I have anxiety disorder.
I am panicky, and anxious, and I spazz out really, really easily.
I am not rational or logical. Ever.
When I get sick, it’s always on Friday night, so I have the whole entire weekend to rationalize why I am probably dying.
It’s a good time.
So, the night before Christmas Eve, I went to bed feeling crappy.
My right boob hurt.
So, I laid in bed, doing my half-assed version of a self breast exam, which pretty much consisted of me pulling on my nipple, all pissed it’s numb and not at all arousable anymore thanks to babies and standing too close to the microwave when I make nachos, and I felt something.
A lump something.
And, my heart sunk, and my hands got clammy, and I went over that spot on my breast until it was bright red and it didn’t even feel like my own boob anymore, but rather, some weird leather sack of marbles.
It was 2am.
Who do you call at 2am, on what is now, officially, Christmas Eve, to tell you found a lump in your breast?
I sat up in my bed, full of my small, angelic little babies because their new rooms are still too spooky to sleep in, and spent the next 4 hours tapping away at Dr. Blackberry as visions of breast cancer danced through my head.
Because, that’s what it means, right?
I found a lump in my good for nothing breast, and now all I can do is cry, alone, at 2am, because the thought of not growing old with my husband, or seeing my children grow up is incomprehensible to me.
Never mind that breast cancer isn’t a death sentence, or that 80 some odd percentage of lumps turn out to be anything but breast cancer.
At 2am. On Christmas Eve. My reality was, that the scary lump in my right breast was bad. Really, really bad.
I thought about the women I know with breast cancer. The ones who have beaten it. The ones who haven’t. The ones I talk to on twitter, or see on TV.
I quickly realize. I am not as strong as these women.
I am fat and lazy and great at pop culture trivia and making pancakes, but I am not good at fighting things like cancer.
And then I thought, who the fuck is?
Suzzane Sommer.
She is super good at fighting cancer. And getting eye lifts.
But, all her saggy neck skin totally looks like a clitoris.
I called my doctor, and he convinced me it’s Mastitis, and an after Christmas office visit and feel up confirmed it.
Which makes sense, now, in the light of day.
Of course, I felt stupid.
But, not as stupid as this one time in my very early twenties, when I went to bed still kinda stoned, and I half dreamed that my brother had gotten into a car accident with that girl who played Six Lemeure from Blossom.
My dad was so pissed when I called him at 4am.
Sigh. It’s a good thing Mayim Bialik is so super smart, because I saw her on What Not To Wear, and girl had some wicked side burns and baby bangs from hell.
{ 60 comments… read them below or add one }
← Previous Comments
I’m glad you’re OK. Must be the season. I recently was checking myself out, too, and a little concerned. Fortunately it went away. Or seems to have. It is pretty freakin’ scary, though.
I know I’m not witty, so I won’t try…just wanted to say that thanks for the laughs this morning. And glad it’s “just” mastitis.
I totally have a PhD in practically everything and anything to do with the female body/disorders/rashes/insert whatever gripe here cos I know how to work google baby. Seriously, I can freak myself out over the crap that I find. I would totally call my other half like ”omg babe, for reals, I think I have an illness that effects like .001% of all the african population” I’ll spend the next half an hour detailing why I don’t have to be African to have it.
I am sooooo glad it wasn’t too serious, although it does sound like it hurt. Take some sympathy and a happy smile from someone who is so relieved it was just a hot breast (*pant*) and not breast cancer.
So glad to hear you don’t have the Big C.
Sad to hear it’s mastitis, because that sucks the big one too. I had mastitis so bad I had to have surgery on my boob, and it’s never been the same.
Hope you’re better!!
If you need Laef to double check when you visit, I am pretty sure he’d say yes.
WHY? Why don’t you live next door to me? I so empathize with you. I have had mastitis with all 3 of the little kids running around here. It sucks. I had it, like, 3 weeks ago and even though I knew what it was the third time around, I still felt like saying my goodbyes and writing my will at (guess.) 3 am.
And.
I saw that episode of What Not to Wear, too. I was thinking, “Blossom? What happened, girl?” Every time I see What Not to Wear, I get inspired and I look down at dry breast milk stains on my shirt and old, yellow poop on the pajama pants I made into shorts (I got hot) and think, “If I could just get some pointy shoes I could elongate my chub-a-dub-dub self.”
I think it’s possible you are living inside my head and it cracks me up! I have this very same discussion with myself probably more times than I should admit. My husband says I need to stop worrying so much. It’s like, “Thanks dear…stop worrying… (Cue eye roll) I never thought of that!” If only I could. We should set up some kind late night irrational worriers hot line.
Loooooooooooooove your writing and sasssiness and crisp wit! XXX Glad to hear the boobs are healthy– YEAH!!!!!!!!!!
I totally thought I had worms once when I was pregnant. Because there were tiny white pieces of WORMS coming out in my poop! After researching it on-line, calling my mom and my BFF, they asked me what I had eaten recently. You guessed it, about 5 cups of white rice. So what? It could have been worms.
← Previous Comments