Well, I did NOT see that one coming, people!
I thought I'd write my cute little story about getting my first mammogram, inspire my scaredy cat girlfriends to get theirs and then move on with life free to not think about my next mammogram until, well, next year probably.
That is not what happened.
I get a call 5 days after my first mammo. A very perky lady on the other end tells me I need to have a second reading because "there is something on the scan of my left breast". Hmmm. I don't panic. I know this happens. I know it's usually nothing. I make the appointment for the next day. It's hard to be too worried when this nice lady sounds like she's my hairstylist, SueAnn, scheduling me for a trim.
I tell only my closest coworkers, because really, it's hard to keep secrets like that in a small room. I tell my husband, who works in the same building, and I see the cloud go over his face. I call my sister and luckily she can go with me to the appointment. The coworkers keep it positive. The husband tries to keep it positive. The sister keeps it positive.
Remember, this is probably nothing.
I try to keep my heart light as I work through the afternoon and even into the evening as I go about the chores of my house, but honestly, it's hard. I keep thinking about the following things that I don't want to happen if I have breast cancer:
1) I don't want to lose my hair.
2) I don't want to lose my breast(s).
3) I don't want to be sick or feel sick for an extended period of time (or at all).
4) I don't want to die.
Ironically, death is really the thing that worries me least. I guess because all the women I've known who've gone through cancer have experienced 1-3. Not # 4. And to be honest, I guess I just can't think about that. Besides, I haven't even had the second scan yet, and really, I'm sure it's nothing.
And I know it seems petty to worry about my hair and my looks, but really, this is most of what I've seen in my small experience with breast cancer. That and menopause. It seems like every woman I've ever known that had cancer young got kicked into early menopause by the chemo and radiation, so it's hard not to think of this as a possiblity.
So I take some Tylenol PM and knock my ass out good, because really, who knows what tomorrow might hold for me. I at least need to be well-rested.
I wake up to the sun streaming in the windows which is a sight I rarely get to see with my work schedule and an early-rising child on the weekends. I lay there for a while not really ready to face the day yet. Because today, I have already determined, will be the day I find out I do or don't have cancer. And I see and experience things through this lens. Wear my polka dot blouse? That will be the blouse I was wearing when I found out I did/didn't have cancer. It's the last day of March! That will be the day I found out I did/didn't have cancer.
See how my head is working? And I hate that I've let it happen when I keep telling myself it's probably nothing.
So I meet my big sis and get into the office. And of course, it's all very female-centered and very pink. The brochures are pink. The pens are pink. The gowns are pink. And everywhere there are various decor items featuring the ubiquitous Pink Ribbon. I know that's meant to be cute and comforting, but really it only reminds you that this is where you come to get told you either have breast cancer, don't have breast cancer or have been cleared of breast cancer. So all in all, how reassuring is that Pink Ribbon?
To distract myself while the technician takes roughly 6-8 images of my left breast (sounds like a Daniel Day-Lewis movie!) I'm paying attention to everything else in the room like the Hologic Selenia mammogram machine (which I know something about from a former career) and the fact that my technician's last name is Goodnight. She tells me that I smell good and I tell her that it's Honey by Marc Jacobs and I love it because it comes in a bottle that looks like it has bees on it:
Then I sit with my sister, I'm still in my hospital shirt half-top thingy and she is in her work clothes with her bank name tag still on her blouse. We talk about nothing. Look at the environment. Comment on how lovely it all is. Talk about the wonderful terry cloth robes. The fact that the doctor's name is Saltmarsh. (For real.) Something tells me if the news is not what I hope for that I will remember all of these small details for the rest of my life.
The techinician comes back and tells me that the doctor is "fairly unimpressed" and I'm about to comeback with a very witty, "well, tell him I've heard otherwise, heh" when I realize she's telling that I'm clear.
The calcifications that they were first concerned about turn out to not be of concern at all. She told me to go for my mammogram next year as scheduled and that I was good to go.
My sister literally jumps around in the dressing room. We hug and I get back in my bra and clothes. We walk outside and continue to talk about nothing all the while knowing what a huge weight has been lifted off us both. We both send texts to the few people that knew and say our goodbyes until we'll see each other at family Easter festivities this weekend. I know I need to let my parents know that this has all went down and that I'll have to re-tell all that the tech told me to my worrisome husband.
And I'm happy. I drive away feeling like I got let off the hook in a big way. No cancer! No chemo! No hair loss! No early menopause! And no mammogram for another year.....whew.
So, of course, I'm glad it was "nothing". But I'm glad I went for the first mammogram at age 40. And I'm glad I went for the follow-up that was "probably nothing". If not for the first mammo, I wouldn't have known that something could be nothing!
Moral of the story, girls, get your mammograms. What if there really was something? What if I was just walking around not even knowing that? What if? What if????
We've all gotta grow up sometime. Get your mammogram. Your girls will thank you for it.
