So here's the story, and I understand that it's a difficult read, as it involves a horrible injury to the only part of my body that makes up for my personality.
I was sitting at a meeting at work, minding my own business, when I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my left side. At first I kind of shrugged it off, and then I started feeling weird. Seriously weird. The pain started getting significantly worse, and by the midway point of the meeting I was in so much pain that I couldn't see straight, my hands were shaking, and I literally thought I was going to pass out.
My first thought was that someone finally got sick of me and stabbed me. My second was that something is seriously wrong here.
I work for the most awesome man on the planet, I truly do. That being said, he is only marginally aware that I'm a female. He understands it on a conceptual level, however, I am positive that if he was asked to identify me by any body part, he would only know me by anything left uncovered by a burqa. He's a solid dude, but for a long time the team was just my boss and myself, so he is profoundly uncomfortable with anything girl-part related. And who can blame him? If I ever call off for work with PMS there's a good chance he won't actually come near me for six to seven weeks. But I digress.
It's because of this I can't stand up in the middle of a meeting and announce that my tit hurts.
So I sit quietly, pretending to type notes. What I was really typing was an IM to a poor guy who shall remain nameless because I'm not sure he'd appreciate being mentioned by name in a blog post about my tits. Either that or it would be the greatest single day of his life. Anyway, what I was typing was the world's longest instant message describing in detail how I was sure I was dying.
As soon as the meeting ended, I high tailed it to the bathroom, where someone else who shall remain nameless because I'm not sure he'd appreciate being mentioned by name in a blog post about my tits followed me because he was worried about me.
I pulled up my shirt, and all I saw was blood. A lot of it.
I look closer, and I see what can only be described as a gash across my underboob caused by my bra.
How is that possible, you ask? Let me show you.
|I look exactly like this, too.|
If you look, the under wire is separate from the front of the bra. What happened was it separated, pinched the skin on my brib (the place where my rib and boob meet) and when I adjusted my bra? The fucking under wire came out and sliced it across.
At that point, my other friend who shall remain nameless because I'm not sure he'd appreciate being mentioned by name in a blog post about my tits patched me up the best he could and made me promise I'd go to Macy's and get a new bra during lunch. Mostly because if I told my boss I had to make an emergency run to Victoria's Secret he'd never speak to me again.
As soon as the clock hit 12, I grabbed one of my favorite marketing girls and hauled ass over to Macy's. I grabbed the first bra I saw on sale in my size. Which was a great idea if it wasn't a super duper push up bra. I looked like I got my boobs done over lunch. That bra should've come with a complimentary turtleneck because good God in heaven were those things inappropriate.
So not only did I get to wander around in pain all day, I did it looking like Dolly Parton's less trashy cousin.
Unfortunately, the boobjury is still healing.
And I know what you're thinking. "It's just a broken under wire, stop being such a baby".
So to stop that before it starts? I present to you the grossest picture I'll post on this blog.
Here is a picture of the injury, about 18 hours later, once the bleeding stopped but before I got medical attention for it. (Cropped, because Jesus Christ guys my parents read this blog).
It's been a difficult road to recovery and I appreciate all of the concern and prayers. This has been a hard time for me and the twins, and it's only with your support that I've been able to recover thusfar. I'm glad that by my speaking out, others who have been afflicted by similar trauma won't feel so alone.
And before I forget?
Fuck you Fredricks of Hollywood, way to ruin my best feature.