A couple of years
back I wrote a blog post chronicling my first mammogram. At first, I
didn't plan on blogging about the experience because I thought it
was too personal. But when I was told there was something irregular
on my mammogram I decided to write about it. My original intent for
this blog was to discuss the journey from the thirties into the
forties. Mammograms are a part of that journey and it made sense to
talk about it on the blog. Back then, my follow-up mammogram and
ultrasound ended with good news, a pat on the back and another
appointment in six months.
I
had my annual mammogram on April first—who schedules a
mammogram on April Fool's Day? The next day I got one of those calls.
It was no prank, I needed to go back for more pictures again. I made
my appointment for a couple of weeks later and tried to put it out of
my mind. At first that wasn't easy—I'm prone to be a
worst-case-scenario sort of person. But with the craziness in Boston
last week, I had other things on my mind.
Finally the day of my
follow-up appointment arrived and I went through the
usual uncomfortable squishing followed by an ultrasound. I thought
I'd be on my way shortly after that. Unfortunately, whatever the
radiologist saw demanded yet another mammogram. Here's the thing
about mammograms... the first one is uncomfortable. But it's nowhere
near as bad as you think it's going to be. But with each view,
compression, and magnification it hurts a little more. This last one?
It hurt. A lot.
I waited nervously
for the radiologist to come and talk to me about what she saw. She
introduced herself with a good firm handshake and proceeded to look
for a chair.
“I'm really
tall,” she explained. “And I don't like to look down on
patients.”
“Cool,” I said.
“I'm really short and my neck hurts from looking up all the time.”
We finally found
ourselves chairs of the right height so we could talk face to face.
She told me there is definitely a mass in my breast and she's 90%
sure it's nothing. But it has to be biopsied to be certain. I asked
her again for the name of the mass and she wrote it down for me. As
she handed over the paper she said, “You aren't going to Google
this, are you?”
“No,” I
promised. “Web MD is the devil. Everything sounds like cancer—even
the common cold.”
“Good,” she
said. “This is a very broad term that covers many different things,
only a few of which are actually cancerous. I don't want you to
worry.”
I left the office
after making an appointment for a biopsy and promising the tech and
the doctor that I would try not to worry. So that's where I am this
week—trying not to worry, keeping my promise about not Googling,
not writing much (except for therapeutic journal entries), and being
grateful for my family and friends.
I turned down
several offers from people who offered to accompany me to the biopsy.
I don't know why. Maybe because if this turns out to be something I
know I'll be calling in a lot of favors. Maybe I'm just too proud or
stupid to accept help. In any case, my friend Shirley called me on
Friday to find out how the follow-up mammogram had gone. Shirley is
one of the strongest women I know and is the inspiration for my
character Laverne in my work in progress “Lost and Found” (yes, I have
absolutely no imagination when it comes to naming characters). She
too made the offer.
“Want me to go
with you,” she asked.
“Thanks, a couple
of people have already offered. I think I'll be okay,” I said.
“When's the
appointment?”
“Wednesday the
eighth.”
“What time?”
“Nine o'clock.”
“Okay. I'll put
it on my calendar. We'll get something to eat afterwards.”
“Um. Okay.”
Did I mention I
have great friends?
