Pout.

So it's not anything scary! Yet. I thought the doc was going to stop after, "We think it's just a cluster of milk ducts," but no. She had to tell me to come back in a month, and list some nasty possible futures including biopsies, excisements, words ending in -oma. But mostly they think it's nothing. Damn, that was reassuring.

I can't wait to go back and get the same slightly molester-y middle aged technician, Gary, who told me he knows all about lactating boobs because of the goats he raises and milks. His favorite slogan is Our Feta's Mo Bettah! which made me smile politely despite the tiniest urge to slap him. I wanted to bolt out of there, blue goo dripping in a Gretel trail after me down the hall. Did I want him to sexualize me more? Less?

I sort of pitied the two other women I saw waiting, you know, because I can't have anything cancerous; it's Not In My Family. Running those pink-ribbon 5k's was my way of showing I cared, not joining any sisterhood crap.

It's (probably) good news. I've been stomping around all night- it clearly should have been "Silly you, you're breasts are not only cancer-free, they are the finest evidence of divine motherhood we have yet to witness. Would you like to lecture to our interns?"