Mrs Woog visits the Cosmetic Surgeon

Just back from a lovely meeting with the smooth Professor Stretch (yes really) to discuss the possibility of shrinking up my chesticals a bit… you know in time for bikini season and all.

They are taking on a life of their own and need professional help. I was hoping to get them done before my upcoming sojourn to Bali – next week would be fine. But oh no dear reader, things are not as simple as they seem.

Professor Stretch and I nutted out the pros and cons. Pros – smaller boobs. Cons being a whole lotta recovery time – but when life hands you lemons, I intend to make Mojitos – so my enormous boobs will be on that plane to Bali with me in a fortnight.

During what I would describe as a thorough feeling up, I pointed out my stretch marks to Professor Stretch and inserted what I thought might be a cheap shot for a quick giggle but he said “Yes Mrs Woog, I have heard that one a few times before.”

This brings me back to the last time I was mammary-handled by a doctor.

This time, I was giving myself a good feel up in the shower when I found a little lump. God knows how I found it amongst all that boob – but there it was. Off to to the GP where she confirmed my thoughts and also made me have a pap-smear. Is this getting too much?

This was a lovely local GP who is about my age who I now see every afternoon picking the kids up from school – MORTIFYING.

Anyway went to the specialists. A kind and quirky nurse-type lady squished my boob into a cold sandwich press. The word dense was mentioned more than once. Just when I thought she could not squish anymore, she squished a bit more. FFAAAARRRRRK!!!

Next stop Hot Doctor Radiographer.

Close your eyes Mr Woog.

Ladies this guy was a 9. Seriously cute. I again was MORTIFIED about having to take my top off. When I get nervous I tend to talk a lot, crack stupid jokes or discuss the ridiculousness of Kristina Keneally’s hair. Hot Doctor Radiographer put the gel on and started radiographering away at Lefty Chesty.

“Here it is, Looks Quite small. I will just check the other side.” He informs me.

So I ask.

“Is it too early to tell whether it is a boy or a girl?”

And he says …………. nothing. Just looks at me like I am a total idiot and finishes up. Good news it turned out to be nothing. Bad news was Hot Doctor Radiographer went from a 9 to a 5. Slightly above Nerdy Nice ENT.

Will let you know (because I am sure you are that interested) in how things go with Professor Stretch.

  • Wait. The chesticals are growing or are just ginormous? Mine are still ginormous but in the vein of some indigenous folk from a remote tribal village that has fed fourteen children and never seen any form of restraint. Even though these babies are restrained on a daily basis. Like two big pawpaws hanging on a tree.

    Anyway, with that image I give you the hilarity I display to physicians when nervous/apprehensive/sweaty: Oscar’s first visit to the CP specialist who is world renowned for his botox work in cerebral palsy patients – you know the drill, kids in wheelchairs walking, Orders of Australia, National living treasure yadayadayada and I’m all, ‘don’t suppose you can spare a drop for this crevice just here’ indicating the chasm between my eyebrows.

    Not even a smirk. No small turn up on the corner of his mouth, just a, ‘it’s not that kind of botox’.

    Right you are then.


  • Liz

    Since we are sharing, I told a Dr here I was having a pap smear because it had been two years and I didn’t have anything better to do that day. Then found out they only recommend them every three years here and realised he thought I actually was there for the fun of it. Which would explain his look. Lucky I didn’t ask if he was going to check my chesticles while he was at it.