Mammograms and other fun ways to fill an afternoon
So I actually make it to my ‘yearly’ exam in October. Insert air quotes around the term yearly because I use it loosely. I can manage to get my Labradors to the vet yearly for shots, teeth cleanings, kids to their annual exams, dentist appointments twice a year, but somehow my yearly goes out the window at the drop of a hat. The other appointments are about taking care of everyone else, and some even have a carrot at the end of the stick. Doggies have better breath for a few days? We are there! Getting to go through the cute milestones and weigh-ins with our pediatrician at the kids’ annual exams? I am there with bells on! Wearing a gown that opens in the front, sticking my feet in cold stirrups, and having someone fish around ‘down there’ with metal things and swabs? Screeching halt- I might be busy that day.
I only miss one exam, and pat myself on the back for the ‘every other yearly appointment’ that I am actually keeping. Clicking along, feet in cold stirrups, bad gown open in the front, ‘down there’ check, and Jenny asks if I do a regular breast exam… Hmmm- this is a moral dilemma, like when the dentist asks if you floss DAILY. I know the right answer, and I also know the true answer. So I decide to go with the smart-ass answer. Yes, I regularly check, and the girls are still there! Jenny usually thinks that I am a funny girl, but that only gets silence. So we go though the whole unpleasant breast exam, Click -clicking along, and Jenny stops and says ”what’s this?”
Again, moral dilemma. “Oh that old thing? It’s just a lump…”
I realize that sounds really stupid in retrospect, but I just kind of brushed it off when I felt it. I am young, no risk factors, thought maybe I am just a lumpy girl. Looking at Jenny’s face, I realize that maybe I should have paid attention to the thing.
I leave her office with orders to schedule a mammogram, just to be safe. Fabulous- I am overflowing with excitement now. I take my time scheduling the mammogram, rebelling a little, but eventually get around to it.
For future reference, mammograms are actually kind of a funny business. It is one of the only times that I have been glad to have boobs. I have spent my whole life envious of the girls who can go braless without knocking someone out, but I do NOT envy them when it comes to mammograms. I go in, thanking God that it is now November, because you are not allowed to wear deodorant the day of a mammogram.. (I bet they hate July and August!!!) More of the gross open-front gown, but this time in front of a machine that cost the GNP of some small countries. So the technologist, takes my boob (technical term, BREAST), pushes it up onto a clear platform, and takes pictures. Front pictures, twisted to the side pictures, from below pictures- I had no idea that my boob could be maneuvered like this. I do not know how my flat-chested friends can do this- OW for them. Feel like a farm animal, and have to resist the urge to moo or bray. Of course, I tell the tech this, and she doesn’t think it is funny. Huh- I do. Twenty minutes later, she comes in and tells me that they see a lump that needs to be looked into more. Twisting my BREAST (I am learning quickly that people in this field don’t like them being referred to as the girls or boobs.) to and fro just didn’t cut it. Okay, I will make an appointment for sometime in the next couple of months- maybe after the holidays, because it gets kind of crazy until after Christmas.
Nope, they have an opening for me the next day. Lovely. I should admire the efficiency of this process, but instead it makes me wig out just a little that I am in that quickly. Luckily, I have less than twenty-four hours to freak before I come back.
I drag Karla along the next day. God knows the girl has nothing going on (three girls, selling houses, buying houses, business…), but I think about needing someone there if it is not good news. We wait FOREVER in the waiting room, and finally I get to go back. Back to the open-front gown (I should change my attitude about those nasty things, but I haven’t yet.). lay back, and feel like a farm animal again. Cold gel, cold office, and my breast-boob on a giant flat screen panel- what better way to spend an autumn afternoon? Twenty minutes later, and I get to dress and wait for the results- no big deal. Then the tech comes back in, tells me that we get to go downstairs to see the radiologist and discuss options. Now I am thinking “Okay, breathe. Just breathe. Legally she cannot tell you the results, only the doctor can. Breathe…” Karla is with me at this point, very serious, and looking like she would rather endure a yearly exam than go to the radiologist’s office with me. We sit in his office and there are my ultrasounds up on the light panels in all their glory.
My sweet, tactful Karla looks at the ultrasounds, and says “Oh my God, are those your boobs? Are they that big?!?!” Um, thank you but NO- they blow the pictures up, girlie girl. Although I have to admit I look at the pictures and look down to double-check.
Dr. Hocate comes in to discuss options. Looks like no big deal, probably, clean edges, hasn’t spread, but it is large, solid and fixed. He is almost certain it is not cancer, but cannot rule the possibility out until he does a core biopsy with a large needle. Flippin’ lovely- large needle. Large needle going into my breast to biopsy a tumor. I am learning the vocabulary and now know that I do not have a cyst, I have a tumor (benign or cancerous, it is a tumor.). Now that is food for thought.
Fast forward two weeks. I get to wear deodorant this time, but I am back .Sign a bunch of consent forms, read all of the scary stuff that can go wrong, and get back into sexy open-front gown. Back on the table, feeling like a cadaver, which is not a step up from farm animal, but whatever. I tell Dr. Hocate that I want to se the needle and know all of what is going on. Knowledge is power and all of that stuff. So he shows me the needle.
The large needle. I swear it looked like a coffee stirrer from McDonald’s with a knife tip on the end. And it is spring-loaded so that he shoots it into my breast-boob. Local anesthetic and I feel no pain. I feel the pressure and the tugging and watch everything on the screen Very cool, as long as I don’t think about that being me up there. Dr. Hocate keeps asking the nurse, Sherie, to measure, because it is far back and he wants to avoid puncturing my chest wall. Thank you for that, and take your time. Really, no rush… One hour, six specimens, and a still numb breast-boob later, and I am free to go. With a laundry list of care instructions, a scolding because I came by myself, and a ginormous ice pack on my breast-boob, which will prevent me from going through the Star-bucks Drive-through ,I am out of there. Scott-free. Until I get to Monument, when waves of nausea hit full force. Must be the anesthetic, but nausea was totally unexpected. Vomiting is on my top ten list of things that feel like hell, so it is a long LONG afternoon. And then the numbness wears off, and the itching begins. Itching ties with vomiting on my hell list, but at this point I am thinking this is almost funny. Almost funny, but not quite. I have a hole in my BOOB, so I obviously cannot scratch it, right? And then, finally the pain starts, which is a welcome diversion from this damn itching and nausea.
So, my friends, this is the fun-filled journey that I have been on lately. Have never thought about b-o-o-b-s so much in my entire life, and have to say that is just fine! I am actually writing this for two reasons. One, it is cheaper than therapy, and I don’t have to go sit in some therapist’s office to talk about my feelings and my boobs. Two, and much more important, this is a kick in the pants for all of my girls that have been putting off your yearly exams or have not even had a baseline mammogram. You know who you are, and so do I (lucky for you, I am not naming names!). Find a good doctor, suck it up and go. If I can do it, anyone can!
