From the Heart
Take a breath. Let it out. Take another quick breath. Hold it. Hold it. Hold it. OK, let it go.
Easy peasy huh? Unless you are having a mammogram … for the second time in a week.
Yes, I had to have a second mammogram. I should be used to it by now. For the past several years I’ve had to go back to the hospital to have the radiologist take a second look.
I would much rather get the letter, from IU Health, saying how much they appreciate my choosing them as my healthcare provider and that everything was OK and they would look forward to seeing me in a year. I got no letter, just the dreaded phone call.
So, I had to wait three days before they could see me. Three long days.
I had barely sat down before the gal doing the mammogram came to get me. She reassured me that they just needed another look. Bet she says that to every woman that has to come back.
My mind was scrambling for reasons. Why another look? My heart was feeling the fear of those reasons. What are they seeing?
This sweet gal tells me that they will be using a much smaller device to do the procedure. The area they are looking at is just behind each nipple. Hey, it’s a body part. A very sensitive body part.
I’ve always said that if men had to have yearly exams on their sensitive parts, have them slammed between two surfaces for way too long of a time, then a much more gentle and easier way to examine those parts would be found. Just saying.
So there I was, with my sensitive parts being placed, by ice cold hands, onto a hard surface while a small 4-by-4 inch square was placed on top.
Words of, “I’m sorry this is going to be uncomfortable” were said as the small square began to squeeze onto my little sensitive part. They actually had a screen that told how many pounds were being pressed onto my delicate part. 20. 25. 30. THIRTY POUNDS!
Let’s just say, “OUCH!”
She asked me if I was OK. Here I am, half naked, and the end of my boob is feeling like it was just slammed by a garage door. “Hold it. Hold it. Hold it. Now you can breathe.
Me being me, I told her while it was a bit uncomfortable, I was fine. I lied.
Then I was led back to the waiting area. Another lady and I chatted how lovely our pink gowns were and how we had great taste in style, choosing to wear matching outfits as we waited.
We both chuckled … nervously.
I was called in two more times because the radiologist wanted more views. Two more times under the garage door. Slam. Bam. Thank you, ma’am.
Finally, I was led to a private consultation room. The doctor would be in in a moment. A very long moment. I thought he was going to tell me something he did not want anyone else to hear and I certainly did not want to hear.
As he entered the tiny room, he introduced himself. I have no idea what he said until I heard …”YOU ARE FINE.” FINE! Did you all read that I am fine? Happy Day! Hallelujah! I wanted to hug him. I know he could see my eyes were smiling as my mask covered my mouth.
My breasts are dense. They have areas that were described by long medical terms. Areas that were squishable. Yea! I love squishable! 30 pounds squished them!
I could breathe. I could finally breathe.
Every woman fears breast cancer. You know the statistics – 1 in 3. I have friends who have been the 1.
The procedure is uncomfortable. Yes, it hurts, but it is necessary. A breast cancer diagnosis is scary. Thankfully, it is a cancer that has become beatable.
Women know the statistics, but a woman who has been told she has it … well, let’s just say she prays for faith over her fear. She prays she gets to wear the pink survivor tee shirt for many years.
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Girlfriends, please schedule your mammogram. Men folk, remind the ladies in your life to get their mammograms. Early detection is of the utmost importance.
I know my results could have been different. I am thankful they were what they were.
And for another year … I can breathe.