I'm not sure what to call this post: "It Got Worse?" "My Girls Have Revolted?" "Adventures With Pus?"

Since my left breast wasn't getting much better, even with massive doses of Cipro, I had another ultrasound today, followed by a surgical consult. The surgeon was very nice, even when he was numbing my breast, aspirating a large amount of pus, and then eventually deciding to lance the breast. Yes, folks: I have a breast abscess. And it is gross. The doctor was amazed, after seeing what came out of the breast, that I hadn't been feeling sicker. He says I must have a "strong constitution!" I guess.

I have an open wound on my boob now, which has to be allowed to drain (into surgical pads stuffed into my bra). I still have to pump the breast, though, so when I pump I have to put Tegaderm (fake skin) on the breast so that milk, blood and pus don't go flying out of the wound. Periodically I have to put warm compresses on it, which makes more blood and pus stream out.

This is highly traumatic. I mean, I didn't even see my son come out when he was born, but I've heard it was kind of gross. This, I think, might actually top that.

I want to feel better. Like, now. Especially since I have to go back to work on Tuesday. I am tired of being on antibiotics. Tired of feeling under the weather. Tired of...well, being tired. Actually, I can (and will) handle being tired, as long as I'm not otherwise incapacitated. I just find this whole thing demoralizing.

Between my 1:30 ultrasound and my 3:30 surgical visit, I drove home to change Andrew and give him some time out of the car seat. My route takes me past my mom's apartment; I peeked at her parking lot and she was home. This is exactly the sort of situation when one should have one's mother around. For Christ's sake, she lives about a mile from me. Instead, she hasn't spoken to me (in any civil sort of way) since before Christmas. I honestly don't know if I can ever truly forgive her for all this. I mean, I look at Andrew sometimes and I can't imagine what could ever make me want to forsake him. He is, after all, my child. Why can't I be my mother's baby anymore?