It’s December 20th, 2017 and the craziness of Christmas is coming to an end. Thank goodness I was pretty much almost done. With the promise of more testing to come I was unsure of how much more stress I could take.
I show up bright and early for my mammogram and expecting it all to go smoothly. You know…not being in that small percentage that needs further testing. Holding, touching, squeezing…..now hold your breath. For a minute I started humming that song by Jouney. After a good hour of having my left boob squeezed in a vice, it was over. She was great! Can I say that? She showed me my film up on the screen and circled the areas of concern. Corncern? Wait….you mean you’re still worried?
I was told to have a seat and the doctor was going to evaluate my pictures and then come and talk to me. What? You mean now? He was here? Waiting for MY results? Oh, God! This was not going according to the scenario I played in my mind the night before.
The room started closing in on me. I started to feel the way I feel just before having a full blown panic attack. Those of you that suffer from these debilitating attacks can relate. Yes? The heart flutters, breathing intensifies, palms sweaty yet cold. Where’s my paper bag when I need it? The door opens and the doc enters. Tall, dark and handsome. Surely he has good news. A man with an angel face does not deliver bad news right?
Wrong! All I hear is this; Multiple amorphous and punctute microcalcification in a pattern that is suspicious. He tells me on the Bi-Rad scale of 1 to 5 with 5 being consistent with cancer I’m a 4. I need a breast biopsy. Yepper…im in that small percentage. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I do a Nancy Kerrigan “Whhhhhy?”