The Fake Boob

Aside from some wonderful gossip, the most emotionally charged bumper stickers ever invented and a rock climbing wall the Army also provides us with a really rocking health care plan. It's the kind of health care that rich people and Canadians have, maybe even better. So far I've seen three doctors, one of them twice and have appointments to see two more in the coming months. Seeing a doctor is like going to the movies for me now, it's become a form of much needed entertainment.

And the best part is its all free. No co-pay, no deductible, nothing. I just have to show up with my magic ID card and smile.

So the before last trip to the Military Treatment Facility (MTF) was to see my Primary Care Manager (my general, everyday use doctor), Dr. Herna Llamas. She is small like a Hobbit and has some kind of accent. For some reason I trust foreigners more than the average American, and so I liked her immediately.

When you sign up with TriCare, which is what this whole situation is called, you get to pick a plan (small, medium or large health care please). I chose large or Prime as they call it, because we live close to a base so doctors within the TriCare network are easy to come by. If I lived in the jungle or Puerto Rico or somewhere, I may have chosen medium or small so that I could see whatever doctor was available to me, voodoo shaman, network provider or not.

With Prime you also pick a Primary Care Manager (PCM) to be your go-to doctor. So anything at all that goes wrong with me, I see my PCM first and then she is either able to treat it herself or refer me to another health care provider who specializes in whatever kind of problem I have. As long as I follow that order of operations, everything is 100% covered, as in we pay zero.

Well I don't know about EVERYTHING, but anything with in a normal range of things that could go wrong with me is covered. I'm sure if I needed CNN's Dr. Sanjay Gupta for neurosurgery or Extreme Makeover plastic reconstruction surgery then someone would have to pay something.

Anyways a few weeks ago I was at the MTF to see my little PCM for a ________. During the ________ she's trying to get me to _____ and so while my ____ are in the ________ she asks me where _________ is and then when I tell her, "Ummmm, __________?", she says "Oh! ______? Yes? I know ______, all of the movie stars are living there and they have the beautiful bodies and ok you can take your ____ and _____ it down ______ oh, okay very nice, good."

Once I am clothed in more than just a paper napkin again, she turns to me wanting to talk about self breast exams. My policy on self breast exams is that they will be done about once every so often when I both remember and feel like it. Much like my policy on flossing.

However my policy concerning both the Dentist and the Doctor is to inflate the frequency of these actions so as to not seem irresponsible or stupid.

Only this time she saw right through me. This time she reached into her secret drawer and pulled out a MINI FAKE BOOB and said I could take it home with me! Is this the BEST health care system in the WORLD or what?!

Naturally I raced home and hung it off the one bedpost that's currently being topped by a wine cork.

The cork is on there to protect my Army Husband from accidentally impaling his eyeball on the huge dangerous screw that sticks out of the top of that particular post while he's fumbling around in the dark trying to get dressed in the morning.

Doesn't that sound ominous?

ONE LUMP CAN BE FELT.

THE OTHER CAN ONLY BE SEEN.

Like its a vampire lump starring with Kristin Stewart in the next Dark Moon sequel.

Maybe thats just me.

It is possible that this is way funnier to me than other people, but I'm going to continue regardless.

Here's the backside. Its a step by step diagram of how to give yourself a breast exam. Complete with a pretty racy illustration.

Here's a close up of the self examinee. It's like a soft core porn illustration with medical overtones. I imagine night orderlies at dingy hospitals are into this sort of thing.

Just imagine if everyone had a health care plan like mine! We'd all have access to mini fake boobs and borderline inappropriate cartoons and small foreign doctors and the world would be a happy, healthy place. Yay!

Now because I've been such a GIRL lately, my overall motivation has ideologically shifted. These days I operate mostly on presents and/or the promise of presents as opposed to values and/or morals. Basically, I can be bought.

Whether Dr. Llamas knew this about me or not, her small present was just what the doctor ordered (teehee). Now if only the dentist could get his act together. If I could bring home like a bisected tooth model, I'd be much more excited about flossing.