Photo by Chokniti Khongchum on Pexels
Looking back at my past posts, I can see that I’ve been dealing with abnormal mammogram exams for nearly three years now. Last January I wrote about getting a clean screening mammogram, which then put me in the clear for another year. That clean screening mammogram came after I had gone through a surgery the prior August to remove suspicious tissue (which itself came after a mammo-guided needle biopsy, multiple mammograms and ultrasounds, and an MRI).
A year rolls around, and this year, there was another focal asymmetry in my left breast during my screening mammogram.
Sigh.
Here we go again.
I had to go through another follow-up ultrasound. The radiologists couldn’t see anything concerning on the ultrasound.
Why did this all sound so familiar?
Like the previous follow-up ultrasounds, my radiologist was still concerned at the subtle growth she saw on my mammogram so she ordered an ultrasound-guided biopsy. This go around, the biopsy was much less invasive, but still humiliating. They surround your targeted breast with towels, while the rest of your body is covered up—it’s the oddest feeling to have a single body part that is normally kept so hidden offered up in such a public way.
An ultrasound researcher learning the ropes was along for the ride, so I had three people, including the radiologist performing the biopsy, all staring down at my left breast.
Odd, to say the least.
A sharp prick let me know that they had put the numbing medication in the area they were going to biopsy. I stared up at the ceiling of the exam room as they mashed my flesh down with the ultrasound wand, searching for the small anomaly. There were a couple of sad paintings on the tiles of the ceiling. One was a colorful abstract, with splotches of colors swirling about. The other was a blue sky with clouds. They were there to calm me down, I suspect. However, there were only two painted tiles. I kept looking at the water-stained remaining tiles and thinking about how at least they were trying, but, really, why not paint all of the tiles a calming sky color?
After the numbing medication, the doctor tells me that I’ll hear four loud bangs, but to try not to get too nervous. Right. While I couldn’t feel the biopsy machine, I did indeed hear four loud pops. The radiologist then placed a tracking device into the area, and the procedure was over. I could cover up. The radiologists tells me that the ultrasound doesn’t show anything that concerns him, but he wishes me luck on the biopsy results. I look over at the tray beside the bed and saw a tiny plastic container splashed pink. Little lumps of my flesh to be sent over to the pathologist.
The biopsy doesn’t end there. I still had to get a mammogram to make sure that the marker was in the proper place. Now, anybody that’s had a mammogram will tell you about how painful it is, the squeezing and the pressure. The technician tells me that they’ll be more gentle since I’d just had pieces of my breast taken out. Thank goodness that the numbing medication was still in effect; it still felt like a lot of pressure.
Finally, with all of that done, I could put my clothes back on and then wait for the results.
They would come in a week. The office would call me to explain the results. Hopefully before the automated results were sent to my digital chart.
And the waiting began. That waiting is the worst of the worst. I try to tell myself that none of the radiologists feel concerned about what they were seeing. The extra tests they order are being ordered out of an abundance of caution. But I still imagine the worst. Of course I do.
The call came after the results came to my digital chart.
Benign.
I breathe a sigh of relief. It still doesn’t explain why they’re seeing the anomaly on my mammograms. So, for now, I’m still waiting on the monitoring protocol that my radiologist is going to suggest. I searched online about this, and I did find an article that mentions these rare anomalies seen in breasts after the COVID-19 vaccine. I tried to share this info with the nurse practitioner who called to explain my results, but she didn’t seem that interested. I’ll try to share this info with my general doctor as well.
It’s just a reminder to me that medicine is imprecise. Studies and protocols are done and created for the general population. But we are all unique individuals. Sometimes things happen that can’t be explained. I know that I would rather have my doctors be overly cautious then to miss something, but I just wish that I didn’t have to go through the stress (and humiliation specifically of the breast imaging) of so many tests.
I’m still thankful that I’m in a state with a great healthcare system. I’ll forever be thankful for that.
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