I thought I'd write my cute little story about getting my first mammogram, inspire my scaredy cat girlfriends to get theirs and then move on with life free to not think about my next mammogram until, well, next year probably.
That is not what happened.
I get a call 5 days after my first mammo. A very perky lady on the other end tells me I need to have a second reading because "there is something on the scan of my left breast". Hmmm. I don't panic. I know this happens. I know it's usually nothing. I make the appointment for the next day. It's hard to be too worried when this nice lady sounds like she's my hairstylist, SueAnn, scheduling me for a trim.
I tell only my closest coworkers, because really, it's hard to keep secrets like that in a small room. I tell my husband, who works in the same building, and I see the cloud go over his face. I call my sister and luckily she can go with me to the appointment. The coworkers keep it positive. The husband tries to keep it positive. The sister keeps it positive.
Remember, this is probably nothing.
I try to keep my heart light as I work through the afternoon and even into the evening as I go about the chores of my house, but honestly, it's hard. I keep thinking about the following things that I don't want to happen if I have breast cancer:
1) I don't want to lose my hair.
2) I don't want to lose my breast(s).
3) I don't want to be sick or feel sick for an extended period of time (or at all).
4) I don't want to die.
Ironically, death is really the thing that worries me least. I guess because all the women I've known who've gone through cancer have experienced 1-3. Not # 4. And to be honest, I guess I just can't think about that. Besides, I haven't even had the second scan yet, and really, I'm sure it's nothing.
And I know it seems petty to worry about my hair and my looks, but really, this is most of what I've seen in my small experience with breast cancer. That and menopause. It seems like every woman I've ever known that had cancer young got kicked into early menopause by the chemo and radiation, so it's hard not to think of this as a possiblity.
So I take some Tylenol PM and knock my ass out good, because really, who knows what tomorrow might hold for me. I at least need to be well-rested.
I wake up to the sun streaming in the windows which is a sight I rarely get to see with my work schedule and an early-rising child on the weekends. I lay there for a while not really ready to face the day yet. Because today, I have already determined, will be the day I find out I do or don't have cancer. And I see and experience things through this lens. Wear my polka dot blouse? That will be the blouse I was wearing when I found out I did/didn't have cancer. It's the last day of March! That will be the day I found out I did/didn't have cancer.
See how my head is working? And I hate that I've let it happen when I keep telling myself it's probably nothing.
So I meet my big sis and get into the office. And of course, it's all very female-centered and very pink. The brochures are pink. The pens are pink. The gowns are pink. And everywhere there are various decor items featuring the ubiquitous Pink Ribbon. I know that's meant to be cute and comforting, but really it only reminds you that this is where you come to get told you either have breast cancer, don't have breast cancer or have been cleared of breast cancer. So all in all, how reassuring is that Pink Ribbon?
To distract myself while the technician takes roughly 6-8 images of my left breast (sounds like a Daniel Day-Lewis movie!) I'm paying attention to everything else in the room like the Hologic Selenia mammogram machine (which I know something about from a former career) and the fact that my technician's last name is Goodnight. She tells me that I smell good and I tell her that it's Honey by Marc Jacobs and I love it because it comes in a bottle that looks like it has bees on it:
Then I sit with my sister, I'm still in my hospital shirt half-top thingy and she is in her work clothes with her bank name tag still on her blouse. We talk about nothing. Look at the environment. Comment on how lovely it all is. Talk about the wonderful terry cloth robes. The fact that the doctor's name is Saltmarsh. (For real.) Something tells me if the news is not what I hope for that I will remember all of these small details for the rest of my life.
The techinician comes back and tells me that the doctor is "fairly unimpressed" and I'm about to comeback with a very witty, "well, tell him I've heard otherwise, heh" when I realize she's telling that I'm clear.
The calcifications that they were first concerned about turn out to not be of concern at all. She told me to go for my mammogram next year as scheduled and that I was good to go.
My sister literally jumps around in the dressing room. We hug and I get back in my bra and clothes. We walk outside and continue to talk about nothing all the while knowing what a huge weight has been lifted off us both. We both send texts to the few people that knew and say our goodbyes until we'll see each other at family Easter festivities this weekend. I know I need to let my parents know that this has all went down and that I'll have to re-tell all that the tech told me to my worrisome husband.
And I'm happy. I drive away feeling like I got let off the hook in a big way. No cancer! No chemo! No hair loss! No early menopause! And no mammogram for another year.....whew.
So, of course, I'm glad it was "nothing". But I'm glad I went for the first mammogram at age 40. And I'm glad I went for the follow-up that was "probably nothing". If not for the first mammo, I wouldn't have known that something could be nothing!
Moral of the story, girls, get your mammograms. What if there really was something? What if I was just walking around not even knowing that? What if? What if????
We've all gotta grow up sometime. Get your mammogram. Your girls will thank you for it.
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