year-old, to feel my growth and ensure this was just part of my skull and completely normal:
When she didn’t respond, I killed 2 birds with 1 stone and text my nurse/friend/neighbor to diagnose me:
As you can see, I got no where all evening. Eventually my husband got home and confirmed this was truly a lump that wasn’t supposed to be there.
The next morning I booked an appointment with a doctor. My doctor wasn’t available so I scheduled with another doctor in the practice; reluctantly. I made sure to book it in the afternoon (4:20) as we were being taken to a new restaurant for free and the hell if I’m gonna pass up a free lunch. Am I right?
While at the office we made our normal, inappropriate comments all day. It’s not uncommon for phrases such as “cock-sucker” or “bent me over” to be uttered at any given time. I love it and I wouldn’t have it any other way. As I said before, I’m home.
“So guys, I have this lump on the back of my head and I have no idea what it is,” I yelled over my cube to the 4 other cubes in the room.
Just then my co-worker S was yelping and causing an audible commotion. We can’t see over our cubes as they are about 6′ high.
“Damn nats! Hot Mess, maybe that’s what’s in your head. Maybe you have a nat sack growing on your skull. All these damn nats!”
“Yes!” I giggled. “I love it! Yes! It’s my nat sack and they are going to leave baby nats all around my head!”
By now S was walking towards my cube.
“Or maybe,” she said conspiratorially, pointing her finger to drive home the fact, “you ate your twin in the womb and that’s just your twin!”
“Yes, yes, yes!” I exclaimed in agreement. “We are going with that, it’s my twin! Matilda!”
If one were ever a deceased twin, living in the other twin’s body, you can’t call it Brittany or Michael. Those are just too normal a name for a lump. Matilda is the first name that popped into my head (it was probably her secretly telling me her name) and that would be it’s (her) name go forward.
At The Doctor’s
I got back to the examine room really fast. I wasn’t very happy that I clocked in at 149 pounds but deduced it was because I had a bladder full of piss and my clothes on so I deducted 10 pounds. After just a few minutes the doctor came in. He was an older male who was extremely quick and on time. After felling the lump, he concluded it to be Lipoma, which is a benign tumor. He then measured it. You ready for this?
He wrote me a prescription for steroids for the tenderness and requested I come back to see if the lump….ahem…Matilda has grown.
Last night, after introducing Matilda to several soccer parents, I had an idea. When I got home from my youngest’s practice, I grabbed a sharpy and headed upstairs to my oldest son’s bedroom. There, he drew the following on my lump:
Yes. I am bat-shit crazy.