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"Well, I went to see the breast specialist about my MRSA-infected boob yesterday and before I knew it, I was cut open. She had discussed my case with my other doctors and heard about the sonogram and, clearly, knew what needed to be done. She took one look at my boob, started talking a mile a minute and the next thing I know she&amp;#x27;s coming at me with a giant needle saying, &amp;amp;quot;if you don&amp;#x27;t mind I&amp;#x27;m just gonna...&amp;amp;quot; and then there was some squeezing and sucking and bleeding, none of which I saw because I was looking the other way at my mom and we were saying--with our eyes--&amp;amp;quot;Who is this lady?&amp;amp;quot; &amp;amp;quot;How many Red Bulls did she have this morning?&amp;amp;quot; But the thing is, I liked her. A lot. She was smart and confident (she had a thing or two to say about the way my case was handled by my OB, etc.) and she got it done. The needle aspiration thingy didn&amp;#x27;t work--because the infection festered so long there was no longer any liquid to drain out--so she had to give me some local anesthetic and cut a hole in my poor, not-so-little boob. Apparently she got out enough of the bad stuff because she said I should be able to kick the infection for good now. And I shouldn&amp;#x27;t have to take more antibiotics after I finish the round I&amp;#x27;m on now (she and my infectious disease doc have discussed). The only bad part: I have to &amp;amp;quot;pack&amp;amp;quot; the wound twice a day for the next week. That means--and pardon the graphic, TMI here--shoving gauze into the hole so that it heals from the inside out. Nick has been playing nurse and doing a pretty good job (after watching me give birth he&amp;#x27;s seen it all) and the boob doesn&amp;#x27;t hurt too much. Of course I had a little woe-is-me meltdown last night after my nightly MRSA routine--showering with Phisohex, taking my pill, gooping up my nose with ointment and watching blood drip from my boob to the floor as my husband prepared the gauze. I stood in the bathroom, gripping the towel rack for support, and burst into tears. What can I say, I felt bad for myself. It had been a long, emotionally and physically draining day and I just needed to cry it out. When I called my mom a bit later to tell her we&amp;#x27;d successfully packed the wound, she could hear it in my voice. We talked for a while and as she was saying goodnight, I could tell that she&amp;#x27;d started crying too. When I hung up, I cried more, sobbing to Nick that I should never have made my mom cry. Poor Nick, huh?&amp;amp;nbsp; Today things are better. And in all honesty, none of this is that traumatic. When I was waiting to see the breast surgeon yesterday, there was a woman sitting next to me wearing a scarf to cover her bald head. She was with her mom and her husband and clearly she was in bad shape. Later I watched the doctor give her a big hug and say, &amp;amp;quot;We will get through this.&amp;amp;quot; That is traumatic. If anyone deserves to feel bad for themselves, it&amp;#x27;s her, not me.&amp;amp;nbsp; Nevertheless, I will keep you all posted on the MRSA drama...and, as always, thanks for all your kind words and support. --Erin"^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.glamour.com/health-fitness/blogs/life-with-cancer/2007/11/so-much-for-a-second-opinion>