I was pregnant about seven years ago. Actually pregnant exactly seven years ago, but didn’t realize it until New Year’s Eve. That was when it was still just a secret, no one could tell, I didn’t feel like crap, it was MAGIC! And then I began to grow and grow and feel more like a heffalump than anything remotely magical. And, since I must talk about boobs in almost every post I write, let me tell you that my boobs also grew. The got heavy, like big tender water balloons. My husband was happy. I was not. I would find things in my cleavage, like part of my breakfast, or a small dust bunny of dog hair. It wasn’t pretty. I also couldn’t see all of my body anymore, because the milk makers were blocking my view.
One day I lifted one of my beastly breasts. It was an effort, but I did it. Just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any food under there either. Something was rubbing against my giant bra, and it was annoying me. I found a mole. I didn’t remember having that mole before, and if you haven’t had the pleasure of being pregnant, you don’t know this: “everything” expands! Even your moles. They even seem to move as your skin stretches out. It’s like watching an ever changing constellation of stars.
So, I was a responsible person and called my dermatologist. They checked my moles. Nothing seemed suspicious. Then I asked my (fortunately female) doctor to look at the sneaky one under my giant gonzaga. She looked. I held my boob up. She got closer and looked again. I kept holding my boob. She put on her magnifying glasses and looked EVEN closer. My boob remained up in my hand, a ways higher than nature ever intended. I started sweating. It was heavy.
“Oh,” she said, in a calm tone.
“That’s not a mole.” hnuh? What the fuck is it then? Is it my partially reabsorbed twin? Is it a tumor? Is it a crumb that has become imbedded in my skin?
“No, no, not a mole. That’s a third nipple.”
I snorted and exhaled and laughed all at the same time… dropping my boob in the process.
A third nipple? Are you kidding me?
I said, as my face became more and more red, “Do you mean to tell me that I have a nubbin?”
She smiled at me, obviously feeling pity for the pregnant circus freak before her and said, “Yes.”
She proceeded to tell me that it was just bigger now that I was pregnant, and it would shrink up again after all the crazy pregnancy hormones retreated. And so you don’t picture me needing a three cupped bra, let me just clarify, it was still a tiny thing. No baby would have thought it was a nipple, trust me.
I don’t ever go to dermatologists with normal things. What would be the point? I find it much more entertaining to present them with something disturbing, that totally embarrasses the patient (me). I do still go though, because having a yearly skin cancer screening is MUY IMPORTANTE!
I just went again, to the dermatologist. It was a new one. That’s good because if I saw the same one all of the time, they would probably be writing their own blog about me. Yesterday, I went for a skin check. AND to have another suspicious spot looked at. This time it was on my butt. Oh lord… I hope it’s not another nipple.
She (oh thank you powers that be for allowing another FEMALE dermatologist to enter my world. I would have walked out if it turned out to be a man) asked me to pull down my panties. It wasn’t on my cheek so much as just west of my butt crack. Can this get any more mortifying? Urgh. So, there she is, with her high powered glasses on, staring at my ass. I am attempting to go to my happy place. It’s not working.
“Oh. That’s not a mole,” she says – as I am overcome with deja vu. I mean, I am happy because I don’t want skin cancer, but what the hell is it? My second brain? Figures it would be on my butt.
“That’s a wart.”
A WART? On my BUTT!??! I have never had a wart in my entire life, and I get one on my bum? How unfair is that?
After she used her can of wart freezing miracle stuff, she shook my hand and said farewell.
“Have a Merry Christmas! Thanks for coming in today!”
I smiled and said, “Thanks for freezing my butt wart!”
Nearly one year ago, my husband’s best friend was diagnosed with Melanoma, Stage 4. He was 25. This past July he died. Melanoma is highly aggressive, but the earlier it is detected, the better your odds. In my bubble I am fortunate. I lived in the sun. I am fair skinned. I do not have skin cancer. I do, instead, have a third nipple, and a now frozen off butt wart. I’m embarrassed, but I am alive. Keep your bubble alive, too. Go see the dermatologist!