48 Hours of Controlled Chaos

This morning I am joined by a five year old wearing Pinkie Pie pajamas. They're the last present my mom ever sent her, and it made me melancholy to see her in them. My mind got all wander-y, as if that were a word, and thinking about this new year and the last year and all the things.

I have been thinking a LOT about how quickly things shift in a life, and how many things can be packed into a short amount of time. I'd like some level ground for a while, but don't know if anyone gets that. It's hard to imagine how things can swing so far one way to another, and how odd and singular a life can be even when surrounded by others.

My New Year's Eve started off at the hospital.

It looked like this for hours.

That's my view from the table. I had to go get my six month mammogram "diagnosis" after them having found something "probably benign" visit after visit. The thing is, they keep finding different things and the previous thing disappears. What that means is that it's cysts, however it also means I end up at the hospital women's imaging center every six month undergoing what I feel like is a dehumanizing hell. They aren't unkind, but there is something about it that makes me like a stone of terror.

This time they seemed "concerned" in their cheery chatty way. Usually I go in, get the mammogram. Go back, get another one on one side, then they go "oh hey let's do an ultrasound" and that takes like 30 minutes. The first thing that was different was they KEPT bringing me back for different mammogram looks on both sides. She'd make a concerned then "oh I'm cheery" face that they must teach them and then squish me and apologize for the fact that it hurt.

It's normally about an hour to an hour and a half process. This time it was over three hours. About an hour into the ultrasound I started to shake and I couldn't stop, It just hit me, I was still in 2015 - the cursed year. My mind began to race, 'This is is, you're gonna have cancer because this year is so fucking stupid this is just fucking perfect' and other thoughts and I just felt like well, there you have it and now I'm going to die.
Eventually via ultrasound they got the look they wanted at the tissue areas circled. They're very dense apparently and don't show what's inside well, so they have to basically shove the ultrasound wand through my breastbone to get a look in there. They found one side was just dense tissue with no hidden gems, and the other was just a small cyst and nothing else. Come back in six months, you're not going to die - yet.

And then, the wheel turned and it was New Year's Eve again instead of death diagnosis day.

It was determined by the girl that we were having a reindeer themed New Year's Eve celebration. It's a very strange fact, but somehow in the course of one day I went from being pretty sure I was about to be referred to an oncologist for bad news to wearing reindeer antlers and celebrating New Year's Eve with South African wine and smores.

Not together you heathens.

I had even forgotten my morning, my terror, my tears of relief in the dressing room when it was all over, by the time I got home. I might not have remembered had I not taken pictures of the adventure and found them in my phone.

But my evening was filled with the opposite of my morning. There was love, and kisses, and smores and roasting marshmallows. We watched Willie Wonka and Dick Clark's Rockin' Eve and our 2015 ended with a quiet set of hugs and kisses goodnight.

Yesterday was a pain in the ass for hours on end. Everyone got up too late. My deep desire to be left alone in peace wasn't in the cards. I was DENIED. I was bitter about it. The twins were cranky pants about everything and anything. Eventually my husband called me to the bedroom and had me lay down. He wrapped me up with blankets, threw a leg over me and demanded I close my eyes.

I slept and something oddly magical happened. Without the audience of me to offend with their nonstop fighting, it stopped. The kids wandered into various parts of the house and played. I would wake up every so often to be admonished to lay still and close my eyes. like a child I obeyed, slipping back into my blanketed safe zone and letting everything fade.

By the time I got back up, things had stabilized.

I worked out, made lunch and played a matching game with the girl.

Early evening my husband declared we were starting the New Year right - WE WERE GOING OUT!

The girl put her money into her new wallet and her new wallet into her purse and declared she was READY to go. We piled into the van and went to that suburban paradise Olive Garden and dammit we had a pretty good meal.

Everyone was happy. Miles surprised us by reaching for the salad tongs and putting salad on his plate, we think they must have gone there with his social skills group, so I helped him put some salad on his plate and he happily picked out the olives and tomatoes (his favorites). I renewed my love affair with moscato wine, and they forgot my meal so I ended up getting a children's portion at a much better price and it's really all I needed to eat anyway.

