My husband had taken the day off from work and we were taking our nine-month baby girl to Disneyland for the very first time. It was incredibly windy that October morning and our girl had a slight fever and runny nose. She was just cutting her first two bottom teeth.
Days earlier I had felt a lump in my left breast. Odd. Where’d that come from, I wondered. I had been breastfeeding since my daughter was born and always had my hands on my breasts: adjusting, pumping, shifting, and squeezing. You definitely know what I mean if you’ve ever nursed a baby. I thought it was weird I hadn’t felt it before — it was rock hard and couldn’t be missed.
I had just started to wean my little girl and wasn’t producing as much milk as the months before. I had chalked up this particular lump as being general lumpiness of the breast and dismissed it for a few days. Who could fault me? I was 33, just had a healthy pregnancy, and really, who could imagine it would be anything more than maybe an abscess.
But, that whole day at Disneyland I thought about that lump. When we bought our girl her first Mouse Ears hat I thought about that lump. When we rode the Winnie the Pooh ride I thought about that lump. When we ate in New Orleans Square and smiled for pictures in front of the castle I thought about that lump.
|What do you think I’m thinking about?|
I’ve always trusted my instincts. And I knew something was wrong.
Next up: the phone call to the doctor and the diagnosis.