It was such a weekend – it’s taken me an extra day to process.

And the star of this weekend – my left boob!

Yup, the one where I had breast cancer 1 ½ years ago.

Saturday morning, I wake up and my left boob is a spectacular shade of red, hot, and tender to the touch.

I know I usually save this for WTF Wednesday – but WTF!!!!

Note – the night before, I felt feverish and had terrible chills; and I got up to pee 4 times (I never get up to pee in the night) and I peed myself 4 times!  Happily, I did not pee the bed – when I stood up, the pee just started falling out of me.  I always knew gravity was not my friend – but this is ridiculous!

I have no idea if this is serious or not.

So off to the computer I go and figure out that I can do a phone call with a doctor through Cigna (kind of like the Kaiser Advice Nurse). 

Turns out not as easy as Kaiser Advice Nurse – an hour later, I’m still entering medical records.  (And I’m really hoping if I need to use this service again, it will retain all this stuff and not make me start from scratch – although, truthfully, I’m really hoping I never fucking have to call the Cigna call-a-doctor line again.)

Oh and part of the data – they want photos of the problem area!  Whoo-hoo!  I’m sending boob shots. Boob shots somebody asked for! Red, hot (literally) boob shots.  You can thank me later for not using those as the photos for this post.

Wait for the Doctor call back.  Get the call.  Tell her the issue – and she tells me, do not pass go, head for the ER.  Okie-dokie.  Except I’m new to town – where TF is the ER I’m supposed to go to? 

Now, I could call either sister, or my nephews (the EMT and the paramedic); but I’m a do-it-yourself kind of gal.  So back to the computer and I look on MyCigna which tells me to get thee to the Emergency Care that is only about 15 minutes away. 

Hey-ho, off I go!

Get to the ER.  Register.  And wait. And wait … – okay, I only had to wait ½ an hour, which seems pretty reasonable for an ER on a Saturday afternoon.

They take me in and agree, “boy, that sure is red.”  Asking me good questions, like “What do you think caused it?”  Um, if I knew that I wouldn’t be in the ER would I? 

They put in a port, take blood, send for the ultrasound person (who most kindly came in even though she was only on-call and could have bailed), tell me I’m going to get an IV. 

Meanwhile, I haven’t eaten since the night before.  Most of you know how delightful I am when I haven’t eaten.  Also, I’m diabetic. Going long periods of time without eating is not great in general.  I keep mentioning this, but apparently I am the only one finding this problematic. 

Go do the ultrasound.  And even though I ask repeatedly, she doesn’t tell me a thing.  Well fuck.  Why does she have to be all professional and shit? 

Get back to the exam room (now my second home, and I’m considering decorating options).  My back is starting to kill me from the mix of crappy waiting room chairs and laying on the gurney for hours.  A nurse comes in to do a second blood draw and I ask for something to drink (to quell what is quickly becoming a raging headache).  She tells me the IV was supposed to be for hydration, but she’ll check with the PA (physician’s assistant) and see if I can just have something to drink instead.  Sounds like a plan to me.

But then she doesn’t come back.

But not too long afterwards, the PA comes in and tells me they found 2 suspicious masses in my poor red hot boob.  I’m going to need biopsies (my dear husband pointed out what a cute word biopsies is – sort of a cross between boob and oopsies).  The radiologist will call me to set it up.  Meanwhile, he is prescribing antibiotics (I don’t understand why, and tell him that I am against taking antibiotics needlessly).  Bless his heart, he doesn’t explain to me what is making my boob be all red hot and shit – I found that out when I read the discharge papers.  Cellulitis – probably from an itty bitty cat scratch – thank you a buttload Berta).  I ask for some ice water and ask, since the IV isn’t necessary could they take out the port because it hurts every time I move my right arm. 

I get the most wonderful glass of ice water I have drank in quite a while. Ahhhhhhhh. Water, cool, cool water (somebody should put that to music).  Out came the port, took an antibiotic, got prescriptions for more antibiotics and a pain killer (which I’m not taking, but filled because … why not?) got my go-home papers, which I read later and learned a lot more.

And 5 hours later, I took my red, hot, tender boob home.

This is a story definitely to be continued ….

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