My Left Breast

The Story of the Late Blooming Boob

Have you ever seen the movie My Left Foot?

No?

Me neither.

But I doubt it’s anything like this latest blog post.

If you’ve been following my blog since the pandemic began, you might remember that things have been breaking left and right over here, and weird things that could go wrong have been going wrong in even weirder ways.

This past weekend I tried printing a recipe from a pretty well-known website and the recipe file got stuck in the printer.  No, not the actual recipe as in a physical copy that jammed my printer; but a computer efile that jammed the computer’s internal something or other and it refused to go away!

No amount of escaping, deleting, cleaning or updating could get rid of it.  Eventually, an exorcism was performed and with the help of a friend and a couple of hours of Geek Squad intervention, it finally disappeared.

No paper copy of Ramen Carbonara for me.

I’ve taken to blaming these bizarre things on a ghost.  Her name is Sally.  How do I know she is a female ghost?  I found her underwear.

You see, I have an incredibly old sofa with two main cushions that are falling apart.

Confused yet?

Stay with me here please.

The fabric in the cushions is ripped in several places and the stuffing keeps falling apart and falling out.  To hold it all together until I can afford a new one, like in ten or fifteen years, I cover each one with a bed sheet.

I was doing laundry and washed aforementioned sheets.  Fresh out of the dryer, I pulled the cushions out to put the sheets back on.  And, scrunched in a corner of the sofa was a pair of women’s panties that were not mine.

Even if they were, I would still blame Sally as I have no reason to stuff my own underwear into my sofa, but these were definitely not. So, they must have been Sally’s.

Some of my more practical friends pointed out that I share a laundry room and when I last washed the sheets someone else’s bloomers were left in the dryer, attached themselves to one of the sheets and thus wound up stuck in a place they didn’t belong.  But being a bit of a germ-a-phobe, I find this idea even creepier and with all the things falling apart around here, I think Sally the ghost is the best explanation.

What does all this have to do with a blog titled My Left Breast?

Well, at the start of this self-isolation period, the first thing that went wrong was of a medical nature and I wasn’t ready to share it; a little “too much information” if you know what I mean.

I’m still not ready to share it but since I didn’t really have any other blog ideas, I got desperate and decided why not?  You guys have read other personal stuff of mine so why not another breast story?  A story I can’t totally blame on Sally but I’m going to anyway.

In early March, my recovery and reconstruction from breast cancer was complete.  There was nothing left to do but pay attention, adopt healthier habits and regularly check in with my doctors. (And for this, I am beyond grateful.)

The reconstruction involved things I would have never have thought would ever have anything to do with my body, specifically plastic and tattoos.

Plastic you ask?

You’ll see.

About the third week in March I started to feel things I shouldn’t be feeling in my right breast.  No, that’s not a misprint- my RIGHT breast.  It felt like something was definitely wrong, almost like the reconstruction was pulling away from my chest wall inside my skin and falling apart.  It didn’t hurt but it wasn’t normal.

After a week of this I called the doctor, a PLASTIC surgeon.

See? This is where the plastic comes in

(You will have to use your imagination on the tattoo part.)

He confirmed these sensations could be concerning and perhaps the reconstruction was failing.  That would require a minor surgery that wasn’t happening any time soon due to the pandemic.  Still, he felt it was worth checking out and agreed to see me as long as I promised I was not sick, took my temperature to confirm it, wore a mask and disinfected myself before coming in the door.  I did and he scheduled an appointment.

As it turned out, upon examination, he said I was fine.  My right side was doing what it was supposed to be doing and settling into place nicely.  Most patients don’t feel these particular sensations when healing but because of the way the surgery altered my already fragile multiple sclerosis impaired nerve endings, I did.

(I wasn’t supposed to feel the tattooing either but alas, MS and Sally had other plans.)

The doctor was pleased with my right breast.

BUT, he informed me, the left breast was not in compliance.

It seems the reason why they looked different was that the actual problem was the LEFT breast wasn’t doing what IT was supposed to do.  The left breast was also supposed to be settling into place, but it seemed it was slow to do so.  So, as if it were stuck in obnoxious puberty all over again, my left breast was actually a late blooming boob.

Go figure.

I thought puberty was a one shot deal but no, not when it comes to my body.  And I’m sure Sally got involved a bit too.

Somehow.

In order to spur my left boob to do its thing, it might need a mild tweak, and not in a good way.  My doctor said he would evaluate that in a few months.  It is unlikely that I will feel its own final mending as MS has made my left side very numb, even before breast cancer, and I didn’t feel the tattooing there at all.

I am pleased to report, upon my own inspection, it seems to me my late blooming boob has decided to catch up by now.  I will return to my doctor in a couple of weeks to confirm.  For now, Sally and I will just chill as both of my breasts and the country heal.

If you are keeping track, here are some of the things that have fallen apart in my little world since March- boob, TV, microwave, phone charger, computer modem, TV remote, printer and cable wires. But it is all manageable and for that I am also fortunate.

All of these things are super Sally silly and my family and friends are healthy.  My deepest prayers, virtual hugs and healing wishes for those who are not able to say the same.

It continues to be my hope that a little levity at my bizarre, chronic illness life can add at least a tiny smile in these difficult times to all who may seek one.