This article may be too graphic for some readers, even downright gross. But how are we to compare our symptoms truthfully in order to relate to each other’s health problems without being graphic? This article is an attempt to educate women on the importance of seeing a doctor early when symptoms of a bruise or a boil appears on the breast. When my symptoms began in my left breast, I wasn’t quite sure what it was. It looked similar to a bruise, but when pressure was applied, a mixture of yellow infected fluid mixed with blood would seep from the same hole in my skin each time, as if it had a central tunnel for expelling fluid. Was it a boil or a bruise? I had no idea, but it became larger and more infected as time went by. In hopes that it would just go away, I waited too long and had to have some pretty drastic surgery. I was later diagnosed, via the surgical pathology report, that a cyst in my breast had ruptured and become chronically infected. This is my story. I beg of you to learn from me and see your doctor as soon as possible if what appears to be a boil or a bruise develops on your breast, as it may turn out to be cancer.
When It Began
I was checking my breasts one day, as we women have been trained to do by our doctors, and noticed what I thought was an infected pimple or a boil on my left breast. I would estimate its size to be about one-fourth of an inch, with a bruise-like appearance. It had what looked like a head on it and of course I smashed it. I know, I’m not supposed to do that, but I did it anyway. Some infectious fluid shot out of the boil with full force. I thought to myself, what in the world was that? Little did I know that this was the beginning of something terrible that would totally disrupt my life for about two years.
Every day after that, I checked the boil on my breast and it just seemed to linger. I thought surely this boil will go away any day now. I tried my best to leave it alone because I know it will heal faster if I do. It began looking like an infected bruise which was growing larger and the amount of infected fluid seemed to slowly increase with time. By the time I went to my doctor, it was about the size of a quarter and I was diagnosed with a staph infection. I took all of the medication, just as my doctor had prescribed. However, the boil or bruise, whatever you want to call it, on my breast did not heal at all. I later told my doctor that the boil had not gone away, but he seemed to pay no attention. I now know that I should have pushed the issue.
As time went by in 2007, it was a daily ritual to express the infection from my breast before I got in the tub. While I was soaking in the tub, thoughts ran through my head of how embarrassed I was. I did not want my husband to see it. He knew about my affliction and was very understanding, but still, I did not want him to see just how bad it was. I often cried when I was alone because the pain, soreness and flow of fluid was making me so uncomfortable and I was growing tired of the whole situation. By 2008, if I did not expel the fluid from the boil every day, the surrounding area would swell very badly and the amount of backed up fluid would double when finally expelled. When I put my bra on, the slightest pressure on the surrounding skin of the boil on my breast would make it drain, causing a big mess on my clothing, even to the point of seeping through my bra and onto my shirt. Often times I would wake up the in the morning and find the infected fluid all over my gown on the left side in the breast area. I began to slip into a slight depression because of the discomfort and embarrassment of the leaking fluid. The infected drainage became so bad that I could fill up a folded piece of tissue with blood and infection with no effort at all. About two tablespoons of infected fluid was seeping from my breast every day. I searched the internet for answers to my delimma, but found nothing that sounded similar to my problem.
In July, 2008, when my yearly mammogram time rolled around, I went to the appointment by myself so that no one would see my weakness and consequent embarrassment. I informed the technician about the boil and she clearly remembered it being there in 2007. While my left breast was being squeezed like a lemon on the mammogram machine, the infected fluid was released from my breast and was all over the machine. I couldn’t control my emotions any more and I began crying like a baby. The technician was extremely concerned and kept warning me over and over again that news was spreading throughout the medical world that some women with these symptoms have been diagnosed with cancer. She repeatedly said that she wasn’t trying to scare me, but it was too late — I was scared witless and embarrassed to the point of running out the door and never returning.
The young lady comforted me as best she knew how and gave me some wipes to clean my breast and various other parts of my body while she vigorously cleaned the mammogram equipment. I have to give this technician props, for if it hadn’t been for her, I would still be suffering today and the condition would surely have worsened greatly. She made a recommendation to my doctor that a spot compression of the boil area on my breast be performed and also recommended an ultrasound of the area in question. My doctor must have approved her suggestions, because I was quickly notified of more appointments at the hospital for the spot compression mammogram and the ultrasound of my left breast.
On the day of the spot compression mammogram and the ultrasound I was again embarrassed and afraid. When the mammogram was performed, it was more of the same painful, embarrassing mess. When I was finished, I walked across the hall for the ultrasound. As I lay on the exam table, the technician passed the tool used for the ultrasound over my breast and commented that it was leaking infected fluid. It was very painful. She was typing and talking to another woman in the room who was there to learn from my strange affliction. When I asked her if she had found anything significant, she replied, “At least you’re going to help some help for this and you’re headed in the right direction.” Now I’m thinking, oh my God, what is wrong with me?
