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Mel JB and Me

Most likely, by the time you read this, it’ll just be Mel and me. JB and I are going to start our trial separation tomorrow. Ok, let’s call it a straight-out divorce. I am kicking him to the curb. He came uninvited and has worn out his welcome.

To be clear: I am fine and in good spirits. JB is the name that was bestowed upon a giant (he’s not THAT big, it’s just a technical term) intramuscular lipoma that kind of snuck up on me. Why JB?

First, I should explain that we have a little habit of naming absolutely everything that we feel might have even the slightest bit of “personality”. Case in point, Blinky the Roomba (who was brutally murdered by Emmett the Newfoundland’s fur many year ago), Verdi the Subaru (who was preceded by Spot the Honda Pilot, and Ody the Odyssey), Eugene the Eufy (presently employed), and Zuess the Pool Vac (abandoned in Casa Floridiana so as not to be torn from his pool). And, I could go on.

Now, you may be thinking, sure, it’s kind of cute that those things have a name, but why in the Sam Hill would you name a tumor? That actually started with Mel. Mel was an incidental finding thanks to a trip to the hospital with severe food poisoning. They stumbled upon him before they figured out that my downfall was actually due to a piece of not-thoroughly-cooked shish kabob chicken … which incidentally turned out to be the very last piece of chicken to ever pass my lips. Fool me once …

Mel sounded scary to the kids (and to me), until I named him Mel. Then, he sounded more like a pesky intruder … something easier to accept. Mel is not going anywhere. He is behaving and we seem to be doing ok together. Don’t tell him, but I don’t even remember he’s there most of the time. He’s kind of like Mel from Mel’ Diner: scary and abrasive at first, but with a kind heart buried underneath. He’s a stromal tumor, but to the kids … he’s just Mel.

JB, on the other hand was the idea of my Sun’s friend, presented to me by my Sun. They are the initials of a current day famous person who they do not like very much. We can leave it at that. JB works. Besides, if I called him by his first name, our skeleton/Elf on the Shelf would get upset. And, JB is also much less scary now that “he” has a name.

My Moon and my Sun also embraced this tradition when they named the blebs that caused their lungs to collapse, though I won’t go into detail on those names, since this is somewhat of a family friendly blog.

I am well aware that bestowing a name doesn’t really change anything. But, it does make certain things easier to discuss. After the past few years of H-E-double-hockey-sticks, from termites to collapsed lungs and beyond, my kids are well aware of just how real reality can be. We don’t sugar coat much around here, aside from donuts. That said, I am glad that my kids … nay … my whole tribe of people understands that I prefer the light and positive approach and would much rather quip about “JB getting the axe” than talk about a procedure or any kind of tumor. I am very much a “laughter is the best medicine” kind of person.

In any case, he will not be around for much longer. And, that is fine by me. Everyone knows that three’s a crowd.

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