Fear & Gratitude

My grandmother had breast cancer and as a result I started having mammograms at 35 and I have them yearly.  There's never been an issue.   Last Wednesday I went in for my annual mammogram.  I left the facility at 3 o'clock.  At 5 o'clock I got a call from someone at the women's center.

She said, "Your mammogram was abnormal.  You need to come back for some more views and an ultraound.  Don't worry, this happens all the time."

I heard, "You have cancer.  You will die."

I thought, "I won't see my children grow up."

I went into research mode.  I like to anticipate the worst possible outcome so that I can plan on what do do next.  It gives me the illusion of control.  

My follow-up was scheduled for Monday afternoon, which meant that last weekend was one of the longest weekends of my life.  I tried to stay busy and keep my mind from thinking catastrophic thoughts.  I have a tendency to be something of a hypochondriac so it wasn't easy.  When I was 15 I had a headache and was convinced it was a brain tumor.  You know Woody Allen's character in Hannah & Her Sisters?  That's me.

I also realized what I wasn't thinking - no coulda/woulda/shoulda regrets.  Nothing like, "If I had just done... (fill in the blank)...".  I only felt grateful I am for the life I have, exactly how it is, and how I just want more of what I have.

Over the weekend, breast cancer was everywhere I look.  A patient told me she just found out a friend died of breast cancer at the age of 29.

I pulled into the parking lot of Babies R Us and parked next to a car with a "Save The TaTas" sticker.

Every time I put on the TV I saw the Kaiser ad for mammograms, with the song, "When I grow up I want to be an old woman..."

It was a long freaking weekend.

Monday at 3 o'clock.  I had the follow-up mammogram.  The technician told me to wait for the ultrasound.

I waited.  And waited.  And waited.

Finally I got to the ultrasound room.  I watched the screen, convinced that my breast was full of cancerous blobs.  I said, hesitantly, "Do you see anything?"

After a long pause (that could have been a millisecond) she said, "I don't see anything."

The radiologist confirmed that all was fine.  Whatever they thought they saw last week was no longer there.

I can't describe the relief.  This experience has made me even more grateful and appreciative for my amazing husband and daughters... and for my friends.

And if someone out there is putting off having a mammogram, make the call today.  It could save your life.