Tough Titties

Hello my darling party peepers (just me? okay). I know, another week without podcast. Discúlpame, I have been up to my nose hairs in furniture to build and a new place to clean. The Universe also decided to throw me a curve ball, I’m guessing because it likes to use my stress level as a trampoline and that bounce is just better when it’s extra tight, am I right?

The curve ball was… The Threat Of Breast Cancer. For some reason, one of my boobs was hurting like a father fucking motherfucker last week. As if someone was stabbing me in the chest cheeks and that particular chest cheek was about to explode.

I have cysts in my boobs and I’m usually in pain when my hormones go on their fun little rollercoaster ride every month. For the boys: imagine lumps in your balls filling up with water and being sore for days. It’s one way to feel alive, I suppose.

A few months back I went to the doctor because of the pain, but was told it was ‘just muscular’ back then. I was very surprised to hear that, as an ex-sports massage therapist who is very much in tune with her body, but figured a doctor would know better than me.

Because this was the second time and the pain was much worse this time around, my health anxiety kicked in and I went to a doctor with an angel sent to me by the gods good friend to help calm my tits. Not literally of course, that would be weird.

According to the doctor it was probablysomethingbenignbutdoyouhaveahistoryofbreastcancerinthefamily

and

likelynothingtoworryaboutbutletshavethischeckedurgentlyanyway.

Maybe this would be enough for normal people to feel better, but not for this little stress bunny. My brain went from ‘it’s probably just an inflamed cyst’ to ‘IF I HAVE 3 MONTHS LEFT TO LIVE HOW THE FUCK AM I GOING TO SEE EVERYONE I LOVE ON THIS PLANET’. You know, the usual calm, collected thoughts when a doctor delivers good news to you.

I had my ultrasound test two days later, after which the doctor told me that everything looked good, but it would be good to have a mammography anyway. I cried from relief when she told me. Just so you know: I don’t cry in front of strangers. I barely cry in front of me.

After I did the mammography (for the boys: imagine your water-filled balls in a hydraulic press), I got the news that my boob is fine. Apparently I just have cysts and ‘very dense breast tissue’.

Well.

That’s the most convoluted way I’ve ever been told I got sexy boobs. Or tough ones.

What’s the message of this story? I’m not too sure. I think it is to get yourself checked when something feels off, even if you are in a stressful period in your life. And to trust your gut, doctors don’t know your body the way you do.

Now, just to be clear: it’s not because I talked about my boobs that I want to see sexual messages of any kind in my inbox or in the comments. And if you do feel the urge to send me those messages anyway, I suggest you imagine your boobs or balls in an actual hydraulic press first. Deal?

PS: I am setting up a Buy Me A Coffee page because for some reason South-Americans can’t get paid via Substack. I will link to it in my next post, in case you would like to support me.

Man with swollen cysts, clearly in pain.