Monday, September 23, 2013

A Smashing Good Time

I had a scary moment earlier in the year over a suspicious mammogram.   The radiology clinic would now like a recheck, and not because my girls are particularly attractive to anyone but my husband. So at the end of this week, I have to have another mammogram and sonogram to verify that I indeed have a suspicious something in one of my boobs. I keep telling my husband that it's probably Jimmy Hoffa,  to keep the whole thing upbeat, but the fact is that I'm nervous.  Just like anyone who has had time to think about an upcoming medical procedure, I have had many emotions spinning through my head.  Anger, fear, doubt, crazy full-on psycho--all taking their turn at bat. 
 
Mammograms suck.  They may be vital for detecting cancer early, for saving lives, but they still suck.  Not because the radiology clinics try so very hard to make everything less "scary medical" and more "spa", with their comfy waiting areas, ubiquitous pillows,and soft-spoken, pleasant receptionists.  Not because your boobs are smashed painfully in a vise made of two panels of plexiglass.  Not because of the indignity of having a random stranger pull on your breasts, jamming them even further underneath that plexiglass, before telling you not to move.  Not because you leave the place with relief, only to be blindsided by a letter six weeks later. 

Those things are certainly part of the reason that mammograms suck, but they aren't the main reason.

It's that nagging fear in the back of your head.  The uncertainty.  The "what if?" that swirls around in your head as you're waiting, even as you try to pretend everything is normal. I try to distract myself with rational, logical thoughts, facts even. But my brain has already boarded the seriously-in-need-of-meds crazy train.  What if it's a false positive?  What if it's not a false positive? What if I do have cancer, even though I haven't had any other reason to think that there's a issue, even though not another blood relative in my entire family, dating back to the 1800s, has ever had breast cancer?  What if I have surgery and they botch it, and I'm lopsided?  What if I have to have chemo, and all of my hair falls out, and I look like a wobbly white bowling ball?  What if I can't spend time with my son because he might pass on a random school-acquired infection?  What if we can't pay the millions of dollars of medical bills, after I've worked so hard?  What if I'm not there to see my son grow up and graduate from high school/get his degree/get married/have my grandchildren? 

Useless anxiety over something that is likely just a blob of random fat.

The reality is that if it does turn out to be something, I will deal with it.  I will bawl my head off, hug my husband and son, and I will deal with it.  That's what I've always done, and I've made it this far.  It's just amazing to me that even in something as researched as breast cancer, there's no sure thing, and they have to recheck, and recheck, and recheck.  The anxiety never ends, it will just keep resurfacing every six months for the rest of my life, no end in sight.   Who needs that?




22 comments:

  1. I do love the title though! It sure is a scary thing. I was released from the every six month thing after a couple of years of saying hello to the cyst that was hanging out in my left breast. I hope they soon decide that your remarkable breasts are rather dull after all! xoxoxoxox

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  2. Great title. The subject bites - at least in terms of you having to deal with this. That part sucks. Good luck and I hope you are able to hold on to your sanity in the mean time.

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  3. I feel for you, and I wish I could say something that would ease your anxiety. I can tell you that I have had to get redo's on mammograms twice, and everything turned out to be okay.

    Yeah, what is with the faux spa nature of those clinics? The first time I had my redo, the receptionist had to talk to the financial dept because I didn't have insurance and I needed to pay cash. "Karen M is here to pay for her mammo." Hmmm, "mammo"- that sounds so breezy and carefree, almost like a delicious, sugary dessert.

    Good luck. I'm sending positive thoughts your way.

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    1. Thank you--I need some positive thoughts right now!

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  4. I know what you're feeling. Sending good, positive thoughts your way. I'd rather go to the dentist.

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    1. Thanks! I think I would rather go to the dentist, too!

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  5. Good thoughts go out to you. I am with Psychochef, all my redos over the years were ok when it was over. Doesn't keep the anxiety away...I am sure you will be fine.

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    1. I sure hope so! I don't know if I could take a bad test!

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  6. Nobody needs that type of worry, but it sounds like you have a good medical history. Think positive and save the worry for something else! Easier said than done, I know....

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  7. blech, I hate this and for all the reasons you state! exactly! fortunately (?!) i'm able to stay for the results where I go... but then I also get to wait in the posh waiting area watching some women who clearly are there for their re-check. :( lots of positive vibes sent your way.

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  8. Oh, it's so stressful and worrisome. I had to have a biopsy that turned out to be OK, but I was a wreck for a month. Best of luck to you.

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  9. So sorry you are having to go through that! I've been there, and it turned out OK, but the wait is horrible. Sending good thoughts your way...

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  10. Thinking good thoughts for you. I know it can't be easy waiting.

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  11. The waiting is the hardest part. I had a scare earlier this year.

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  12. Waiting and not knowing is so scary. I had a similar scare last year and it's terrifying. Thankfully, everything was fine. Sending a hug and positive thoughts your way.

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  13. I've never had one, but I'm not looking forward to it. :/

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  14. Prayers and all that sent your way. I had a scare a few years ago, it was "just" the largest cyst anyone had ever seen, requiring open-breast surgery should I want to rid of it. Hope my kine of news is even too "worse case" for you!

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  15. Hope you are clean and stay clean. I've been there. Had the bad thing, survived, and have had the recheck experience several times--all OK so far. If it happens, you WILL find some way to cope--in my case, it was having a large wardrobe of colorful chemo hats that matched all my outfits--but I hope you'll never need to.

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  16. Love the "blob of fat" line. I've had a few mammograms, and I'm always amazed they can get enough squished considering my "barely A" bra size. TMI?

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