In 48 hours I made smores, thought I was going to be told I was gonna die, watched Willie Wonka, had a mandatory nap, played a game,worked out,had an amazing and fun dinner.

Today I'm up for anything. What do you have universe? I'm ready for you.
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48 Hours of Controlled Chaos

This morning I am joined by a five year old wearing Pinkie Pie pajamas. They're the last present my mom ever sent her, and it made me melancholy to see her in them. My mind got all wander-y, as if that were a word, and thinking about this new year and the last year and all the things.

I have been thinking a LOT about how quickly things shift in a life, and how many things can be packed into a short amount of time. I'd like some level ground for a while, but don't know if anyone gets that. It's hard to imagine how things can swing so far one way to another, and how odd and singular a life can be even when surrounded by others.

My New Year's Eve started off at the hospital.

It looked like this for hours.

That's my view from the table. I had to go get my six month mammogram "diagnosis" after them having found something "probably benign" visit after visit. The thing is, they keep finding different things and the previous thing disappears. What that means is that it's cysts, however it also means I end up at the hospital women's imaging center every six month undergoing what I feel like is a dehumanizing hell. They aren't unkind, but there is something about it that makes me like a stone of terror.

This time they seemed "concerned" in their cheery chatty way. Usually I go in, get the mammogram. Go back, get another one on one side, then they go "oh hey let's do an ultrasound" and that takes like 30 minutes. The first thing that was different was they KEPT bringing me back for different mammogram looks on both sides. She'd make a concerned then "oh I'm cheery" face that they must teach them and then squish me and apologize for the fact that it hurt.

It's normally about an hour to an hour and a half process. This time it was over three hours. About an hour into the ultrasound I started to shake and I couldn't stop, It just hit me, I was still in 2015 - the cursed year. My mind began to race, 'This is is, you're gonna have cancer because this year is so fucking stupid this is just fucking perfect' and other thoughts and I just felt like well, there you have it and now I'm going to die.
Eventually via ultrasound they got the look they wanted at the tissue areas circled. They're very dense apparently and don't show what's inside well, so they have to basically shove the ultrasound wand through my breastbone to get a look in there. They found one side was just dense tissue with no hidden gems, and the other was just a small cyst and nothing else. Come back in six months, you're not going to die - yet.

And then, the wheel turned and it was New Year's Eve again instead of death diagnosis day.

It was determined by the girl that we were having a reindeer themed New Year's Eve celebration. It's a very strange fact, but somehow in the course of one day I went from being pretty sure I was about to be referred to an oncologist for bad news to wearing reindeer antlers and celebrating New Year's Eve with South African wine and smores.

Not together you heathens.

I had even forgotten my morning, my terror, my tears of relief in the dressing room when it was all over, by the time I got home. I might not have remembered had I not taken pictures of the adventure and found them in my phone.

But my evening was filled with the opposite of my morning. There was love, and kisses, and smores and roasting marshmallows. We watched Willie Wonka and Dick Clark's Rockin' Eve and our 2015 ended with a quiet set of hugs and kisses goodnight.

Yesterday was a pain in the ass for hours on end. Everyone got up too late. My deep desire to be left alone in peace wasn't in the cards. I was DENIED. I was bitter about it. The twins were cranky pants about everything and anything. Eventually my husband called me to the bedroom and had me lay down. He wrapped me up with blankets, threw a leg over me and demanded I close my eyes.

I slept and something oddly magical happened. Without the audience of me to offend with their nonstop fighting, it stopped. The kids wandered into various parts of the house and played. I would wake up every so often to be admonished to lay still and close my eyes. like a child I obeyed, slipping back into my blanketed safe zone and letting everything fade.

By the time I got back up, things had stabilized.

I worked out, made lunch and played a matching game with the girl.

Early evening my husband declared we were starting the New Year right - WE WERE GOING OUT!

The girl put her money into her new wallet and her new wallet into her purse and declared she was READY to go. We piled into the van and went to that suburban paradise Olive Garden and dammit we had a pretty good meal.

