Family Outing

Thursday afternoon the entire family came along to my water-boarding session. Lucky me. My torture takes place at a different hospital than the one that I go to for all of my other forms of torture that involve scanners, x-rays, MRI's and CAT scans that do not involve kittens in any way shape or form. And that sucks.

So, we travel to this hospital that is about 25 minutes away, because The Torturer is said to be the best at what my ailment and condition is. (let me state again for the record, NOBODY knows for sure just what my ailment or condition is.)

I'm dressed in jeans and a sweater because Evan wants to go out to eat at this Indian restaurant that he went to once and has been wanting to go back for the longest time. Ward (who I might rename Eeyore ) was up to it but wasn't sure if I would be. Oh hell yes, I would go if I had to crawl...

Anyway, The Torturer calls me back and has me change into a pair of paper shorts. I get up on the table and she tells me

Today I am going to stretch out your scar tissue.

My what? Where?

You might have some internal scar tissue from your surgery that is pulling on your connective tissues blah blah blah blah causing your back pain

And with that she put one hand under my ass and the other on my tummy. And she stayed like that for 10 minutes. With her eyes closed. Not saying a word. Um, yeah.
And people, she came out of her trance

Did the scope go through your bellybutton during your surgery?
(she lifts my shirt up)

Yeah, and here, and here...I think she used my stretch marks as entry points so she wouldn't leave a new scar.
(I make a har har har sound because I thought I made a clever joke. Then I realized just how weird this whole thing was...so I har har har'ed again)

People, she stuck her finger in my bellybutton. I swear to God. I couldn't remember if I washed it out when I took my shower. Was her finger going to come out smelling like Parmesan cheese? Like toe jam? Like the smell behind Evan's ear? (he informed me this is what his bellybutton smells like when he proofed my post...I had to add it in) I was mortified.

Uh, har har har, what are you doing in my belly button?
(as I lay on the table in paper shorts thinking that Impending Doom was fast approaching)

Oh, same thing with the internal scar tissue blah blah blah blah

She closed her eyes again and began sticking her finger further into my bellybutton, making circular movements as she sunk in towards my spine.

Another 10 minutes went by and she opened her eyes

Do you have any more scars? Any older scars on your body?

I directed her to both knees and decided to keep the scars from my breast reduction in '87 a secret. (yes, people...I know, once I was so excited to finally get boobs...but they didn't know when to stop)

After the session was over, I hobbled out to my family and we headed off to the car and on out way to the Indian restaurant. (which I would tell you about, but too many swear words were said.)


Now, I have never had Indian food in my life, but I was excited to try it...especially when I saw so many lamb dishes on the menu. I LOVE LAMB. The dish that I ordered was called lamb pasanda and described in the menu as "boneless lamb cooked in a mild butter sauce"...they had me at butter sauce.

If you look at this picture, the butter sauce is red....har har har. I asked my authentic Indain waitress if I had the right order, you see, I was expecting, oh, A CREAMY WHITE BUTTER SAUCE...but, according to Ward Eeyore all Indian sauces are red because of the Curry. Ward Eeyore is an expert, you know. (wink wink)

So, my authentic Indian waitress assured me I was served what I ordered, but I still had my doubts because she totally gave me the stink eye as she walked away.

So there I was, in total pain and agony, my belly button having just been violated, picking through my mild buttered sauced lamb with my fork, when the waitress comes back and says to me

You can use your spoon, ma'am (MA'AM!) to mix the sauce with the rice

Oh, okay, har har har.

She turns away and I tell my family

Good Lord, I can't even eat Indian food right. I'm hopeless. Broken and hopeless.

Pretty much, mom, pretty much.