Not dead, writer's block, nursing school ruining my life, blah blah blah. All that good shit.
I'm worried about my boobs. So worried that I made an appointment to have The Amazing Dr. G give me my first exam and get my yearly PAP later this month. The last time I went, I was freshly 19, so I suppose it's time for her fingers to enter me anyway. I didn't want to go under these circumstances, though.
I often have breast pain the week before my period, and it normally stops as soon as the bleeding starts, but it's getting worse and worse as the months go on. For at least two or three months, I've had sore boobs for at least two weeks out of the month. Google is the worst ever... It's like a hypochondriac's worst nightmare. Results vary from "Oh, it's totally normal, especially if it's around the nipple," to "lolz YOU GOT CANCER!" I figure it's best to leave it to an actual medical doctor.
So, this brings me to the actual breast exam... I am fucking nervous. I was telling my friend about it and I said "I've never had my boobs felt up!.... By a woman... Over 30... In a doctor's office... Yeah." I mean, sure. Most people I know (men and women alike) have copped a feel on these healthy milk sacs, but fuck. I've never had them examined by a doctor. On a table. Titty totally out for the touching.
I don't even give myself self-breast exams because I don't know what normal feels like. Typing that and reading it upset me more than I thought it would. I have extremely fibrous breasts. They don't feel familiar to me when I touch them. I wouldn't ever notice a deviation from the norm. It almost makes me sad, because I feel so disconnected from them. It's not body hate... It's more like breasticular ignorance, which isn't much better. I'm going to try to make that better, though.
On the plus side, I'm an idiot and I scheduled my appointment during class, so I get to leave early. I figured I'd treat myself to a severely over-priced coffee drink from Starbucks afterward. Might as well make a fucking day out of it. I'm doing my best not to worry, because my plate is full enough and it's likely nothing but some super-surging estrogen, because I have no other accompanying symptoms. Still, bad thoughts are lingering in the back of my mind.