With this post, I think I will have officially mastered the overshare. You have been warned.
My problem boob has been a bit achy this week, so this morning I dialed up ye olde breast doctor (Yes. I have one of those.) I keep forgetting that he prides himself on meeting patients within 30 seconds of a phone call.
The lovely ladies on staff told me to come on in, so I hustled over to Riverside expecting him to feel around a bit and schedule another ultrasound. Maybe he’d offer me an ice pack and an acetaminophen or two and tell me to keep an eye on things in the meantime. I was surprised to hear that I would be needing surgery. On Monday.
Apparently the benign tumor from 2009 (rhyme!) has grown to Biblical proportions and it will be removed NOW, rendering my boob useless for breastfeeding at least for a week and probably forever.
IS THIS DOCTOR SHILLING FOR SIMILAC?!
I guess because the cyst has continued to grow and has discolored my skin a bit there is DANGER ahead. He said that it was not cancerous but had “malignant qualities,” and used some big words to describe it that I asked him to repeat but I’m kind of glad I forget. It’s probably best that I stay away from Google.
I’m not sure why Doc went ALL HANDS ON DECK so quickly. If I hadn’t called him, I’d still have my adorable little tumor on Monday–unless of course it’s planning to spring forth from my chest like a cancerous Alien this weekend. I’m beginning to think this guy is an alarmist. A sweet, tender old man alarmist.
The conversation kinda went like this:
“We’re going to need to take that out.”
“But I hoped to continue to breastfeed for a few more months.”
“We’re going to need to take that out now.”
“But I worked so hard to establish my supply and I literally just got comfortable with everything and the milk was flowing and everyone was finally fat and happy and”
“It needs to come out.”
“I’ll see you Monday morning.”
I’m really bummed. Kind of devastated, actually.
My girl and I were just getting settled in.
Despite the frustrations documented on theteet.com, I actually really enjoy breastfeeding and am not at all ready to even think about giving it up. Sometimes when we pick Molly up from the Manny, we’ll get her home and she’ll eat for like, an hour. Like she missed me or something. It’s our thing. It’s our gig. We talk about things. I’m not ready to detach. I’m very, very sad.
The doctor said I could continue to feed her on the left side after the meds wear off in 24 hours or so, and then I could gradually introduce the right side again after I heal. He said that the right side would likely quit producing milk (but not before the incision would LEAK MILK, of course. Brilliant.) and my left side would either follow along, or it would go into overdrive and try to make up for the loss.
He said I would probably need to “finish her off” on the left side only. And he didn’t sound too positive that this would continue to work. He said I would be way too sore to roll this Lactation Train into the station.
Clearly he has no idea how truly stubborn I am.
So this Sunday I’m going to snuggle in with my little lady and we’ll decide how best to move forward.
My boobs hurt when I don’t feed someone for four hours. A whole week or two is going to be … uncomfortable.
I’m really glad that I’ll be engorged while recovering from having half my right boob carved out with an ice cream scoop. And I’ll be lactating from an open wound?!
This is going to be awesome.
But I do love a good challenge, now, don’t I?
About 15 rounds ago, I used to joke that God was keeping me in the hospital until I broke down and became a nurse like he wanted. Now, I still make that joke, but I laugh nervously afterward.
Ladyparts ATTACK II is turning out to be quite the sequel.
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