Issues With Breasts

Warning: Some parts might be a little TMI.


Last year or around October of last year, I noticed blood from my right nipple. I chose to do the right thing and tell my doctor. She referred me to the Breast Center. It’s a place a person goes for possible breast cancer. Well, I did go through with the tests. The mammogram came up negative and the ultrasound turned up negative. I did turn up positive for a blood sample. They wanted me to do a biopsy and I refused. Maybe I’m stupid or foolish, but I just got out of a surgery for my gall-bladder. I’ve had 10 surgeries for the past few years and I wanted to give my body a break from surgeries. I foolishly declined.

Two days ago, I went in for my yearly pelvic and breast exam. All cool, right? Not so fast! My doctor discovered two cysts on the same right breast that had the nipple discharge. Go ahead and call me an idiot. I deserve it. I didn’t want to undergo another surgery. I had countless surgeries. 4 of my kids were born via c-section, an abdominal hernia repair surgery, a uterine repair surgery, surgery on my ears (twice) with my adenoids and tonsils removed, thyroid and neck dissection surgery (for another cancer scare), gall bladder removed, and I didn’t want to go back under the knife. I felt like my body was trying to recover from surgery after surgery. It needed to repair itself.

Now, I have to undergo another mammogram and ultrasound. This time, I can’t leave without the biopsy. I laid there and I cried on the table over my stubborn decision. I brought this on myself. What’s worse? My husband took me out that night. He’s the last person, I wanted to tell, but I had to tell him. He’s my rock and pillar of strength. And he didn’t breakdown. He stayed positive. “It could be nothing. Let’s not worry until we have the biopsy results.” Straight and level-headed. He’s right. There’s no use in worrying until we see the Breast Center and until we have the biopsy results back.

Just the look on my doctor’s face, told me that there was something wrong. She made a face that alarmed me. “Why didn’t you check your breasts?” It was simple. I hate looking at my breasts. I didn’t want to touch them or look at them. Why? I also have a disorder called macromastia. I hated these things, since they emerged at age 8. I was often bullied over them in school. Girls thought I stuffed my bra when I didn’t. I made more friends with boys vs. girls. I was the girl they liked having around but not date. I often wore double shirts to conceal my breasts. I even tied them down quite a few times to hide them. I hated them that fucking much.

My husband, when we were dating was shocked when I took off my shirts. He had no clue how large my breasts were. It looked like I was fat. In all honesty, I wanted them to disappear. My doc made that face and you know a look of disappointment and fear rolled into one look. She immediately got on the phone with the breast center as I was leaving the office.

My doctor also made a deal with me. If I go to the Breast Center, she will put in a recommendation to have my breasts reduced. But, I have to make sure these lumps are non-cancerous first. And she knew just how much, I loathed my breasts with a passion. They are the annoyance to my life. The same things that hindered my social life is now hindering my health. I could quite possibly, be battling for my fucking life. I wish we were given the option at birth. “Do you want breasts or don’t want breasts?” I would have picked no breasts. My husband sweetened the deal with a tummy tuck. I have the potential to drop a ton of weight, since I also have the excess skin from massive weight loss. Damn them! I don’t want my breasts to be squished by that damn machine. But, I have to live. I don’t want someone else raising my kids.

Let my tale of woe be a cautionary one to all people, not just women. If you suspect anything, get it checked out by a doctor. Don’t be a fool like me. I chose to sit on it. Now, I could quite possibly be battling for my life from breast cancer. I tried to make a morbid joke and my family didn’t think it was appropriate. “Either way, I’m losing my breasts.” Look at me, making bad jokes at the wrong time! I had to lighten the mood, but I think I pissed people off. Those inappropriate jokes will get angry glares from your family members. Even if you hate your breasts, self-exams are that important. Especially, when you’re battling a variety of autoimmune diseases on top of this. Get that shit checked out. The same with testicles. Check those out, too. Don’t sit on it. Your health could be at stake.