I Got So Stressed, My Boobs Hurt...

Yeah, you read that right.

Stress has affected my boobs. After all these years, I never knew I could actually stress my girls out.

I was having one of those weeks (ok, actually it was almost a month). Charly's schedule was out of whack (meaning no sleep for David and myself), we were always running late for Gymboree classes (sometimes because of my schedule, sometimes because it was a tug of war with Charly to get bathed and dressed before class), my work projects demanded more of my time and energy than usual, and - as icing on top of the cake - I was planning a surprise party for my mom's 75th.

In hindsight, the latter was probably the straw that broke this camel's back. You see, I am a firm believer in limiting parties to people I actually LIKE or at least socialize with by choice (outside the usual holiday gathering, wedding, wake, or baptism that most relatives feel duty-bound to attend). So understandably my stress levels escalated as aunts quizzed me why I was not inviting so and so. Most times, I gave in and did invite the people in question, even though I knew from experience that these were people who were always difficult to invite. My stress levels peaked when said people turned down the invite with lame excuses or worse, never even got back to me. All these proved once more that I was wise in keeping them out of the guest list in the first place. After all, we don't have to like all our relatives, and they in turn don't need to like us back.

And herein lies the paradox of big family affairs. Despite all concerned acknowledging a mutual lack of affinity for one another, everyone still feels obligated to ensure that no one is left out of the guest list.

Nevertheless, I have never been one to subscribe to that school of thought. I have a strong suspicion that if I am not feeling their company, they are probably not feeling mine either. So I say, spare both parties the pain of inviting and having to reject the invitation.

If I ever wondered why I never had a big, elaborate wedding, this was answer enough for me. But in the interest of family peace, I meekly gave in and by the end of a week's worth of phone calls to people I would rather not be in touch with, I was hyperventilating - literally with a nebulizer attached to my face. Looking back, it was needless stress because frankly, I don't think my mom missed them as she didn't look for said relatives in the first place and we still had a smashing good time anyway.

And as if an asthma attack wasn't enough, I soon started feeling a soreness and constant discomfort, almost akin to mastitis, in my breasts.

God, was I pregnant?! Yes, we want more kids. But not now. So I went out and bought a pregnancy kit. To be safe, I got two.

I exhaled a HUMONGOUS sigh of relief as both kits registered negative.

Then, another worry hit me as we googled breast pains and soreness. The big C was a horrible possibility, which thankfully, David's google hits registered that pain is not associated with it in the first few stages. Early menopause (ack!) was another possibility.

Being the hypochondriac that I am, I went to see my OB-Gyn.

The prognosis? Apparently stress had raised my prolactin levels up and caused the pain in my boobs.

And I thought I'd heard it all.

At the end of the day, it wasn't work, a nightmare boss, or the stress of dealing with a newborn and adjusting to new mommyhood that pissed my girls off. It was the nightmare of dealing with extended family and the drama that can go with family reunions.

I've learned my lesson. Next time, whenever there is an event where I have to invite certain members of extended family, I will make sure my boobs stay stress-free and make it a point to run as fast as my ageing, injured knees will take me.

Far away.