Cabbage, Boobs & Gas Leaks: A Lunch Lady’s Guide to DIY Breast Relief

Modern medicine gave me a diagnosis. My naturopath gave me cabbage. And I—well, I cooked it in my bra.

Here’s the beauty of seeing a naturopath: you get real-deal wisdom from the backroads of healing—stuff modern medicine hasn’t caught up with yet.

Last Tuesday, while chatting about pain management (my left boob had basically turned into a living landmine), the doctor gently asked what I was doing to cope.

“Wine,” I replied. Naturally.

They approved. But they also told me to stop at the store for a cabbage.

You heard me. Cabbage.

Apparently midwives have been using cabbage for centuries to soothe breast pain in nursing mothers—and as it turns out, it works wonders on rogue jellyfish lumps too. So, we stopped at the store, grabbed an organic head (because Monsanto and breast cancer just feel like a bad rom-com), and popped that sucker in the freezer.

After dinner, Steve and I nestled into the couch with a Christmas movie. I nestled cabbage leaves into my bra.

Surprisingly delightful! Cooling, soothing, oddly empowering. I remember thinking, “I’m going to have to wear cabbage to school tomorrow.”

And then…the gas leak.

I asked Steve, “Do you smell that?”

He didn’t.

I checked my hands. The pot stickers from dinner? The fireplace? The dog?

Nope. Just me.

Turns out—frozen cabbage cooks when tucked into your bra long enough. I’d created my own wearable Crock-Pot. I removed my sweater to escape the stench and that’s when I discovered the truth: I had just cooked cabbage…on my chest.

Y’all, my body is amazing. It’s self-cooking.

These days I’ve swapped the cabbage for ice packs (less aroma), but when the pain spikes, those leaves come back out. Just maybe with a warning label: will cause unexpected sauté.

There’s no “right” way to navigate a diagnosis. But humor helps. So do ancient veggie remedies. And the right partner? One who will sniff your sweater and not blink when you tell him you accidentally cooked produce in your bra? That’s gold.

Letter to Self

Dear Me,
You are still laughing. Still loving. Still looking for joy in the weirdest places—like the crisper drawer. Keep doing that. Cabbage leaves and all, you are showing up with humor and grace in the middle of chaos. That’s what healing looks like.
Love,
Me