Ahhhhhh. I can breathe a sigh of relief for at least a year now. I just had my screening mammogram today, and the results came back normal.
I was pretty sure that this was going to be the result, given that I had had surgery last August to remove a suspicious mass. The “suspicious” mass, which the pathology report described as “tan-yellow, lobulated and irregular portion of fibrofatty tissue”, turned out to be just regular ol’ fibrofatty tissue and not malignant. Still, I was anxious all the night before, and tensed up before the mammogram screening.
This has been, really, the first time in several years that I could breathe just a tiny bit easier. About 3 years ago during a regular screening mammogram, the radiologist noticed a tiny discrepancy. They had me come in for a diagnostic ultrasound, but they didn’t see anything to worry about. They wanted to keep an eye on the denser tissue they saw, however, so they had me come in every six months instead of the regular yearly screening.
You can imagine my fear. I did have a family history of breast cancer, and my sister had passed away (much too young) from stomach cancer (which I will someday write about, maybe). During the next six-month check in, the denser tissue they saw was still there. They had me come in for an MRI. I had never had an MRI, but I thought I could handle it no problem. Oh boy was I wrong. You’re naked from the waist up, face down, with your chest hanging through a hole in the chair. They put headphones on, and I asked for classical music.
It didn’t work. The awful sound of the MRI machine made my bones throb, it was so loud and clanging. My mask (which I had to continue wearing) began to slowly ride up my face until it covered both my eyes and my nose -- ugh, I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. I could feel the panic rising in my chest. I was 16 minutes in, with about 8 more minutes to go. I could do this! But, nope, no I couldn’t. Close to the end, I squeezed the panic squeeze ball they give you, and they came in and stopped the exam.
Thank goodness the exam got everything it needed even though we hadn’t made it all the way through, and I didn’t have to retake it. If I ever have to do an MRI again, I’m going to ask for some Ativan, dang it. But the good news was that the MRI didn’t catch anything. I had a six-month follow up, and, sigh. The tissue mass appeared to have grown. The doctors were nervous. They didn’t understand why this dense tissue appeared to have grown.
So, out of an abundance of caution, they said they would do a fine needle aspiration biopsy. Again, I trekked down to the Hoffman Breast Center. They calmly walked me through the procedure, and they took the smallest pieces of tissue from my left breast. I waited. And waited. And waited for the results. And they didn’t come. I was going out of my mind. I called my primary care physician, and the admins said the Breast Center had the results. I called the Breast Center, and they said my primary care physician needed to read them to me. Ugh! I was in full panic mode. I called and left a message with my PCP. She did call me back directly and said, “Oh, the results are normal, but I thought I had already given you the results.” Uh, no, you hadn’t. Sigh, she was retiring soon, and I guess things were slipping through the cracks at the end. I’m sure I stressed away years of my life over that.
I thought I was in the clear, but when I came back six months later, the mammogram still showed the mass, and the doctor said, let’s have a surgeon remove this mass with a larger surgery so we can be sure once and for all. Sigh. More months of waiting. When the surgery day finally came, I had to go through multiple steps. The first was placing the radiological seed, a tiny sliver of material that the surgeon would track with imaging to see where to do the surgery. To do that, I had to lay face down, again, naked from the waist up, while they placed the seed. The nurse talked up a storm about how easy this procedure was and how they never, ever need to redo it. So, of course, they had to redo it with me, because I’m special.
Some funny things you don’t think about when going in for surgery. They bring you in with around 5 other patients and their families all at the same time, and you go into your own numbered room. The nurses then go room to room, asking you questions and taking your information down. It feels very much like you’re a widget on a factory floor. One nurse asked me to take off my engagement and wedding ring. I couldn’t. In my old age, my fingers have gotten fat, and the rings don’t come off. The nurse looked me straight in the face and said, “well, they’ll just have to cut your finger off.” I swallowed nervously, dryly, and the nurse said, “only kidding.” Haha. And about 20 people ask you if your surgery is for your left breast. I’m really not exaggerating. And then they draw a giant X on your left side just so they don’t do the surgery on the wrong side. That giant purple X stayed on my chest for quite a while, no matter how many showers I took.
Finally, I’m wheeled into the surgery room. Whatever anesthesia they give me works fast. My eyes close, and the next thing I know, I’m cold and waking up slowly in a recovery area, with Mike by my side. I give a brief squeamish thought to the fact that I was completely knocked out in a room full of so many people who cut me open and put my clothes back on, and I have zero memory of it. I’m thankful for that, but still it’s very strange to think about.
I feel groggy, but I’m thankful it’s over. Only, it’s not over. The specimen has to go to a pathologist and then to my breast surgeon.
It takes almost two weeks, but the results put me in the clear. And we are back full circle to today. I can go back to a yearly screening schedule.
Wow, I didn’t think I would have that much to write, but I’m sure so many other women are going through this right now as I write. So much of the process is cold and undignified and painful. But, I can’t say enough good things about the nurses and doctors at the Beth Hoffman center. They are patient and kind. And Doctor Susan Pories, my breast surgeon was meticulous and caring. They are all overworked, but they took care of me, and I’m so thankful for them.
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