So I had the right dickle snipped Tuesday afternoon at Dr. Rosenbaum's office. You all know I've had very few (if any) complications from surgeries. This was just a few stitches. No snipping actually. The gory deets: He just took the extra "dickle" skin, folded it over to flatten, sewed it up and then we were done. Though I have no sensation in the aureolas, I did feel the tugging, so I'm def regaining feeling slowly.

Cut to last night, as I was dressing for dinner, I noticed that my tatas were inflamed. Sort of heat rashy. So I slathered on some cortisone and headed out. By the time the night was over, I'd used several of Laura's wound-care products, but the redness hadn't subsided. Bright red boobs are a symptom of inflammatory breast cancer. Natch, that was my first thought. I'm a Jew—we go from the worst possible thought and work our way up from neurotic. Today when I woke up, after a typical night of stomach sleeping, the left boob—the un-stitched one—was completely red, like a bad sunburn. The aureola was barely distinguishable from the rest of the boob, it was that red/pinkish.

First I called Rosenbaum. Closed for Shavuot. And not even returning pages. He's modern Orthodox I believe. Or whatever sect it is that allows him to work on boobies but still requires him not to work on holidays or, apparently, use the phone.

Next I called Schwartz (onco) who got right on the phone with me. Seriously, I think I could drunk dial Schwartz at 2 a.m. and he'd call back. He's that great. Anyway, his first thought was an infection, but he didn't want to tell me to go on anti-biotics without seeing me.

"It's a symptom of inflammatory breast cancer right?"

He always humors my worst-case-scenario fears.

"That's the last thing that would come to mind. Both breasts wouldn't be red. You don't have inflammatory breast cancer."

He said to talk to the surgeon who's on call. So Dr. Masry calls me back, listens intently, tells me to take the Keflex I have in my stash of never-been-used drugs, and if it's not better in 24 hours, call him tomorrow. On a Saturday. Seriously, this team of doctors—I've never even spoken to Masry but I know he's also one of the best—really puts patient care at the top of their list. So lucky to have doctors who aren't even my doctors who tell me to call them on Saturdays.

Of course, I called Chad too (acupuncturist). (Who, after feeling my energy pulse Weds concluded that my chi or whatever was still in shock from the accident Friday. At least I know I'm human, cause the only bit of shock I experienced re the accident was gone a few hours after the crash.)

Chad told me to make the mother of pearl powder into a paste and slather it on. Mother of pearl powder is another miracle of Eastern medicine—it closes wounds faster than stitches. It's crazy good—I put it on my port removal scar weeks ago and the wound sealed up overnight. So now I'm sitting her topless with mother of pearl paste all over my boobs and former dickle. And taking the Keflex. The mother of pearl powder seems to be working already.

But bright red boobs—not such a fun way to wake up. Maybe I should be hypnotized into back-sleeping? Yet another trip to the pharmacy now. Happy Friday.