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Enrolling in Boob Camp

I was drafted last year. Not in the normal, run of the mill way, of course, this is me we are dealing with here. I wasn’t drafted in the whole “the few, the proud” way, or even the “be all that you can be” way. It was more like, be-a-little-less-than-you-were-yesterday kind of way.

Those of you who read my stories or know me, know that last year, close to this time, I was drafted into boob camp. I have come a long way since then, learned a lot, and am now into the reconstruction portion of my boob camp. My drill sergeant is Dr. Mullen of Post Falls, and his nurses; they are my XOs. That is not kisses and hugs, as I had originally thought; an XO is an executive officer, second in command and boy can they command!

I have gone through the first reconstruction surgery during boob camp. My drill sergeant taught my right boob to be squared away properly. (Squared away, meaning prepared, taken care of, sharp looking! And that’s one squared away boob!)

My left breast however, was not so lucky and as they had removed it last year, my drill sergeant and XOs have had their hands full (literally!) trying to stretch my skin so they can install a new and improved boob, so I can be all I can be. This, of course, is just SOP (standard operating procedure) for boob camp sick bay. (Sick bay - hospital, clinic or medical personnel.)

I go weekly, most of the time, for my miracle grow injections, but not this coming week because my drill sergeant feels the need to be all he can be in the Coeur d’Alene Ironman contest. Yeah, I have a doctor willing to jump into a freezing river on purpose, bicycle 150 miles in the heat while your wet clothes are clinging to your body giving you rashes in places I don’t even want to think about, and, still not done, you must walk/run/crawl toward the finish line only to be told someone already got there before you. That’s not even the sick part - he insists on doing it drug free. I think its pretty official that my doctor is a glutton for punishment, but he promises to be right back to boob camp in two weeks for my next injection.

Slowly, my breast tissue is actually becoming boob-shaped. It’s kinda weird, though. Painful? Well, yeah, they are stretching my skin and muscle for Pete’s sake. However, I now have one boob that is up there, standing at attention where it is supposed to be, and one boob in training to become a boob camp graduate.

It’s amazing how far technology has brought our world. I mean, I am not walking point here, (first guy leading a patrol in the jungle) but I am a real woman’s wingman here (a friend willing to take one for the team). Every time I get the miracle grow injections (with the biggest needle created), I think to myself, “one small step for womankind.”

This is a process that is constantly changing as new things are being learned. I thank God weekly that the “Louies” in the front office, (first or second lieutenants), don’t make my appointments at dark ugly each week. (dark ugly - early morning). The buzz (rumor) has it that I wont be getting a bob tail (dishonorable discharge), but will be finishing boob camp with flying colors. (Flying colors, my own lingo for “hooray, finally, woo hoo, it’s done, I now am the proud owner of real BOOBS!)

I am a little shook up, though (battle fatigue) and am looking forward to a nice, long, well-earned leave. I need leave, just to get away from all the rules and regs (rules and regs - Jinx is gonna break most of them) that my drill sergeant and XOs give me. Who knew you couldn’t sunbathe? Not that I sunbathe, but I am outside a lot.

I have so far followed all their instructions, though, and managed to survive. However, it hasn’t been easy. My “almost” boobs and I went camping in Noxon, Montana a few weeks ago. I needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the evening, and instead of going to one of the willing businesses across the street, I opted to pee behind a nearby tree. Unfortunately the ground behind the tree lead straight down the bank of the river, and as I pulled my skivvies (underwear) down, I plunged head over tea kettle down the bank, plopping my naked rear end into a very cold body of water. I hit my head on the way down at least twice, my back and shoulders are still hating me, if I had any modesty left in my life I would have been concerned that someone saw me. All I could think about on the way down towards my demise was..... MY BOOB! What will my XOs and Dr. Drill Sergeant say?!

I am still sore, but alive. I have hair again, I have one boob and a boob in training and when it grows up, it too will be a real boob. I am not going to complain too much about my life. I have learned that life is way too short to surround yourself with negativity, too short not to take a chance on love, too short to be in a hurry all the time and way too short not to laugh. I also learned that my new boobs are almost indestructible. Dr. Mullen says it would be really hard to injure or ruin one of them, which is very comforting to me. I guess I am almost as relieved as Wayne Bobbitt in a really weird and disturbing kind of way.

As for boob camp, I am now officially a short timer (a sailor with less that 90 days until discharge and sporting an attitude to match). I am grateful for boob camp though, grateful it exists in my lifetime and that there are doctors, nurses and medical staff willing to put up with patients like me!

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Jinx Beshears Jinx Beshears is a southern transplant to North Idaho, and shares her confusion with the Pacific Northwest Lifestyle in her column, Jinxed. When not writing, or living, her outlandish stories, she's generally lost somewhere in the mountains with her dog, Aspen.

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