For the first time in her life, Delaney didn't nurse today. She didn't even seem to miss it, the little bugger. As it turns out, neither did my boobs. I'd prepared for an argument from them, or at least an objection in the form of rock-hard hooters for a day or two. But, nothing doing. They've closed up shop and are preparing for their downward decent into No-Longer-Lactating Droopdom. Or, so I've been told. Sigh. Do all former breastfeeders end up with sad sacks? Is there a possibility I'll escape the dreaded sag? Shouldn't getting a cancer diagnosis at age 26 entitle me to a free pass guaranteeing perky tits for a lifetime? Probably not.
Now, on to the tush topic at hand. The good news when you have half a colon is that it only takes half the time to scope it out. And me and the booty cam? We got along just fine. Things went well and my Booty's been given a clean bill of health. I wasn't terribly worried that wouldn't be the case, but there's always a tiny, nagging thought at the back of my mind: What if it's back? Luckily, it's not and I won't have to slurp the lovely laxative cocktail for another three years.