Mammary, how I hate thee how I hate thee, my glowing mammary

So Grover has rejected the right breast outright.
Won’t go near it.
Screams if I so much as wave that glowing pendulum of wickedness in his direction.
So I went to my GP today as two days of antibiotics hadn’t done anything to improve the boob. As it were.
I really like our GP – this is the chick version of the guy we see with the boys – very down to earth and straight-to-the-point.
Which is good and bad.
Good in that she loved my story about the hospital and suggested I go back in there bare-chested saying ‘now do you believe me’.
Bad in that she took one look at it, mentioned the term ‘abscess’ and was on the phone to the radiographer for an emergency ultrasound before I could lose the contents of my stomach on the thought of a ginormous needle puncturing my breast to drain off pustular skanky milk.
And I quote:

The skin is quite erythematous over the upper and outer quadrants of the right breast and there are a few dilated ducts deep to this but there is no evidence of a drainable abscess collection at this time.

I’ll leave you for a moment to say a quiet prayer of thanks for that one. Because dudes, the thought of hospital and an OPERATION to DRAIN MY BREAST was kinda freaking me out.

So now I’m on two types of antibiotics, strict instructions to rest and drink lots and massage the breast.
Which would be fine if it wasn’t like a red hot stone.

G’AH.