Growing up, I wasn't a particularly sickly child.....but I wasn't a particularly healthy child either. Yes, I was active, and loved to play outside with rollarblades, the netball hoop in our driveway, and climbing my favourite tree up onto the garage roof when I was ten, much to my mothers horror (GET DOWN NOW!). I didn't know what the big deal was....until eventually I broke my arm falling from that very tree. Apologies Mum, I now understand your thoughts for my safety. We ate well as children, so well in fact that I was always trying to swap my wholegrain/multigrain sandwich and Amway apple juice with my friends for something far more interesting. And most of the time, they wanted to swap too. Not sure who that reflects on worse.....me, because I wanted something a little tastier than what mum had packed in my lunch box, or them, because they were craving something a little more substantial than what their mother had packed for them (canteen money).
But I did suffer pretty bad asthma as a child and several times ended up with pnuemonia. I remember one time in particular, when I must have been around 9 or 10. I was so sick I could hardly move, and my bestie Belinda brought around one of her favourite toys before school that I could look after until I was feeling much better. I think it was her Maggie Simpson doll. As I stood at the front door trying to thank her between rasping breaths, all I could think about was that I was either going to pass out, or vomit on her. But I managed thanked her, she left for school, and I promptly vomited as soon as I was out of line of sight.
Our family doctor was a cranky, rude, and brash kind of guy, who often rubs people up the wrong way (not physically!). But he was a good doctor. So good in fact that he is near IMPOSSIBLE to get into on the day you actually need to see a doctor, so I was forced to branch out as an adult to find a new family doctor. After trial and error, I have found one I am reasonably happy with at the moment. And unforunately he isn't old, rude and cranky, but young, lovely and understanding. What's that? You think these things are good characteristics in a doctor?! Well, I suppose so, but it makes for awkward situations when I am forever trying to force my boobs upon him.
Now I have your attention. No, I am not trying to sexually assault my poor lovely new doctor, or accost him with these big boys through means of entrapment. I'm simply trying to get to the bottom of the issue at hand on the day, and it always seems that my boobs might be the route of all problems.
You remember back in March that we went on a houseboat trip and I achieved many awesome things that week, like stand up paddle boarding, wakeboarding and working out with the lads? Well at the end of that holiday of epic awesomeness, literally as we drove into our home town and dropped Stafford off at his place, I said hmmmmm, my throat is sore. Within about 90 mins of that statement, I was shivering to all buggery in the shower, turning it up hotter and hotter and just not being able to warm up. I climbed into bed, in my hoody, trackies and socks and spent the night shivering away under a horrible fever that wouldn't shake.
Now, that just sounds like a normal sickness yes? Fever, sore throat? Well, yes normally, but of course then there were my boobs! You see, at the beginning of that week, I had finally dropped Lucy's last breastfeed and my boobs were EXPLODING in pain! I couldn't lie down. It hurt to walk. I couldn't hold Lucy without them killing me. I was a mess of sore throat AND horrendously sore boobs! And for those of you that know boobs, you may also know a little infection called mastitis. Which can come along when you are weening off feeding. So it wasn't completely unreasonable of me to fear that I had developed a horrid case of mastitis, right!?
So in I go to our young, lovely and understanding doctor who asks me what is going on. I say (in my deepest man voice imaginable) "I think I have mastitis! I have just weened Lucy (who of course he knows very well) 10 days ago and my boobs might actually explode soon! They are killing me! I have a sore throat too." So the doctor says "have you any red spots on your breasts, or any lumps?" No. "alright, I may have to check your breasts, but how about I look at your throat first?" Sure. So he looks into my mouth and says very quickly "what you have is a nasty case of tonsilitis". And then we talked about normal breast engorgement after weening. How embarrassing! Greg always teases me about this and we laugh at the fact that I went to the doctor with tonsilitis and almost gave him an eye full for fun!
Which of course would be fine if it was just that time. But recently I have noticed (much to my alarm) that one side is growing again and I now belong in the majority of the population who have one side bigger than the other. Feet, hands, arms, balls, boobs! Apparently everyone has something. And apparently it's my turn to experience this joy! Except it isn't a joy. Not at all. Because if you know me or have seen me in person, you could attest to the fact that I already have my fair share (and probably the fair share of 3 or 4 other girls too!) in breast tissue, and do not require the growth of either of my boobs! In fact, I detest such an event! And this one-sidedness has me concerned, as I fear I will begin to walk with a slight turn towards one direction and start veering off into oncoming traffic or something!
So back to the doctor I went. Back to my young, nice, happy doctor to show him my boobs for real. Because noticing sudden changes in your boobs is something to take serious note of, and certainly something to get checked out. Even if it is mortifying. And as he stood in front of me and assessed my boobs, poking here and prodding there, staring here and lifting there, all I could wish for was my cranky old rude doctor who would say something stupid which would make me resent him and I could just focus on that instead of the current situation I was in. After a thorough examination, my lovely, young, understanding doctor announces to me (and Lucy who is standing next to me, staring in fascination at this strange happening) that there is no medical issue with my boob becoming larger than the other one, that he is satisfied that I do not need to be concerned, and that perhaps if it is a real issue for me cosmetically, there were paths that I could take to rectify that. Thank you, you can put your top back on.
So each visit I see the doctor now, all I can think is 'are you thinking about poking and prodding my boobs?'. Probably not. But maybe!
I went to visit him yesterday again. Because I seem to have contracted a cold, which turned into a chest infection, which has the added joy (again, joy is not the right word!) of SEVERE asthma attached to it which basically means I can hardly breathe. But this time, I felt so shitty I forgot all about showing my boobs to him, and just got down to the task at hand. Hit me with your best drugs so I can stop feeling like I am going to cough a lung up and have a prolapse!
Blah!
Anyway, the message of the story today is that if you need to see your doctor, always offer him/her the opportunity to check over your boobs just in case. No wait. That isn't really the message. The message is, if you notice a change, probably it will be nothing, but better to be safer than sorry. Get it checked by a professional. And then forget about it as soon as you can. Because it is still embarrassing. But embarrassment is better than cancer that could have been cured if caught earlier.
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That goes for you boys too you know! Get your balls and prostate checked! Now GO!
P.S This blog does not give you the right to stare at my boobs next time we see each other, or try and pick which one is bigsy! I have written this so you will take care with your body and track all changes, and react appropriately. And because it's funny. ;)
Ciao for now,
LG - Life's Great!
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