Very Aware of Breast Cancer, Not Keen on Pink

...Because I have breast cancer.   I've become a poster girl for the early detection of breast cancer, as a matter of fact. Take that stuff seriously, ladies!  I found my own lump by self-examination, which I've been doing for years.  Even then, I was skeptical, and waited before I saw my doctor.  I had a clean mammogram in May, I thought.  I'm Stage 2 right now, in October, five months later. That's how fast my cancer grew!  It's scary to think where I would be if I waited until next May to find out, but fortunately, I don't need to go there.  I'm diagnosed and taking care of it.  As you read this, I'm probably in an operating room, having my tumor and a few extra lymph nodes removed.  Chemo and radiation are also in my future. 

It's easy to ignore all the hoopla about breast cancer.  Everywhere you look, everything is pink, and people are hollering at you about it.  Almost every commercial that you see is about it.  The White House is lit up in pink, and many other major landmarks, except perhaps Mount Rushmore, go pink for the month.  And the men have to get involved, too, because cancer doesn't discriminate.  Soccer teams wear pink shoes on the field. The NFL has their teams dress all in pink(okay, I'm making that up). I'm not a big fan of pink, because it's a girly color, and I'm not all that girly.  I'm pretty anti-girly, actually, and prefer purple.  But even people who like pink are begging for mercy by the middle of October.  By the end of the month, you become so saturated with hearing about breast cancer that you start to tune it out. 

And that would be a mistake. 

Any woman, any time, can get breast cancer.

No matter how one feels about the color pink, the message it conveys needs to sink in.  Schedule a mammogram today.  Even if you're not old enough to need a mammogram, self-examinations can save your life. Every woman should be an expert on her own body, and doing self-exams are part of that.

I know that some women are skittish about feeling around their boobs, but get over it.  As they say, embrace the Ta-Tas!  It's not about titillation; it's about your health.   Go to the American Cancer Society's website and learn about early detection of breast cancer. There's a link on there about self-examinations and how to do them, complete with pictures. 

A little minor embarrassment each month can be a life saver. 

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?

Mammogrammy

My Ob-Gyn doctor is the kind of doctor who 'tells it like it is'.   I may not like what he says, but I know that it's the plain unvarnished truth.  That is one of the reasons that I've been his patient for more than twenty years.  Since I hit forty(which was just yesterday, mind you), the Doc has been handing me the orders for a mammogram.  The first time, I went right away, and everything came back wonderful.  That was seven years ago.  He kept handing me the orders, and I kept putting that piece of paper in a "safe" place and promptly forgetting all about it. It just wasn't a priority.  Out of all the diseases in my family tree over the years, breast cancer has been conspicuously absent.  There's been pancreatic cancer, liver cancer, lung cancer, brain cancer, and several weird cancers of miscellaneous spare parts, but no breast cancer at all. 

On my last visit to see my Ob-Gyn, however, he took my hand to help me up and gazed seriously into my eyes.  The Doc is a handsome man, and when a handsome man takes my hand and gazes seriously at me, I tend to pay attention. 

"Do I have to take your hand and walk you over to the radiology place to get your mammogram?"  The Doc said.  "Because I will, you know."

"No," I hung my head, chastened.  I hate disappointing my doctor.  

"What are you so afraid of?" he continued. 

"I'm not afraid," I pouted a little.  "I just forget."  (Which is true.  Out of sight, out of mind. It's a thing with me.)

"Well, enough of that." Dr. S. crossed his arms and looked sternly at me.  "There's a place next door.  You can just walk in."

Okay.  When your doctor threatens to personally escort you to make sure that you get a mammogram, well, that's kind of embarrassing.  I knew he'd do it, too, and I did not want to be known as the woman whose doctor had to personally escort her to her mammogram.  That sort of story sticks around the medical community for years!

So I walked right out of one doctor's office and into the radiology clinic.  I waited about five minutes and was escorted to the back, where my boobs were mashed under glass and radiated.  Painful, but quick.  I was finished with that, at least until the next time my doctor threatened me.

Then I got two letters. 

One was from the radiology place.  "Dear Person", the letter began.  "OMG! WE FOUND SOMETHING ON YOUR BREAST!!! YOU MAY ALREADY HAVE A HUGE TUMOR!! COME IN IMMEDIATELY!  WE ARE FREAKING OUT ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW!  P.S. We have conveniently made an appointment for you, and here it is."

I may be paraphrasing a bit.

The second letter was from my doctor.  "Dear Tina," the letter began.  "The radiology place says that they found a spot on your breast that requires further study.  DO NOT FREAK OUT.  It's probably not a big deal at all.  DO NOT FREAK OUT. The radiologist probably just spilled some grape jelly on the film while he was eating lunch, but just in case, please go back to the radiology place and let them take a few more pictures of your mashed boob.  P.S. DO NOT FREAK OUT.

So of course, I freaked out.  It's what I do best.  Then I called the radiology place and made them move up my appointment, because if I had something that had to be removed, I did not want to wait. 

I went back, and not only did they mash my right boob again, they also did an ultrasound.  The tech person who did the ultrasound told me that it looked like I just had some overlapping tissue, which happens sometimes.  So, nothing to worry about?  I asked.  Nah, she said.  Cool, I said, skipping merrily out the door.  At least I did that in my head.  Problem solved.

Then I got a letter.

"Dear Person", the letter began.  "You have a spot on your boob that we want to recheck again in six months because it may or may not be A HUGE TUMOR!!  P.S. We have conveniently scheduled your next appointment for you, in six months."

What the hell?  I said.  Call your doctor, my husband told me.  So I did, after about a week, because I kept forgetting.  Really.  Other stuff happened, I stopped agonizing over it, and forgot.  Finally, I called my doctor.  I spoke to a nice lady who worked there, and told her my sad story. 

"And you want to know if you need to freak out?"  she said helpfully. 

"Yes.  I want to know if I need to freak out.  I am on a schedule."

"Hold, please."   So I sat there and listened to commercials for baby stuff and how I am an important customer, blah, blah, blah. Finally she came back on the line.

"No. He said that you do not need to freak out."  There was no need for me to get upset, the radiology place was just being cautious.  They wanted to make sure that the spot they were concerned about didn't get any bigger.  No reason to freak out at this time.  I hung up, feeling a bit reassured. 

And less inclined to freak out, for which my husband is eternally grateful.