WARNING: This Posting is NOT For The Squeamish

Cuz it's all about an infected piercing.

Oh man.

Like I never imagined. Like, maybe I should go shopping for a sports bra designed for a mastectomy patient.

It's been infected for the past few weeks. The usual. Sort of sensitive. I've been doing hot saltwater soaks and swabbing it with Hibaclense. It would go away. Then it would come back. (Those boys at the Bike Stop just can't seem to keep their hands off my tits.)

And then it came back. And it strarted to hurt. As in, toothache hurt. Throbbing along with my heartbeat when I exerted myself in the slightest. And then, it started to swell. On Monday of this week, I couldn't squeeze back the skin from the beads at either end of the post to get at it with the Hibaclense. To bring the swelling down, I started alternating the hot compresses with cold compresses.

Yesterday, I was asked to work a different shift at work. Instead of doing 7 a.m. to 3:30 p.m., I did 3:30 p.m. to 10:30 p.m. So, I stayed up later on Tuesday night, and sauntered into work on Wednesday. Working last night was torment. It really really really hurt.

And the thing that I found a wee bit disturbing was that there was no oozing pus. It was all just building up in there. If only I could drain it, I thought, then that would bring some relief.

Today at work, I felt like hell. I think I was running a slight fever. I sort of had the chills at a couple of points.

This is Good! thought I. This is your body fighting off the infection! Go Body! Fight! Fight!! FIGHT!!!

Tonight, I had a dinner date with an AOL guy. I drove up to Quakertown, my right hand cupping my left breast--swollen to the size of a navel orange--most of the way. On the one hand, I have the pectoral development I've always longed for. On the other hand, it's lopsided to say the least.

What a guy I am! Even under such adverse conditions, I was a perky and charming dinner date! What pluck! Way to keep that stiff upper lip!

Then, on the way home, I smelled... ...this.... this... smell. Like Chinese fish sauce. (I won't need a reminder to avoid fish sauce in the future. My tshirt was damp.

I was draining! At last!

At home--alarmingly, Faithful Companion loved this interesting smell coming off his master--I examined the situation in the bathroom. I was indeed draining. Hallelujah! But on the downside, the stainless steel post has now disappeared completely under my skin.

What's up with that? Will it re-emerge as the swelling goes down? Will it forever be inside me? Like a combat veteran still carrying around shrapnel after all these years?

On Saturday, my softball team is having a scrimmage. I'm going up. Not to play. (Unless I meet with staggering luck and actually do find a sports bra for mastectomy patients tomorrow.) But just to cheer on the team from the bleechers. Albeit in a reclining position.

But I have an ulterior motive as well. I'm gonna pay a visit to the piercing parlor on East Third Street where the deed was done. (Ah, that memorable day. Special Guy was there offering support and encouragement. I screamed bloody murder and cleared the place.) I remember them saying that infections were to be anticipated, and nothing to freak out about. I even recall them trying to describe the weird smell of the ooze. ("It's like you go on a two week vacation and return to remember that you forgot to have someone take care of your goldfish." "I think it's more like a dead mouse under the refrigerator.")

It is to be hoped that they'll be reassuring. Tell me to cowboy up.

I mean, the fact that I have a putrid abscess about four inches away from my beating heart isn't cause for concern, right?


Have I thought about taking it out?

Oh yeah.

I sure have.

As a matter of fact, I made up my mind to do just that when I discovered that it had swollen up around it so bad that I couldn't even get at it with Hibaclense.

But I don't want to do that.

Because of all those Special Guy reasons.

And that, in part, is the reason that I haven't gone to my doctor. (I once again have health insurance! Yessss!) I'm pretty sure that would be his first course of action.

So here I am. Suffering for love. But not in that fun way.

---