Boobs – An update

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First of all, I want to thank those who sent their good wishes and positive thoughts my way.  These past months haven’t been easy.  Thank you.

When I finally got my sonomammogram results, I felt myself get anxious while opening the envelope.

“[…] there are no solid or liquid-filled cysts.  There is architectural distortion.”

Architectural what?

I quickly googled the term and got a little more frightened with every link I clicked.  Architectural distortion is of concern, according to the websites I found.  It is the third most popular sign of breast cancer.  I couldn’t help but cry in front of my computer.  The thought of developing cancer at my age tore me apart.  My mom thought I was overreacting and tried to calm me down.  I didn’t care if I hadn’t yet talked to my doctor about the results, the C-word scared me to death.

I tried setting an appointment with the same doctor as last time, but she was vacay-ing somewhere in the US.  I asked to set it with anyone available and all I got was: “The doctors are completely booked this week and will go on vacation this weekend.  They’ll be back on the 17th.”

Waiting until June 17th was not an option for me.  My only chance at getting an appointment was to harass the receptionist each day hoping for a cancellation.

Monday came, Monday went.  I called throughout the day and could sense the irritation in the receptionist’s tone.   My mom called me at 9:00 AM on Tuesday saying there was a slot at 10:00.  Someone had cancelled.  I got up, showered, didn’t have breakfast and ran to my car, which of course, wouldn’t start.  It took me several minutes of uncontrollable anger to get the damn thing to move.  I was already late.

I got to the hospital at 10:15 and spent about 5 minutes in the elevator thanks to people who get on it just to go one floor up.

I got there, paid for my “consultation,” handed over my results and waited.  That wait was the slowest half hour of my life.

“Melanie…”

Finally, the assistant called me and led me to one of the examination rooms.  Another 15 minutes passed and one of the oldest doctors came in.  I told him about my breasts and the possible causes, according to my original doctor.  He asked for the x-rays and took a long time to look at them.

“You’re ok.  You’re young, only 21 and in this case ‘architectural distortion’ means difference in density between breasts.  It’s normal.”

I questioned him several times explaining the intense pain I felt not so long ago and the lumps I discovered.  He said that if the pain has reduced and the lumps don’t feel as hard as they did weeks ago, it’s not anything malignant.  He suggested taking vitamin E if the pain came back (if I decided to start drinking coffee again—Yes, please.)

I thanked him many times and got out of the office with a smile on my face.  I had to believe him because he was old, had gray hair, which meant he was experienced.  (2 points for my logic– haha.) Nobody was waiting for the elevator, just me.  I got in it alone and took advantage of that fact by grabbing my boobies and thinking: “You babies are here to stay.”

Thanks to this scare, I learned the importance of checking for lumps in the shower and made a promise to myself: get my breasts professionally checked at least twice a year.  It also made me appreciate life and realize how little I’ve done to leave my mark.  I will not take life for granted anymore and won’t waste so much time in front of a TV.  I want to experience life and be someone.

The first thing I did when I got home wasn’t watch TV.  I brewed myself a cup of delicious coffee and looked out the window to appreciate the daylight I used to take for granted.

Boobs

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I hated my teenage years, but it wasn’t because of high school.  I, as a matter of fact, loved it.  I didn’t like the school at all, but the memories created in it will forever stay in my heart.  I hated them because I was stupid enough to not like the way I looked.

At first, I was one of those girls not willing to give up her sport bras because they were so comfty, but as soon as I heard the guys commenting on whoever’s boobies and how amazing they looked, I ditched my comfty friends.  I begged my mom to buy me what I called real bras.  They were usually the cheap ones that come in two packs.  You know, the ones with no bra straps after two washes.  I wore those babies and felt free until I saw whateverhernameis’s almost button popped shirt.  It was dangerous. A rapid movement could’ve popped one of those poorly sewn-on buttons, possibly blinding whoever was staring at her ta-tas.   I wanted to be dangerous like her, but my 32B puppies didn’t let me. 

Google became my worst enemy because it never explained to me how to make my breasts grow.  So… This is going to sound crazy… I put on some weight, on purpose.  Looking back, the body I had was pretty amazing.  True hourglass, my jeans were size 3, sometimes a 5 and I fit into small sized shirts.  Why did I have to be so obsessed with breasts?! 

The scale went up.  A lot.  It took me only a few months to go from 115 to 130-something.  I stuck to my poor eating habits and before I knew it, the scale was at 145 by the time I was a junior.  My hips became wider, my thighs rubbed even more against each other and my butt got bigger, making me fit only in size 11-13 jeans.  My breasts, on the other hand, got to a 36B.  Sadly, it was just four inches of back fat.  I was officially pear shaped. 

I started buying push up bras but moved on to water ones after seeing an episode of Gilmore Girls where Paris Geller says they look more natural.  My water bras got deformed in the washing machine, as well as my boobies, because I wore them that way. 

I became a college student and put on the freshman 20, not 15.  I weighed almost 170 pounds.  This time, it wasn’t on purpose.  A year passed and I got rid of 15 of those 20 pounds, but I also became highly addicted to coffee.  At first, I didn’t like the taste.  I only had it to wake up.  As time passed, I began liking the taste and a cup became two and two became three.  I was having three medium cups of coffee a day!  Even if I was about to go to bed!

Recently, I started noticing a severe discomfort when I slept in my favorite position: drown in the pillow (face down).  My breasts got extremely sore and I could barely touch them.  I forced myself to sleep face up even though it wasn’t easy.  I sometimes took a Benadryl to fall asleep in this position easier.  I thought the pain was caused by the fact that I stopped wearing a bra to sleep because oddly, they wear a little tight.  I began wearing one again.  The pain didn’t go away and a few weeks ago, while taking a shower, I felt something in both breasts, a cluster of grapes-like feeling lump on top of both of my areolas.   My tears got lost in the shower.  I was scared and I didn’t know what to do.   I felt them again, and found a pearl-like lump in my right breast.  I quickly got out and went crying to my mom, asking her to check them.  She confirmed that somethings were in there. 

A couple of mornings after my discovery, I had my morning coffee and went to the OBGYN.  After the awkward sex-related questions, she asked me to undress my top half and began feeling them.  She asked me if I had a lot of coffee or if I ate chocolate occasionally.  No to the chocolate, yes to the coffee.  She ordered me to quit drinking coffee cold turkey for a few weeks and to get some tests done.   Lastly, she asked me if I had noticed a change in size.  I said “yes.”

It seems I got what I wished for, bigger breasts.   

I still don’t know for sure if the caffeine is what caused the lumps to develop.  I’m getting my last test done tomorrow and I will find out what it is exactly that I’m feeling in them.  The pain has diminished, but the lumps are still there. 

I decided to share this with you not only to make you realize how careful you have to be when blowing out candles on your birthday, because your wish may actually come true, but because we can’t waste time hating out bodies or certain body parts—they’re the only ones we have.