“Hold your breath…. Ok, breathe.”
My bandages are off, stitches removed, drains out, and the pathology report is fridge-worthy. My double mastectomy post-op was four months — to the day — since I walked into the Center for Breast Health, assuming the lump in my right breast was no big deal.
In late February, my PCP did a breast exam at my yearly physical. Feeling a lump in the right breast, she asked if I knew it was there. “Oh yeah, I had an ultrasound of that lump in my early twenties. It was nothing, just some fibrous tissue.”
“I don’t assume you still have that report?” she asked. I chuckled. That was 15 years ago, no way I saved that report. From what I could tell, the lump hadn’t changed. I was a monthly breast self-examiner. Still, she recommended I get it checked out. I’m 39 and would add mammogram screenings to my health regimen next year anyway. I agreed, sure that the lump was nothing to worry about. Cancer, let alone breast cancer, does not run in my family. I’d later have a genetics test proving my good genes but leaving me with more questions than answers.
I texted my mom, sister, and sister-in-law: “My doc found a lump today — NOT WORRIED… it’s probably the same fibrous lump I’ve had for years, but since I’m almost 40, she recommended I start mammograms now.”
Mom’s had mammograms for years, not fun but no biggie. My sister-in-law just had her first mammogram and replied, “it’s a piece of cake.”
There’s cake?! That would be a nice perk for needing a yearly boob smush. Kids get a sucker at their doctor’s appointments. Is a piece of cake for grownups too much to ask?
A few days later, checking in at the Center for Breast Health, they explained the mammogram technologist would do a mammogram of each breast and an ultrasound of the right. I’d be out the door in 45 minutes, results in hand.
The technologist handled each breast like dough, her fingers kneading them into place. “Hold your breath….” The X-ray shot through my flattened breast. “Ok, breathe.”
Reposition. Knead.
“You’re doing great. Hold your breath….” Click. “Ok, breathe.”
Image after image, this wasn’t my idea of fun, but it wasn’t so bad. I mentioned my sister-in-law just had her first mammogram and said it’s a piece of cake.
“I don’t see any cake,” I commented.
“Hold your breath….” Click. “Ok, breathe.”
“Does the cake come after?”
This got the chortle I hoped for.
Mammogram complete, we went to the ultrasound room. Warm goo slathered on my right breast, she pressed the transducer probe (they really should come up with friendlier words for this stuff) down and around, found the lump. Yup, probably just fibroadenoma. The radiologist would review the images. Standard. She’d be back in 10 minutes.
I had no watch or phone; there was no clock to torture me. I practiced mindfulness, focused on my breath, and assessed the bland room. Oak cabinets, beige medical equipment, and what a paint manufacturer might pass off as “Coastal Path” or “London Stone” just looked like a dull tan on their walls. The only accents — a red sticker for sharps disposal, warning of hazardous medical waste, and a lonely painting in the corner behind a hard, plastic chair. I opted to stand.
Above me, a tan speaker pumped out songs way too poppy for such a drab room. How many songs played since she left? Del Amitri “Roll to Me,” Sheryl Crow “Soak Up the Sun,” Huey Lewis and the News, Kelly Clarkson maybe. At an average of 3.5 minutes per song, that’s… more than 10 minutes.
I turned to the painting. A cartoonish round woman with a square head. Her black dress was speckled with white polka dots. Legs and feet drawn like upside-down orange traffic cones. Stick thin arms stretched up over her head, hands gripping a trapeze. The image of her repeated on the canvas, mirrored and sideways. A checkered pattern of her just hangin on. I feel you, lady. Just me and you in this room… hangin on. I wondered how many polka dots were on the dress.
49.
Is each dress the same? Why this painting? Something to help pass the time? How much time has passed?
47 polka dots on another dress. 46 on another.
Worry crept in, but I convinced myself they were just being thorough. Maybe they went to get cake.
The nurse came back approximately 30 minutes and 245 polka dots later, without cake. Instead, I got a bonus mammogram and ultrasound. She apologized for the wait; they saw calcifications in the left breast back on the chest wall. Probably nothing, just being thorough. But getting a good picture that deep through dense breast tissue would be tricky. Back to the mammogram room.
My ribs wedged against the hard plastic machine. The technologist manipulated my breast, apologizing as she instructed me to lean in a little more; if I could, put my weight into it. I gripped the machine and pulled myself in, bumped my hip out, and widened my stance to push in as far as my ribs and shoulder allowed.
“Hold your breath….” My breast compressed enough for the X-rays to penetrate the dense breast tissue and hopefully get a good picture of the chest wall. “Ok, breathe.”
