How the mind wanders

Last night after cleaning off the stink and dirt of the active adolescent boy that he is, Ace called me into the bathroom and asked me to feel his nipple. Being a funny thing to hear from a 13-year-old boy, it made me laugh out loud as he is wont to say some pretty funny shit just to get a laugh. Until he told me that he had a lump under his nipple that had been irritating him for a couple of days and wanted me to check it out. As quickly as it came, my humor dried up like so much dust in the Sahara. Lumps, in my world, are serious business and not to be laughed at. I fixed a smile on my face anyway and went into the bathroom, joking that he just wanted me to check out his pecs. This made his magic hazel eyes flash while he grinned and flexed those developing muscles at me. I duly felt, pinched, prodded and investigated this lump, which is located directly under his left nipple, until Ace complained of my intrusive fingers. About the size of a peanut, or large pea and slightly sore to the touch. I knew his eyes were watching intently for my reaction so I grinned at him and tickled and poked at his belly while softly lobbing a battery of questions at him.

Turns out that during hitting practice late last week he noticed his nipple area hurt when he swung through with the bat and then when he bumped it on his desk during school. He hadn’t noticed a lump until his shower last night, when he rubbed it washing up. He wanted me to check it out in case it was something to be worried about, like a cyst or cancer. He tossed that word out quickly, as if he compelled and with a studied lack of concern I knew to be false. Most kids, if confronted with a mysterious lump, don’t automatically think it could be cancer. Unfortunately, my kid, having seen his grandfather develop cancerous lump after cancerous lump, made this mental leap with little effort and despite his bravado I knew underneath his anxiety was real. Desperately wanting to sever that tenuous connection and put his mind at ease, I nonchalantly assured him that it was probably nothing and he must have given himself a bump during his last game but we’d go see the pediatrician this week to be certain. I proceeded to tease him about him his pecs and the six-pack abs he was so diligently working on to distract him. I think it worked as he went off to bed, clearly relieved that I was so cavalier about the whole thing, his mind moving on to dreams of baseball, video games and girls.

My night’s torment had just begun, of course. The insanity that is my brain took me down the most horrible scenarios and the steps I would take should any of those scenarios take place. I formulated an action plan, seriously, all the way to which specialty hospital we would go to, if needed. The logical part of my head told me I was being completely irrational but I could not stop the thought train I was on and continued to envision the worst possible situation until the very early hours of the morning, when I finally fell into am exhausted fitful few hours of sleep. Morning, even though it came way too soon, brought a little more clarity and calm and less maternal panic. I did check his underarms for any enlarged lymph nodes before he got dressed, which just proves I’ve stepped off any solid rational platform.

This morning I’m tired from the sleepless hours, feeling foolish about indulging in the dark of night doom and gloom ride and overwhelmingly relieved since I spoke with the pediatrician’s office this morning. I’m absolutely certain I was the first phone call they answered. I had the number ready to dial at the time I knew the office opened. No moss grows on me when I’m obsessed. I think I’m in love the office nurse now. Really, I could switch teams for her, I think, sight unseen. She gave me the warm fuzzies when we spoke. As soon as I mentioned what we needed the appointment for, she was quick to reassure me that most likely it was a normal occurrence called “hormonic nipples”. Is hormonic even a real word? Seems adolescent boys often get enlarged glands around their nipples due to the hormone surges that accompany puberty. Someone with more intelligence and medical knowledge could certainly explain that better than I just did. The nurse was confident that this was the deal but Ace still needed to be seen by the doctor. That five-minute conversation did more to set my mind at ease about this issue than I can convey in writing. I believe the breath left my body and every muscle released the tension that had gripped since around 9:00 pm last night.

With an appointment for Thursday in hand, I called SuperHubby to let him know about last night’s discovery. He goes to bed very early to get up at an unholy a.m. hour for work so he missed the whole drama from the discovery to his wife engaging in crazy thought processes into the wee hours. When he cavalierly mentioned that he had the same thing when he was a teenager, I felt further relief and somewhat like an idiot. Had I had a chance to speak with him and known this, I probably would not have taken the mental torture ride and gotten some sleep. But then again, knowing my screwy phobias, probably not.