Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Does Caffeine Lead to Bigger Boobs or Breast Cancer?

It all started one day when a fabulous friend of mine called.  "I've been nervous to tell you something," she said.  "My boobs have been swollen and I thought something was wrong."

"Oh my gosh."  My heart dropped.  We've been friends for years and I love that woman.  The thought of her having breast cancer tied my intestines into constipated knots.  (Sorry for the visual.  I had to tease her and put that line in; she hates potty humor.)

"Well, the only reason I told you now, is because I realized I'm okay . . .  I've done some research online.  If you drink too much caffeine, it can make your boobs swell and cause intense lumps and pain."

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Caution: May cause BIG BOOBS!

"Caffeine," excitement laced my voice.


"Elisa?  Are you listening?  This isn't a good thing . . . except that I'm not drinking as much diet coke and I'll be okay."

"I'm so glad you're all right AND that you've given me the key to happiness."

"What are you talking . . . oh no," she paused.  "Don't do it."

"But I'll get bigger boobs."  I smiled because I'd concocted the best plan ever!



Too bad she's a genius who's NEVER wrong because now my boobs hurt and they're still just an A minus!!!

P. S. Check out her side of the story here:
Is This Being Recorded For Quality Assurance?

Or here's another one of my favorite blog posts she wrote (because that darling friend of mine--who's an amazing writer--called me a Pretzel Pixie).  I LOVE that woman!  Pretzel Pixies rock.
The Reluctant Mom Meets the Pretzel Pixie


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So, instead of buying a push-up bra, I went to the doctor.  If you've read about my experiences with doctors, we don't do well together.  Something bad always happens (like when I called one doctor a Sagget Lover . . . that was bad)  This time took the cake though.

I'm not a complete idiot, so I had a nice long bath before going to the doc.  I was glad about that, after the nurse led me to the room and said, "Just undress completely and he'll be right in.  It's time for your yearly exam."

I walked into the room, but there wasn't a gown on the table.  The woman shut the door.

What kind of place had I gone to?  Did they just expect people to get naked and sit there like a Playboy model?  I wasn't into that, so after thinking awhile, undressing and getting dressed again, I opened the door.  "Ma'am?  There's no gown."

That woman looked miffed, actually miffed.  She looked at the doctor and said, "Oh, silly me.  I'm so . . . sorry.  We've had a very busy day with all the labors and delivers . . . and things."

Oh, that poor woman.  Was it putting her out, that all those women were having babies and that I wanted a gown!  I clutched the ugly fabric and went back into the room.  "Just flip this light when you're ready and he'll be right in," Miss Miffed said.

I tied the gown, flipped the switch and after sitting there a minute, I smelled something.  I sniffed, once, twice.  My eyebrows sunk in worry and I glared at my stupid, FAVORITE shoes that I've had forever.  Once I made the mistake of wearing them without socks--a mistake I'll never make again.  I'd worn them to the doctor's office and not worried they'd make my freshly washed feet stink even through new socks.  Too bad I'd been wrong.  I knew I was in a pickle.  No one wants to visit an OB AND have stinky feet!

The metal sink gleamed at the edge of the room; that's when I got a brilliant idea.  I could flip the switch off and quickly wash my feet.  I couldn't imagine how awful it would be to have some womanly exam done while my feet perfumed the air.  So, that's what I did.  I'm sure my bare butt shone through the gown as I rushed to the switch and flipped it off.  I pumped the soap, rubbed it into a nice lather and held my left foot at the sink's level. 

It was a bit hard balancing on one foot, so I hopped a couple times and some water and suds fell on the floor.  I kept glancing at the door, just making sure the switch was still at an "off" position.  But the whole time I had this bad feeling like someone was watching me.  Maybe it was God, or some angel who laughed at my soap-loving expense.  I didn't know, but I hurried so fast I had one foot cleaned in no time.

I smiled in victory.  That foot smelled like it belonged to Aphrodite herself and the other just needed to be washed.  I held my right foot up, the leg closest to the door, and that's when the door opened.

I stared in horror as that young doctor walked into the room.  He was just a bit taller than me.  I'd heard women say he's handsome, but I must disagree.  At that moment he looked worse than a balding Hades.  His arrogant eyes hit the floor, then the gap in my gown, then my foot which I'd pulled near the sink.  He gulped hard and clutched his stupid clipboard.

I froze with my leg up, like I was playing freeze tag--for crying out loud!  I couldn't move.  All I wanted to do WAS DIE!

"Oh, my . . . Ummm . . ."  He looked away.  "Wow, so there's some water on the ground."

Water?  Was that all he'd noticed?  Talk about The Guiness' Book of Records--he should be in it for the understatement of the millennium!

I've written this a million times, but when I get nervous, I start cracking dumb jokes. It's my defense mechanism. 

That's why, instead of putting my foot in my mouth, I put it on the ground and said, "Since you've already seen everything should we still go ahead with the exam?"

He cleared his throat, not even showing a smile; that's when I knew I hated that arrogant Peeping Tom.  The whole thing was his fault.  I hadn't flipped the stupid switch!  Now hate is a strong word, but he wasn't doing anything to make me (the customer who WAS right AND sudsy) feel better.   "If I could just get you to sit down, then I'll check you out . . . I mean no, not like that.  I wouldn't check you . . .  I'll do the exam."

Could he just kill me with the pelvic exam cone and get it over with!  I really did want to die.  Of course I knew the idiot wouldn't check me out!  Why had I worn those dumb shoes?

"Do you have any concerns other than," he looked at my feet, "a swollen breast?"

Since the first joke hadn't worked and I was nervous, I started blabbering on.  "Well, since I had my last baby, I've been feeling a bit depressed."

He pulled his glasses down.  "How often."

"Once a month."  I acted serious, then a clownish smile lit my face.  He didn't even chuckle!  The least he could do was politely laugh!  I wanted to stick it to that man then, who'd just been part of my most embarrassing moment ever!

"You're going to be fine, just fine."  But he looked at my feet again.  What the Hell--it was worse than when you talk to a guy and they won't take their eyes off your lips!

So, the exam sucked--I won't lie about that.  I've never been so mortified in all my life, but I did cross some hurdles today; I know I don't have cancer, I have been drinking too much caffeine AND I no longer have those shoes I used to love.  I'll never wear those to the OB again because wearing stinky shoes to the doctor's office IS NOT the best thing since sliced bread.