Page 4 of Trained By His Little

“Don’t ask.” He just chuckled. “So, what’s up, Tad?”

After blowing out a deep breath, I told him about everything. The aches. The pressure. The wetness. The relief when I woke up that morning.

And once it was all laid out, I clasped my hands together and gave him a hopeful smile. “So, you think a Z-Pak will clear it up?”

He held my gaze but didn’t smile this time. “I’m not sure yet, but let’s do a few tests.” He swabbed my throat and nipples, made me piss in a cup, and even sent me to the lab next door for a blood sample.

And when I got back at almost noon, I was ready for my damn pills so I could go grab lunch and maybe use my free afternoon to clean out the garage. I’d been meaning to do that for months and never wanted to spend my weekends in the hot and stuffy garage.

When Dr. Dale finally met with me again, it was in his office, not the exam room. That couldn’t be a good sign. Desk conversations weren’t needed to hand over antibiotics. They were for serious diagnoses. Life-changing news.

Maybe a tumor really had erupted.

“Thanks for your patience while we did a little research, Tad.” Dr. Dale had a stack of printouts under his hand like he expected me to read a bunch of journal articles.

No, thanks. I was a face-to-face-conversation kinda guy. “Just tell me what it is, Doc. It’s cancer, right? A tumor?” I shook my head. “I knew I was feeling too good today. That’s what happens, right? You feel good right before the end?”

He held up his hand when I finally took a breath. “It’s not cancer, Tad. It’s not anything life-threatening. You’re fine. Well, there is a condition we need to discuss, but it’s not dangerous or bad. Just…unusual.”

“Unusual?” Once I knew I wasn’t dying, I was able to relax a bit and hear him again. “Unusual, how?”

He looked me right in the eyes and said the words that I never thought I’d hear in my lifetime. “The discharge is milk. You’ve started lactating.”

I leaned back in the chair, waiting for the punchline to his weird joke. But it never came.

And when I didn’t respond, he just kept going. “We’re seeing this more often in healthy men like yourself. It’s the result of the hyperproduction of prolactin and sometimes an environmental or emotional stimulus. It’s nothing to be concerned about, but it will require some minor changes to your lifestyle.”

“Minor changes to my lifestyle?” Was he joking? “What does that even mean?”

He finally handed over the stack of papers that he’d been straightening and tapping since I sat down. “You’ll need to pump or otherwise express the milk on a regular basis. Probably a few times each day or else you’ll get that achy feeling and leak, like you did overnight.”

“Pump?” I pictured my neighbor lugging around a giant pump when she was nursing her daughter. “Like nursing moms do?”

He nodded and gave me a weak smile. “Basically, yes. Your milk is the same as what a nursing mom produces. It’s nutritious and can be donated to the local milk banks or just poured down the drain. I’ve printed out some resources for you, including a flyer for the local chapter of The Lactin Brotherhood. They can help connect you with other men in your situation.”

“There are other men like me…around here?” Why had I never heard of this before?

“Absolutely. It’s more common than you might think. The Lactin Brotherhood was formed as a network for support, advocacy, and education. They can even connect you with buyers if you’re interested in going that way.”

“Buyers?” None of this made any sense, but shocking news rarely did. I needed some time to sit with his words and his paperwork before I could fully process what this meant for me. For now, I needed some air. It suddenly felt stuffy in that tiny office. “So, I’m not sick. I’m not dying?”

He grinned and shook his head. “You’re not sick or dying. Just dealing with a new stage of your life. And if you have any other questions, you know I’m just a phone call away.”

I stood up and clutched the papers to my chest, then immediately pulled them back, hoping they didn’t get wet. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Doc. I’ll…call you.”

He rounded his desk and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Call the brotherhood. They’ll be your best resource for getting past the shock I can see you’re feeling. It’s gonna be alright, Tad. I promise.”

There was almost zero chance that I’d be alright, but at least I wasn’t dying. I just nodded and let myself out, debating whether or not to actually reach out to this group of guys like me. Then again, who else would I ever be able to talk to if not them?

4

OLIVER

I loved my job. It was fulfilling to help freelancers and small businesses succeed in their work. Most of my clients ran their businesses out of their homes and wanted to avoid the trouble of having an on-site bookkeeper.

The freedom of working from home and setting my own hours was great because it allowed me to pace myself so I didn't risk getting burnt out.

But I learned very early on how important it was to schedule lunch breaks and Little time so I didn't accidentally overwork myself like when I first started this job.

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