Warning: The following post may include Too Much Information.
I've been more than a little cranky of late, due to the recurrence of the "plugged duct" problem (again, the more you have to ask, the less you want to know; feel free to stop reading now). The problem is that it developed into something nastier and more painful.
If you've ever wondered what mastitis might feel like, read on.
Imagine, if you will, that you have a breast implant. It's about the size of a half a baseball, or half of a nice juicy navel orange.
But instead of being filled with silicone, cork, or juice, it's filled with finely broken glass.
Now imagine that it's leaking.
Now imagine that a very small person who can not be reasoned with is grabbing on to your nipple and twisting, grinding the aforementioned finely broken glass and sending fragments shooting into your lymph nodes.
So you see why I haven't been real chatty and perky lately. The good news is that antibiotics seem to be doing the trick. I'll check in with you again after the level of ibuprofen in my bloodstream returns to socially acceptable norms.