At midnight on Wednesday we recieved a message from our house-guests to be. They had been due to arrive Friday but could they please come Thursday instead?
We could hardly say no, they had nowhere else to stay. So, Thursday was spent running around doing all of the jobs that I had planned to do at a more relaxed pace. Also having a boob ultrasound. To say I was stressed and worn out by the time they arrived at 2:30pm would be like my saying I was a bit short of breath after running a marathon.
Still, their visit kept me busy, meaning I couldn’t look at my boob every five seconds to see if it looked different. I also couldn’t get anywhere near my laptop. After they left on Saturday I was so exhausted that Beefy banned me from the internet, I couldn’t even bargain my way into returning some emails. Very annoying but a spell reading in bed was probably just what I needed. At least I can keep myself awake now, which is nice.
The boob ultrasound showed nothing. I had been hoping for cysts, actually I was still holding out a vain hope for cysts when I visited my GP this morning to talk about our next move.
She ummed and ooohed a bit, had a quick look at the boob, which was still a bit mottled and purple and said “Right, you need to see a boob specialist”.
I opted to see a private specialist instead of waiting the weeks or months it might take to see one at a public hospital. My GP phoned one that was quite nearby and instead of offering me an appointment they said to just come down and she would fit me in.
Fit me in she did (we waited only ten minutes, which is less time than I usually wait when I DO have a specialist appointment) and after a brief chat she had a look and feel of the boobs and did a quick ultrasound.
Like the previous ultrasound, she found nothing but felt she had an answer for the boob pain. She feels that I DID have mastitis and one of the courses of antibiotics sorted that out. The reason that the swelling didn’t disappear? My old faithful, fibromyalgia. It seems to be a catch all for doctors looking to explain anything and everything that happens to my body. In this case though, I think she’s right.
She said that when she touched the muscles underneath my boob, they seemed sore and inflamed. She thinks I’ve managed to strain those muscles in the course of sparing my boob extra pain when it was infected. Apparently she’s seen it in women with fibromyalgia before, they get this sort of problem and it causes them waaay more pain than it might in others. It never would have occured to me in a million years. I felt a bit embarrassed that I’d even bothered her but as Beefy pointed out, it would have just worried me until I did see someone.
We were both indescribably relieved. Then I was pissed off, with my body, with my boob, mostly relieved though.
She said (and this is just another of those delightfully practical recommendations that doctors like to give) that it will take three or four weeks to heal. No lifting anything for three to four weeks. Rest as much as I can. Easy for her to say. I know she’s right though, I have been suffering a lot more as I’ve been forgoing my rest periods in favour of doing.
Can I just say again, BASTARD BODY! Who gets boob strain, I mean really, I think it’s pretty much something only I could achieve. But at least it’s sticking to that deal we have.
After that I had to race over and have my monthly bloodwork done and then into town for my tattoo touch up appointment. I am completely wrecked now and more than a little bit sore. At least that makes it easy to rest.