A benign nodule/tumor that contains blood vessels (vascular) and fat cells. They can be painful due to vascular infiltration on surrounding nerves, tissues, or even muscle & bones in rarer cases. They tend to range in size from pea to half dollar. If painful & causing symptoms, treatment is to remove surgically. They may re-occur even after removal. There is currently no known cause as to why these grow. If a person has one, there is good probability to develop more.

Apparently this is what Herbert is, and since he has several relatives elsewhere on me — which seem to fluctuate a bit in size and occasionally feel a tiny bit sore, if I bother to poke them — everything seems to fit. At least I won’t be tergiversating about leaving the house to catch what workout I can when the door and window installers clear out. They’re taking their time, but my kitchen doorframe isn’t standard. The cats are locked in the basement, increasingly pissed (I hope that does not turn out to be a literal usage).

My father probably handed me this gene. He had this thingummy on the top of his head which was removed a couple times before it stopped recurring, and which, with a military haircut, made him look slightly pointed from certain angles. Happily, this one is decently tucked away in my bra and will not be obvious or even noticeable once the bruise heals up and the bandaid comes off.

This is as far as I go without a blue light.

Universal hug, everyone, for saying friendly things while I was waiting to get that call.

21 thoughts on “Angiolipoma

    • The radiologist remarked that she really did give people good news more often than bad. “I know most lumps aren’t cancer,” I said, “but your own always is until it isn’t.” She agreed heartily.

    • I never like to leave medical mysteries languishing even for a moment. I had trouble imagining who would actually take the radiologist up on the option of “waiting six months.”

  1. Glad to hear that. In similar circumstances when my wife, about 35 years ago, had a lump and it was diagnosed as the thingamajigg you have we were both quite relieved. That night, I came home with a bottle of «cuvée des Saints Pères», we had a good laugh and a decent drink.
    Did not recurr, the lump I mean, but she had a cute polychromous breast for a while after it was removed.

    • Nothing to save in this case, or at least nothing tangible — just my nerves. Not that I’m not grateful for a cheer from a friend — I am — but remember that the breasts that have actual cancer (and the women who own or owned them) are still not getting as much from science as they ought to, and neither are they from the US system of health care, which is big on free screening mammograms but still horribly stratified as to what happens when a poor woman or a woman with inadequate insurance really needs cancer treatment.

      All of these women have sobering points. I don’t, as you gather, shrink from referring to my own body parts in the vernacular, or letting you see what a healing biopsy looks like, but cutesifying an alleged crusade for women’s health into a feelgood soft-naughty Disney cartoon has done nothing for us. And no one wants to talk about the carcinogens that we swim in — some of them marketed by the same corporations that slap pink ribbons on stuff and sell it to people who think they’re “shopping for good.”

      And as for mammograms in particular. Herbert didn’t show up on any mammogram (of course, he is a wad of fat, so he wouldn’t). But neither did the cancer that killed one of my best-loved clients, the woman I wish had been my mother, who showed her lump to doctors that told her “Aw, this feels just like a fibroadenoma, we’ll look at your mammogram.” The mammogram looked fine to them, apparently. It looked fine for four years while the lump got bigger. She found out she had cancer when the masses in her liver started making her throw up.

      They conserved her breast, all right, but only because it was pointless to take out anything but the lump by that time.

      Your mammograms will not save you (ultrasound is much better in some regards, but mammograms became the “state of the art” and the exam that insurance was obliged to cover). They do not distinguish results well enough to avoid thousands of biopsies far more painful and invasive than mine on women who have no lump, just a tick of calcification. Your doctors, meanwhile, are only as good as what you demand of them and what research offers them. And your research is as good as what people are willing to look at.

      They don’t want to look at what we eat, breathe, drink and rub on our skins (unless we’re careful and read studies and labels). Big pink ribbon marches don’t detour to the dump to throw away their phthalate-laced lipsticks and cleaners full of estrogen mimics. Hell, both containers probably have pink ribbons on ’em.

      Ranting available by the yard at this address.

  2. That’s very good news. I have a good friend going through breast cancer treatment right now, and it’s … really sobering, to say the least. Cancer doesn’t pop up much in my family, so it’s not something I’ve really dealt with before. I don’t know how anyone tolerates the treatment, the tests, the unbelievable hell that is the therapy for cancer. I’m glad you aren’t facing that, but I also surely do wish there were less horrible interventions for those who do have to go through it.

  3. Woohoooo! VERY glad to hear that.

    And right behind you on the rant. I recently took part in a sponsored run/walk to raise awareness of and funds for breast cancer and was HORRIFIED to find some of the gunk being given away as freebies in the thank you bag afterwards. There were enough chemicals in the various ‘foods’ (I apply the term loosely) and drinks, not to mention the deodorant, face cream and lipstick samples to floor an ox.

    • There must be a story there. (Of course, as the clip makes clear, when a man says a woman broke his heart, he’s making a joke.)

      Immediate flash to the scene in “Mountains of the Moon” where Sir Richard Francis Burton and Henry Stanley compare scars until they are nearly butt naked. Less drink, but more skin.

  4. Well, the colour of your skin (I won’t say more)… you are really a Celtic hyperborean. And the movie presented by Jenny, yes, of the same kind.

    You Celtic Nordic people are adorable let’s face it (of course there are also ‘continental Celtic’ and Cisapline-Gaul Ligur-Celtic)

    Btw, you’ve convinced me to read *The White Goddess* by Graves, which I alas found only in Italian. Awesome.

    And as regards YOU:

    Carda, the ancient Roman goddess of the hinge, Caridwen or Ceridwen (Welsh), Artemis, are seen as similar or the same by Graves. I still have to reflect a bit on it. This and other notions were adopted by Wicca, as u know better than me.

    But Artemis or Diana, the twin sister of Apollo, often depicted with a crescent moon above her head, was known in a few parts of the world for her dislike of children!.

    THIS I meant in a comment in my blog. And you replied: what???


    • Ah, I must return to the question of Diana and Caridwen and disliking children — which does vaguely sound familiar. Artemis was supposed to be the party to call on for a painless childbirth, as I remember. I was probably only running at half-speed the time you remarked on the matter previously.

      Graves’ mind was a wonderful, aqueous thing, full of amazing currents and fishes.

      I do tan, eventually, if I stand out in noon sun day after day; strangely, unlike most Celty types, I don’t burn much. This may be from a lifetime of gulping assorted vitamins, I don’t know. If I lived where Jenny does I would be of a lunar pallor all year round probably.

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