Desperate times call for desperate measures. Prolonged expreme pain makes my brain more than a little bit mushy. My sense of reason becomes squishy, and I follow trains of thought that lead me to surprising logical destinations. I even get my very rational husband to ride the crazy train with me.
Folie à deux is just so much more fun!
Act I: The Lottery Ticket
I’m a statistics junkie. I found out that the odds of developing idiopathic granulomatous mastitis are LOWER than the odds of winning the lottery. I don’t usually buy the lottery, as I consider it a tax on people who are bad at math. And I’m very good at math. I was a Mathlete in Middle School. I have to protect my math nerd pride. Following this mathematical logic, I decided that statistically, I have higher odds of winning the lottery than developing GM, so the odds were in my favor.
I bought a lottery ticket at the gas station, and when I was safely back in the car, I lightly rubbed that ticket over my left boob for good statistical luck. Hey, at least I had enough sense not to do this at the check-out. John just laughed and rolled his eyes and was probably relieved that my heavy winter coat gave my boob and the lottery ticket some privacy. In case you’re wondering, I did not win the lottery. I got all seven numbers right, but they were on different rows. I’m going to try this one more time, but this time, I’ll rub the cash over my boob before I pay for the ticket.
Act II: A Certain Vilified Medicinal Plant
John and I belong to the “Just Say No” camp. We’re just not into drugs, we don’t smoke, and we don’t get drunk. I think you call it “temperance.” Or maybe you call it “boring.” We have nothing against other people using natural psychotropic substances as long as nobody gets hurt, and we belong to the “Legalize It” camp for practical and medicinal purposes. I’ve smoked a grand total of two shared joints in my entire life. I was 17, and I quickly decided it wasn’t for me because I got a major case of the munchies.
When I was taking antibiotics and a powerful synthetic opiate, about a month after this illness started, I went for almost ten days barely able to eat because of the nausea. The pain was not even fully under control. John could not stand to see me suffer anymore, so he turned to a certain vilified medicinal plant obtained courtesy of a musician friend’s generosity. I refused to smoke it, but was willing to try this remedy idea. So, my dear hubby made me a therapeutic sandwich. Took a slice of whole wheat toast, buttered it, added freshly crushed garlic (anti inflammatory), some garlic powder, and sprinkled it with freshly ground dried cannabis. It tasted a bit like oregano on garlic bread. I washed it down with fresh ginger mint tea, the same kind of tea I’ve been drinking since the nausea started. Guess what? It worked! The nausea disappeared, and the pain went way down. What ginger and synthetic opiates couldn’t do, a cannabis sandwich did. Bon Appétit!
Act III: You Say Potato, I Broil Potahto On My Inflamed Boob
Many plant foods are naturally anti inflammatory. Potatoes happen to be highly anti inflammatory. I’ve been eating potato ginger noodle soup since this started. It was the only thing I could stomach for about three weeks. There are three characteristic features of inflammation: redness, swelling and heat. Think about it: inflammation means “in flames.” When I was a kid, my mom used to put raw potato slices on my neck to draw out inflammation when I had a sore throat. Our homeopathic doctor recommended that. (Or maybe it was my grandma’s idea. I don’t know, and I don’t care.)
One thought led to another, and I decided to try putting raw potato slices on my boob in a desperate attempt to cool the inflammation. I summoned all suspension of disbelief and willed myself to hope that maybe the anti inflammatory compounds in the potato would enter my breast in a feat of bioavailability similar to nicotine being delivered by a transdermal patch. My ever-patient husband sliced the potatoes and arranged them on a square of cling wrap for me. He made me a medicinal potato bra. At the end of the day, I had hot broiled potato slices. I tried this for three days. I’m not sure if it worked. I did learn a new method for cooking potatoes, but I do not recommend it.