A couple of days after the mammogram and ultrasound of my left breast, I got a call from my doctor’s office to come in for a consultation. I feared what news he may have for me. The doctor said that he didn’t think it was cancer, but wanted to watch it. I told him I’d been watching it for two years and enough is enough. He then referred me to a surgeon for a biopsy.
On September 29, 2008, I had an appointment to see a surgeon about the infected boil on my breast. It turns out that my surgeon, like myself, was a Georgia native and it was very comforting to be able to communicate with her. She told me that she had never seen anyone with my condition before. Again, I was told that it probably was not cancer, but that I must go into the hospital for a biopsy. She said that her plan of action was to cut my breast open and leave it exposed in order to drain the infection. My quick reply was “No, please don’t do that to me.” The boil was in such a bad place that I couldn’t bear the thought of walking around with an open wound.
The Day of Surgery
On the morning of surgery, my heart was racing, my blood pressure was up and I felt so nauseous I thought I was going to vomit. I have had two c-sections and I never felt this way. The staff did everything they could to calm me down. But still, I felt sure that I was about to lose a part of my womanhood to a landfill or the abyss of the ocean and it was hitting me hard. I told my surgeon to take care of everything in one whack (pardon the pun) because I did not want to go through this ordeal again. The nurses were assuring me that I had a great doctor and that she would do everything in her power to make me look normal if the boil and surrounding breast tissue had to be removed. Fortunately, I was put in a room by myself to await surgery while they connected my veins to bags hanging from metal equipment. This was my chance to try and relax.
After watching a bit of television, they came in to take me to surgery. I tried so much to hide my dread. I crawled upon the operating table. As I lay there, they stretched out my right arm and strapped it down. Since the problem was my left breast, they struggled with a satisfactory position of my left arm and then strapped it down. They told me that they were going to strap my legs down for safety reasons. In my mind, these straps were to prevent me from freaking out, jumping up and taking off running down the hall. The people buzzing around me made me confused and terrified. I felt like I was outside my body. That was not me laying there on the table. With no warning at all I was asleep. I kept waking up in a drunken stupor and saying, “That hurts.” I remember doing this several times. After the surgery, I vaguely remember some directions from the medical staff. After sobering up a little, I asked them to repeat what they said because I didn’t recall it. They were all extremely nice and empathetic to my nervousness and gladly repeated the post-op instructions.
The hospital staff had instructed me not to go to sleep when I got home, but I was so tired and sleepy that that was the first thing I did. Six hours later, I was still dizzy. The yellowish red sticky goo painted on my breast stuck my underarms together and made my breast stick to my chest. It was as if my surgeon had played a cruel joke on me by super-gluing my breast to my chest during surgery. I wanted to take a peek at how much of my breast was missing, but I was so scared that I would rip out some stitches.
For hours after the surgery, I did not fell any pain. I soon found out that the joy of the local anesthetic, so secretly injected into my left breast during surgery, would eventually wear off. The next two days following the surgery were very hard as far as the pull of gravity on my left breast and I absolutely had to wear a bra to decrease the pain because of the pulling sensation. But at least I was finally rid of that hideous boil. Any time my arm pushed against my breast, or I tried to lie sideways in bed, it would hurt. Closer looks at my left breast revealed about a five inch cut in the underside of my breast and, other than looking like I had just surgically installed a coin purse, it wasn’t that bad.
I was instructed that when I bathed, I should try not to get too much soap in the incision on my left breast. I have to admit, I was afraid that when I took my bath the incision would burn. It didn’t. My only real problem was lifting my breast in such a way that it didn’t cause too much pain and I could clean up the sticky goo that was used during surgery. I tried and tried to wash it off, but it wouldn’t budge. It was several days before all of the yellowish-red sticky goo would finally be washed off. The first week and a half included intermittent burning and pain in the incision area of my breast. For about a week, there was a slight bloody drainage from the incision. Whenever I put on my bra, I had to place surgical gauze between my breast and bra so as not to stain my bra or clothing.
It’s been over two weeks since the breast surgery and I have almost no pain at all. I have gone to my follow-up visit with my surgeon and she reports that there was no cancer. The incision in my breast is healing well except for the spot where the boil was most prevalent. I am delighted to no end that I no longer having to expel infectious waste from my breast every day. It seems so strange that I have omitted this horrible ritual from my daily life. I hope and pray that I will never have to go through this horrific ordeal ever again. If a bruise or a boil appears on your breast, please see your physician or gynecologist immediately. It may save your life.
