by Lem — February 26, 2013

From boobs to brains! What a transition! But hey girls, we’re talking about our best assets here. Being a little more on the smaller side of the boobie scale, I’ve never been as adventurous nipple-wise *laughs* as Amber – and certainly never got to wear one of those silly T-shirts.

Be careful what you wish for.

Be careful what you wish for.

But every time I saw a well-endowed girl with one of those, I couldn’t help laughing out loud, as the thought of boob brains, and the chance of lactating out of one’s nose, was just too much to not giggle. You see, this is my brain on overdrive. It has a strange kind of humour.

I really like my brain though. I’ve had it as long as I can remember and it has grown on me. Well, here’s the story: two weeks ago, it kind of went a bit haywire on me.

It all started with seemingly unrelated pain behind the right eye. While being no stranger to migraines, this was something new. With every eye movement, stabbing pain shot through my whole jaw. And this one day, while closing and opening the unruly eye in front of the computer in an effort to soothe the pain, I noticed that the colour grey was a little bit redder on the one, and a little bit greener on the other side. I panicked and rushed out of the office to see an ophthalmologist right away. Not being able to see grey-scales correctly, as a designer, seemed disastrous. I thought it might be conjunctivitis, and expected the doc to prescribe eye drops and send me home for a couple of days.

*Braiins~*  No! Shoo! You can't have it!

No! Shoo! You can’t have it!

My ophthalmologist made one of those “concerned doctor” faces. She was also very thorough. Too thorough for my liking. “Did you Google the symptoms?” “No. I don’t tend to Google stuff like that. Nothing good comes from it.” “Well, there’s nothing wrong with the eye as far as I can see. But it could be inflammation of the optic nerve.” Uhum. The tests continued. I could still see red as red on both eyes, and joked that I was probably too sensitive to colours and that a normal person possibly wouldn’t see any difference. But grey was still warmer/colder on each eye and it bugged me. “Do you have any numbness or tingling sensations in your arms, legs or face?”

I did. In that moment, right when she asked the question, the entire right side of my face started tingling, and I could swear my right arm felt heavier that the left. I did not say anything. My brain just was playing games with me, I decided, and made up symptoms to send me into a state of full blown panic. “Well, I want you to see a neurologist. At your age, inflammation of the optic nerve can be an early sign of something else.” Something else? Like what? “If your eyesight gets cloudy, go to the hospital immediately.” The what? My right arm started tingling. Fuck my brain. I wanted to exchange it for boobs this very moment.

I went back to work, and Googled the symptoms. Never, ever search on the internet for stuff like that without having a diagnosis. My brain wanted to join in on the fun and added a little dizzyness, just to make a point. I punished it by not sleeping that night. In fact, I did not-much-sleeping until my appointment with the neurologist. The doc, a stout man of about 1.60m had me look at a flickering chessboard for a visual evoked potential test. The damn thing made the dizzyness even worse. “Hey brain, here’s your chance at epilepsy. Interested?” “Huh? Naw. I’m busy rotating the tingling sensations all over your body.” The test came back ok. Hooray for the optic nerve! The dwarf doc made me follow his finger. “Have you ever had images taken of your head? We should do that. To rule out any masses behind the eye.” Masses? “Uhm, hello. It’s your brain. Care for some nausea?”

Not much sleeping happened until the appointment with the radiologist. Physically, I felt fine by that time. My eye got better, but the strange feeling in my arm did not subside.

“Hello. This is your brain. I know you figured out those are phantom symptoms. I want you to know that I know.”
“Well, stop it then!”
“Noo~ too much fun!” 
“Wrong end.”
“You just have to have the last word, do you?”

At the radiologist, I was in for a surprise. What I thought was an appointment for an x-ray, turned into an MRI. “Well, the letter of referral says to rule out white matter lesions. We can’t do that on an x-ray. You’re not claustrophobic, are you?” White matter… what? Claustrowhat? I really, really wanted to go home by then. Fuck the diagnosis. “This is your brain. Prepare for a claustrophobic panic attack!” “Wait, no, what… jeez!”

One for the family album.

One for the family album.

Me and my brain sat in silence in the waiting area. The doc came out to discuss the pictures. All clear. One healthy, naughty brain. From one moment to another, the phantom symptoms went away as if someone had turned off a switch. I mentioned the phantom symptoms to her that plagued me the moment I heard the ophtamologists questions.
“Anxiety,” she smiled, “can cause physical symptoms.” (I swear I could hear my brain giggling. Of course I didn’t mention that to her.) “The ophtamologists shouldn’t have scared you like she did, but in a way, she just wanted to be on the safe side. Don’t worry about it. Nothing’s wrong with your brain.”

A dose of alcohol and a good cry later I couldn’t help but wonder if a possibly lactating boob brain instead of an neurotic brainy brain would be nice for a change. Topped with nipple enhancer hair clips. Oh god, there goes my brain again. “Hey buddy!”


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