Eventually, we got enough angles and walked back to the ultrasound room. I looked up at the painting, hoping for a sympathetic nod from the cartoon figure. Nothin.
I lifted my left arm and tucked my hand behind my head. Goo now spread on my left breast too, I was eager to go home and shower. Pressing harder than I was comfortable with, she moved the transducer magic wand around. With a series of quick-key commands, the tech captured more images. “Most women have really dense breasts,” she told me, trying to proffer reassurance, “and calcifications are common.” But I was finding less and less comfort in the supposed normality of my situation. She’d review with the radiologist and promised the wait wouldn’t be so long this time. Handing me a small washcloth to wipe off the goo, she noted that I’d only have to talk to the doctor if this required biopsy.
I got my bag out of the changing room locker so I had something to pass the time. I couldn’t look that painting in the eye, I sat down. She left the lights dimmed, and the tan walls seemed to close in around me. Texting my mom, sister, and sister-in-law, “definitely no cake. But I did get a bonus mammogram and ultrasound because they see calcification. No idea what that means, but I’m goin on 1.5 hours here.” I strained to read my magazine and wondered if I was hurting my eyes trying to read in the dim light.
Less than 10 minutes later, the nurse turned up the lights, and the doctor followed her through the door. The lump was fibroadenoma, a “popcorn-like” macrocalcification. A breast tumor, likely benign. The calcifications back on the left chest wall were “suspicious.” The radiologist recommended a stereotactic core biopsy of both breasts. She was careful not to use the ‘c-word’ too quickly, mentioning it, almost in passing. “If it is cancer, it would be early stages.” But once the word left her mouth, it hung in the room, and my mind stuck on it. Again, I found little comfort in the supposed normality of my situation. What else did she say? Should I write this down?
After two and a half hours, results in hand, I was waiting to schedule a biopsy instead of walking out the door. The tech told me I was tough; she was sorry it took so long and thanked me for being a good patient. Using all of my energy to suppress the tears welling up in my eyes, I thanked her for being so thorough.
I walked into the scheduler’s office and sat down. Looking across the desk, my heart leaped. There sat serendipity. A cupcake. Always looking for a laugh, I smirked and asked, “Is that for me?” I explained the joke, but she didn’t seem in the mood to share her cake. She was having a rough day. “No shit,” I said, “no offense, but you’re the last person I wanted to see today. I may need to get myself some cake too.”
Outside, the mid-winter sun hung low in the sky. I got in my car, shutting the door the floodgates opened. I wept, wiped the streaking mascara, blew my nose, and called Russ. This was supposed to be no big deal, a piece of cake. Russ could barely understand what I was saying through my sobs. I squeaked out the word “biopsy” and said I’d tell him more when I got home.
Sad and confused I couldn’t imagine then what was to come. For the next four months my life revolved around appointments, consultations, research, procedures, a second opinion, a relocation, and two surgeries.
Four months to the day since my first mammogram, I was at my mastectomy post-op.
I took off the shirt that held my drains.
A nurse unraveled me from the layers of gauze and compression bandages that, ironically, made it look like I didn’t just have a double mastectomy without reconstruction.
I put on the patient superhero cape and snapped the front.
Eight days after surgery, I could finally, physically, take a deep breath.
The surgeon handed me my pathology report. They found more cancer in the left breast. But they removed all of the breast tissue, clean margins; surgery was a success.
Most importantly, the sentinel lymph node biopsy came back negative for carcinoma, nothing spread.
The surgeon removed my stitches and checked my scars. She answered my questions about lumps and soreness, cording, physical therapy, and when I can swim and bike and run again.
There is still a lot of healing to do, but I avoided radiation; I don’t need chemo; now we monitor.
Four months since I checked into the Center for Breast Health, I can finally, emotionally, take a deep breath.
I did get cake, btw.
I bought a piece on my way home from the mammogram.
Then, four days later was my 39th birthday, and Russ would make me a whole cake!
← I ate the last piece while recovering from my biopsy 😋
PS. Mammograms really are a piece of cake. The unknown is scary but doing what we need to do for our health strips fear of its power.
Courage is not an absence of fear. Fear is normal. Courage is fear walking. Courage is noticing your fear, recognizing your fear, and moving towards what is important to you. — Susan David on Emotional Agility.
My well-being, and yours, are important to me. So get that mammo, that PAP, say “ahhhh,” floss, exercise, wear sunscreen, go to therapy, smile at someone today, journal/pray/meditate/send loving vibes, eat veggies often and cake in moderation; do what you gotta do to be a healthy human, ok?
Ok.
Breathe.
