This post embarassing. And definitely TMI, so feel free to skip this one. Or not, 'cause it is kind of funny. And I don't mind sacrificing myself in the name of comedy. Let's continue...
A few Fridays ago, I noticed something strange. A growth, if you will. On the underside of my boob, not too far from the current residing nipple. This growth even looked like a nipple in shape, size and color. I thought maybe my husband had been practicing his voodoo on me again, and this was the result of his desires to have a genetically enhanced woman sleeping in bed next to him.
Nice try honey, but I think even you could do better than wishing for one measly extra nipple.
Me being me, I texted my (registered nurse) dad, called my mom and then turned to WebMD (always the wrong choice). The collective conclusion? A boil. All warnings shouted, "pain! swelling! puss! nothing you can do about it except wait to die a horrible death!" Slight overreaction, yes, but the point is: I prepared myself to wait it out and expected to be in pain all while this mass grew and grew and then finally burst open into a million directions flowing puss from the sky and death from above. True story.
But time marched on and the thing didn't grow and it didn't hurt and I was a little let down that this whole boil thing didn't boil over (tsk-ska, rim-shot!). I figured I could wait it out to see my regular baby doctor, and so I did yesterday. His wise, profound and all-knowing medical conclusion? Who the hell knows.
He looked at it, flopped my boob around in his hands like play-doh (because let's be real, after three kids and my no-bra-wearing stance, these things are way past deflated at this point) said some possible diagnosis that sounded like "battlestar galactica" to me, and then decided I needed to see a general surgeon.
Now, when someone uses the term "general surgeon" my mind tends to explode and go straight to doom, despair and agony - even though I've come to learn it's a pretty broad and sweeping title. Nevertheless, hours later and two floors above my regular doctor, I found myself waiting to see someone with the title "general surgeon".
This is also the point in the story when I'll admit I've never had much of a breast exam before, other than the usual feel-up by my doctor during well-baby visits, and even then it's only been a handful (of boob) of times. Yesterday, for the first time ever, I got to wear one of the paper vests.
The powder-pink, six sizes too small for this bust size, paper-thin vests. Glory glory, hallelujah - I've found my calling in life! I'm going to design some kind of vest for larger women with larger boobs that covers all the areas a woman wants covered THAT ISN'T MADE OUT OF PAPER. I've never felt so awkward in my life, I kid you not.
This "general surgeon" looked at the third nipple and concluded something about a blocked duct and breastfeeding and yadadada, I wasn't listening because my brain kept screaming, "YOU'RE WEARING A PINK PAPER VEST!" He told me the third nipple would have to be lanced and drained, and I was all, "I can do that at home, no problem," but apparently that's the whole purpose of his "general surgeon" title.
The nurse brought in the tray of doom, as I like to call it, covered in Bactine and needles of various sizes, a sterilized bed-pan looking tray, and of course, plenty of latex gloves. She then left me with said tray of doom for a good eternity to sweat out any worries I may have about someone slicing and dicing my nipple, much like in the popular game Fruit Ninja. I proceeded to text my poor mother and apologize for dying without being able to purchase her Asian Zing sauce from BWW; she proceeded to call me a wimp, but I digress.
The third nipple extraction process was quick, and mostly pain-free, thanks to the wicked feeling of my entire boob being asleep! You haven't lived until you've had the sensation of your boob falling asleep, trust me. The numbing medicine wore off and then MOTHER OF GOD, the pain. If you keep hearing a nagging, incessant whine from this part of the world, don't worry, it's just me lamenting over my poor boob and the loss of my third nipple.
Of course, it could also be my husband lamenting over the loss of the third nipple. But I digress.
The thing is now gone and my boob is slightly swollen and leaking, which really isn't any different than it was before. At this point in my pregnancy, my entire body is slightly swollen and leaking....from every available orifice. I'm hoping this was a one-time freak incident, and my boobs haven't decided to totally abandon ship and go all mental on me this late in the pregnancy game. I've still got expectations for them to perform to some degree in the coming weeks, and although three nipples would've lightened the load, the other two are just going to have to suck it up and deliver the goods as god and nature intended.
And thus concludes the tale of the third nipple, may it ever rest (in Bactine covered pieces) in peace.
