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    It's Probably Nothing...*: *Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Implants
    It's Probably Nothing...*: *Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Implants
    It's Probably Nothing...*: *Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Implants
    Ebook151 pages1 hour

    It's Probably Nothing...*: *Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Implants

    By Micki Myers

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    About this ebook

    Daring, sly, and unlike any other book you’ve read, this memoir-in-poems tackles cancer with a bawdy wit guaranteed to “make you laugh in cancer’s face” (Marisa Acocella Marchetto, author of Cancer Vixen).

    As a vibrant woman in her late thirties, a mother of two, poet, artist, and teacher, Micki Myers decided to confront her cancer diagnosis head on with the sharpest tools in her arsenal: namely, her sense of humor and unbridled poetic license.

    The result is a charming, poignant, laugh-out-loud collection that hits all the highs (morphine) and lows (everything else) of being a cancer patient and surviving with your spirit intact (even if your boobs are not).

    It’s Probably Nothing. . .* provides the perfect blend of wit and pathos to help you or a loved one achieve much-needed perspective on this frightening journey, whether recently diagnosed or reveling in remission. From losing your hair (even, ahem, down there) and gaining two bouncy silicone strangers, to the pitfalls of marijuana therapy and the endless chemo-room muzak “that makes you think / sur­vival might be overrated,” Myers reminds you that you’re not alone and that it’s okay to laugh.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSimon & Schuster
    Release dateOct 1, 2013
    ISBN9781476712765
    It's Probably Nothing...*: *Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Implants
    Author

    Micki Myers

    Micki Myers is an artist and writer living in Pittsburgh, where she teaches English and raises her children. She writes the food blog Yuckylicious, is a regular contributor to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, and her first book, Trigger Finger, won the Pearl Poetry Prize.

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    • 4/5
      I never thought a memoir about a cancer patient could possibly be funny, but Micki Myers proved me wrong. Her honest, down-to-earth, politically incorrect attitude toward her situation tells the world she isn’t going down without a fight. This is a good read about a hard subject. Cancer patients and those who love them will appreciate this book.

    Book preview

    It's Probably Nothing...* - Micki Myers

    Contents

    Epigraph

    Oh Fuck! I Have Cancer!

    Stage I

    Dream a Little Dream of Me

    No Way! Way.

    Don’t Waffle About: Get a Mammogram!

    It’s Probably Nothing . . .

    A Living Wage

    What to Expect When You’re Expecting to Hear You Have Cancer

    Bedside Manners

    Say Wha?

    Mind Over Matter

    You Want the Good News or the Bad News?

    Tie a Pink Ribbon Around the Old Oak Tree

    617delT Walks into a Bar

    Stereotactic Core Biopsy Black and Blues

    Muzak

    Double Whammy

    Agent Provocateur

    Body Piercing

    Sentinel Node Biopsy Lament

    Sadenfreude

    Freefalling

    You Can Never Be Too Rich or Too Thin?

    I’ve Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts

    B31-3 Rosette Royal with a Little SR512 Fruit Punch

    You Can’t Take It with You

    Stage II

    What a Racket

    The Penny Drops

    Penicillin

    Pathological

    Acronymious

    On the Hospital Menu: Takeout

    You Can’t Make a Silk Purse out of a Sow’s Ear

    Wussy

    Air Re-conditioning

    It Costs a Lot of Money to Look This Cheap

    Spit or Swallow?

    Disabled Driver

    Stage III

    Biohazard

    Wigging Out

    That Old Red Devil Called Love

    Seeing Red

    Honeymoon

    Short Back and Sides

    Blessed Are the Children

    Opportunity Knocks!

    Escapism

    Teaching on Percocets

    Don’t Call Us—We’ll Call You!

    Neupogen

    THC, TLC, TCB

    The Funnies

    Sorry to Be So Blunt

    20-Gauge

    Day Spa

    Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow Haiku

    Yew Tree, How Scary Thou Art

    Tragicomic

    Falsies

    No Such Thing as a Free Lunch

    Tangled Up in You

    I’d Raise Eyebrows, If Anyone Had Them

    Getting Lippy

    Baa Baa Black Sheep

    Make Mine a Double

    Magic Swizzle

    Mental Floss

    Wastoid

    Hospital-Grade Benadryl

    Black Humor

    Death and Taxol

    Still Here

    Stage IV

    Recovery, à la Benjamin Button

    Blondes Have More Touching Up to Do

    (Fill in the Blank)

    Fill ’Er Up

    Pros and Cons

    Real Fake Boobs

    Rack

    Go Figure

    Reckless

    Dolly Parton Poem

    Cleavage

    A Slight Chill

    That’s Hysterical

    Mixed Metaphor

    TUBE (Totally Unnecessary Breast Exam)

    Estrogen Elegy

    Stuck Like Glue

    Chica Chica Boom Chic

    Victoria’s Secret

    Pull Yourself Up by Your Brastraps

    Punctuation

    Beating Around the Bush

    Killing Time

    You Lose Some, You Win Some

    The C-Word

    Dream Lover

    Coda

    Acknowledgments

    A Conversation with Micki Myers

    About Micki Myers

    For my dear Poppo, who wished a wish no parent should ever have come true, and Lucia, Javier, and Matthew, who are my whole world, with love.

    Don’t worry—eighty percent of these biopsies come back negative.

    —Nurse, day one

    Oh Fuck! I Have Cancer!

    There is no book in the library

    titled Oh Fuck! I Have Cancer!

    because if there was, I’d have

    checked it out. Instead, there is

    a wide selection of medical texts

    and survivor accounts and memorials

    and helpful hints featuring

    older women who are active

    in their church who have

    lots of cats and husbands

    who held them while they puked.

    There is no book that will tell me

    if silicone boobs wobble during sex

    or if reconstructed nipples chafe.

    In short, the really useful stuff.

    Publishers offering HUGE advances,

    library acquisitions officers, listen up:

    a book titled Oh Fuck! I Have Cancer!

    will be the first thing a newly diagnosed woman

    will reach for every time, I don’t care

    how many cats she has.

    Seriously.

    Call me.

    Stage I

    Dream a Little Dream of Me

    for Tim

    It begins with a dream.

    You were holding your breast, he says,

    and so I do

    and there it is,

    far to the right,

    a lump the size of a small grape.

    Or a large peanut. Or a cranberry.

    Or a cherry pit, or a bean.

    Despite all the food analogies,

    I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.

    No Way! Way.

    You only find out afterwards

    that by the time you can feel

    the lump yourself, it’s already

    been there for about ten years.

    Don’t Waffle About: Get a Mammogram!

    Despite what everyone tells you,

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