I broke my boob!

I'm in Kansas City visiting my family and friends and I was all ready to write about that and share the pictures when I went and broke my boob.  So I'm writing about that instead - because I like saying I broke my boob and for funsies I'm going to see how many boob-euphemisms I can work into this post.


I arrived last Thursday.  My best friend had her wedding reception on Saturday which was the main reason for my trip.  Drew was supposed to come to KC as well but at the last minute his work thing got canceled but I decided to stay anyway.  The picnic/reception was great as was hanging out with my friends and family.  I even got to go out with Heather which is always such a treat, as well as spend time with my other friends.  But back to my chesticles!


Sunday night I went to sleep but had lots of trouble actually falling asleep because I sleep on my left side and my left ta-ta was bothering me.  It wasn't horribly painful but enough that I tossed and turned all night.  I woke up Monday morning and my left bazoom was downright killing me!  I'm not one to complain so after I sent some text messages to Drew I went to lunch with Brandi.


*reproduction of actual text messages, since my camera is downstairs* 
Me:  I bruised my boob and you don't even care
(thirty seconds later) Me:  They're probably gonna have to chop it off and then I'll be boobless and then what are you gonna do....
(forty seconds later)  Me:  Just call me OneBoob McGee
(thirty seconds later) Me:  WHY DON'T YOU CARE ABOUT MY BOOOOOOOB!


Twenty minutes after that, Drew called me. "I was in a meeting, what is wrong with you and why are you weird?"  
"My bewbie hurts."  
"Well, have you called someone?"  
"Not yet."  
"Can you please do that?"  
"Baby I broke my boooob!"  
"You're weird, call a doctor please."  
"Fine."


I blew it off, figuring that my body is just being retarded and it's just a weird manifestation from the miscarriages.  It's a long shot I know, but I didn't think too much of it.  I thought I slept on it funny, or that it was just a random ache that would just go away on its own.  Until it didn't go away.  I woke up Tuesday and it was worse.  Then I took notice - I like my breas-ti-sis and didn't want anything to happen to them.  I called my doctor and she couldn't see me until next Tuesday. On the off chance there was an issue, I didn't feel good waiting that long.  My mom had an appointment with her gynecologist that day and suggested that I see if they could fit me in, just to make sure everything was cool.


The appointment gods smiled on me that day and they did fit me in at KU Med - a teaching hospital.  That meant I had a med student observing while the resident? attending? fellow? palpated my girls.  Super. NOT. fun.  My left chi-chi was hollering in protest!  The doctor said he'd never seen anything like this - doncha just love when they say that?  I was so glad I could be the first - he said pain like that usually happens with new mothers, like a clogged milk duct or something like that.  Since we all know that is not the case, he referred me to a specialist who by the grace of God had an opening the next morning.  This morning.


Rolling in to the KU Cancer Center was not cool.  The facility was state-of-the-art and the staff was crazy nice but I was unsettled to be in the waiting room with people having chemo treatments.  They took me back and the doctor was a sweet young guy who had me biting my lip - from the excessive manipulation of my poor little melon.  I did indeed have a lump and enlarged lymph nodes so he ordered me a mammogram - which I got at two that afternoon!  The appointment gods were blowing sunshine on me at that point.  However, I don't know how grateful I should be because mammograms HURT!!!


Having a painful lump squeezed to within an inch of your life is not the coolest way to spend your afternoon - I can now say that from experience.  Here it is almost midnight and I'm still sore!  Long story short, they found several cysts, enlarged lymph nodes, yet nothing scary or dangerous.  Hey guess what?  Cysts and lymph nodes are scary in my book!  Because you know what that means?


More. fucking. needles.  INTO MY JUGS.  Well, my jug anyway.


I've heard several times over, from the doctor and reputable sources that cancer doesn't hurt so I'm not worried at all.  However, given that cysts are not normally supposed to set up shop in the boobular region, the next logical step is to biopsy them.  Yippee fucking cool.  I have to wait until the doctor reads all the ultrasounds pictures and mammogram film together to make a determination as to what to do next but I'm not anxiously awaiting his call.  I know those doctors, they're gonna be all 'I'm not sure what's wrong with you so we're gonna have to stick a long fucking needle into your rack to find out what's in there and why it's hurting you.'  I know your game punk!  


I already thought about faking them out and being like 'Well would ya look at that!  It doesn't hurt anymore!  I'm cured!  No need for the boob-needle!'  But then I try to cross my arms over my chest and I can't.  Because it hurts.  Boo hiss.


As of this moment the leftie is still tender to the touch and swole up a little bigger than the rightie.  The doctor is supposed to call within the next few days to let me know what he recommends I do - I'm hoping he says that they're all morons, their machines are lame and there's nothing wrong that rest and a bottle of wine can't fix.  That would be awesome, because my mother and Drew are conspiring against me and I wouldn't put it past them to slip me something in my drink and subject me to the boob-needle.  


On a serious note though, my husband is scared.  I don't like that.  I keep trying to reassure him that there's nothing wrong and I'm sure my body will get the message and evict the cysts soon enough, but he's not hearing me.  He's upset that he can't be here for me and I hate that for him.  I'm near positive it's nothing and it's all going to resolve itself like, tomorrow but he's still super concerned.  I totally love him for that but I don't like seeing him worried about me.  I'm fine - my what-nots are just out of commission for a quick second, nothing more.  I'm sure of it.


Because I can't have anything wrong with me.  I'm going on vacation in July with my awesome fabulous wonderful husband, the dog is behaving, I'm having fun with my family, my friends are wonderful and have you seen my guest bedroom lately?  Too much is going right for things to go wrong.  I'm fine. 


Please let things be okay.  Please God don't let me be sick.