Those O'Neal Boobs
I knew something was wrong with my boobs when I woke up Wednesday morning and they were STILL gigantic, swollen, and painful. But unlike the past week when they'd been that way, I started noticing that the pain was not just a general one, but was also more intense in several ducts that were swollen enough to look like they could explode through my skin at any minute. I was pretty sure I had at least one plugged duct, and was not willing to mess around. After my friend's ghastly breast-abcess experience, I was totally headed to the doctor ASAP.
During all this it became painfully (ha) obvious to Isaac that something was wrong. Perhaps it was the murderous shrieking coming from my mouth anytime he would try to give me a hug. I also couldn't lift my left arm without screaming. "What's wrong, Mom?" he asked. I figured I should give it to him straight, in language he could understand. "My boo-boos hurt, buddy. They're sick. I need to go see the doctor about them."
As my 11:00 am appointment approached, I started feeling seriously woozy. My temperature went up, from 97.5 at home, to 99 at the doctor's, in an hour and a half. As I flashed the doctor, she confirmed my worst fears. Mastitis, it was!
Not that mastitis and I are total strangers. I contracted it when Isaac was 3 weeks old. I had read a bit about it, and I was more than fairly sure it was upon me when I woke up at 2 in the morning with a 102-degree fever, and, despite the mild spring night, putting on three layers of pajamas couldn't stop the shivering. Luckily for me, my fever broke before I got to the doctor the next morning, but she still put me on antibiotics. I got better and haven't had any boobie issues whatsoever until now.
When I mentioned my failed attempts at manual expression to Dr. L, she basically jumped out of her chair. "No! Don't do that!" No more expression for me, she said. She wrote me a prescription for antibiotics and told me to keep ice on my boobs as much as humanly possible, until all the swelling disappeared. And, with a bit of a wink, she decreed, "No one in the house is to touch your nipples for a week."
As we were packing up to go, Isaac piped up. "Mom, can I ask the doctor a question?" "Sure, buddy. Her name is Dr. L." Isaac then politely informed her, "Dr. L, Mommy's boo-boos are sick." Dr. L agreed. "And we are going to make them all better!" Isaac's face lit up as though it was the best news he'd heard all day. "YAY!" he cheered. Thanks, buddy.
Since then, everything has receded so quickly. My boobs are deflating rapidly towards their eventual, droopy National Geographic-style resting state. All of my plugged ducts have even gone away, except for one pesky one that I hadn't been putting ice on, in favor of its more painful sisters. Now all that remains is for me to adjust to this crazy, unfettered life where I can drink, dye my hair, and whiten my teeth. Oh, the joy!
During all this it became painfully (ha) obvious to Isaac that something was wrong. Perhaps it was the murderous shrieking coming from my mouth anytime he would try to give me a hug. I also couldn't lift my left arm without screaming. "What's wrong, Mom?" he asked. I figured I should give it to him straight, in language he could understand. "My boo-boos hurt, buddy. They're sick. I need to go see the doctor about them."
As my 11:00 am appointment approached, I started feeling seriously woozy. My temperature went up, from 97.5 at home, to 99 at the doctor's, in an hour and a half. As I flashed the doctor, she confirmed my worst fears. Mastitis, it was!
Not that mastitis and I are total strangers. I contracted it when Isaac was 3 weeks old. I had read a bit about it, and I was more than fairly sure it was upon me when I woke up at 2 in the morning with a 102-degree fever, and, despite the mild spring night, putting on three layers of pajamas couldn't stop the shivering. Luckily for me, my fever broke before I got to the doctor the next morning, but she still put me on antibiotics. I got better and haven't had any boobie issues whatsoever until now.
When I mentioned my failed attempts at manual expression to Dr. L, she basically jumped out of her chair. "No! Don't do that!" No more expression for me, she said. She wrote me a prescription for antibiotics and told me to keep ice on my boobs as much as humanly possible, until all the swelling disappeared. And, with a bit of a wink, she decreed, "No one in the house is to touch your nipples for a week."
As we were packing up to go, Isaac piped up. "Mom, can I ask the doctor a question?" "Sure, buddy. Her name is Dr. L." Isaac then politely informed her, "Dr. L, Mommy's boo-boos are sick." Dr. L agreed. "And we are going to make them all better!" Isaac's face lit up as though it was the best news he'd heard all day. "YAY!" he cheered. Thanks, buddy.
Since then, everything has receded so quickly. My boobs are deflating rapidly towards their eventual, droopy National Geographic-style resting state. All of my plugged ducts have even gone away, except for one pesky one that I hadn't been putting ice on, in favor of its more painful sisters. Now all that remains is for me to adjust to this crazy, unfettered life where I can drink, dye my hair, and whiten my teeth. Oh, the joy!
posted by Claire at 8:11 AM
2 Comments:
doggone it Claire, you need Mamaw's and Memaw's at a time like this.
I would agree!
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