Everyone was happy. Miles surprised us by reaching for the salad tongs and putting salad on his plate, we think they must have gone there with his social skills group, so I helped him put some salad on his plate and he happily picked out the olives and tomatoes (his favorites). I renewed my love affair with moscato wine, and they forgot my meal so I ended up getting a children's portion at a much better price and it's really all I needed to eat anyway.

In 48 hours I made smores, thought I was going to be told I was gonna die, watched Willie Wonka, had a mandatory nap, played a game,worked out,had an amazing and fun dinner.

Today I'm up for anything. What do you have universe? I'm ready for you.
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The Mammogram Shmammomgram

I had to go back for my six months mammogram. I have to do this because I have "dense" tissue apparently and they don't like what they see inside me. They don't say that. They say "probably benign" after you suffer all the indignities of the process. But you can tell by watching their faces that they don't like it.

Once upon a time I had a lump. It was in my armpit and after I saw my GP he referred me immediately to a specialist. The sign on the door said ONCOLOGY. I remember walking through that door by myself at about age 24 or 25, not having realized what I was in for. They did an ultrasound and scheduled me in surgery the next morning. I remember not even processing the possibilities of the bad, but being numb with terror. Oncology. I'm having surgery and the person who ordered it is AN ONCOLOGIST.

It was outpatient surgery and I was awake for it. I remember them putting one arm over my head and securing it, and the nurse taking my other hand and holding it. I thought she was being nice but now I realize she was doing that so I didn't interfere. What I remember most was this crunching sound. They cut into my armpit and it went crunch. I'm not sure why. Crunch crunch snip and he pulled something out. I remember the look on HIS face - it was relief "It's just a sweat gland," he exhaled. Then he added in a more serious tone, "Of course we'll send it for tests to make sure everything is ok." But I could tell from the first statement I was ok. He told me a sweat gland had gotten infected and turned hard. No big deal.

Getting my mammogram is nowhere as harrowing. I hate it. I feel like meat. I don't feel like a person while I'm there. They aren't unkind. They aren't cold. But I think they're just so "matter of fact" about what is so scary that it's just, well I'm not sure how to explain it. I guess in their efforts to mitigate the terror some of us feel while there - their neutrality swaddled in a sea of pink ends up dismissing the very human part of us that is screaming inside. I guess they don't want a bunch of sobbing females when most of us don't actually have anything wrong.

I'll get my mammogram despite how dehumanizing it is because it's important and frankly I don't want to be dead. I'll get it on time and I'll get it every six months or three months or whatever they say. I'll go and sit in my pink gown and eat their graham crackers or smart ones cookies, and drink their tea or coffee and I'll pretend like I am not sobbing inside. I'll pretend like it doesn't hurt (it's not agony but it fucking hurts) and I won't ask questions. If I ask questions I will start crying. "Do you have questions?" "No."

I have no family history, in terms of maternal breast cancer. My mom is adopted. What I know is that my mom doesn't have breast cancer. They asked me about 10 times if I was sure I couldn't get more family history, does anyone else have information? What don't these people understand about NO?

They took me to the little room this time, the bad news room. I held my breath while I waited. If I a man in a white coat showed up, I knew that was bad news. But it was just the same woman who had actually GROANED while lifting my breast onto the machine, and she walked me through my results for this round of tests. "Probably benign." I'm enough of a cynic to hear "but maybe not" aloud in my brain. She goes through the list of things, dense tissue, large breasts, etc. Come back in six months.

I sat and listened to her ramble trying to process my relief. There is a pink phone in there, with two handsets. It's just one phone. But two people can talk at the same time. I don't know what that's for. That would be a good question for next time. "Why are there two handsets on this weird phone?" Maybe it's so you can call your family with bad news and they can talk too? I'm not sure what you would use this phone for.

You do a lot of introspection and thinking about your life while you're wondering if someone is about to tell you that you have cancer. Now, if only all that wisdom would stay put once you hear you don't have it, I'd probably be on the path to a better, more fulfilling life right now.

Oh well. Maybe next time.

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The Mammogram Shmammomgram

I had to go back for my six months mammogram. I have to do this because I have "dense" tissue apparently and they don't like what they see inside me. They don't say that. They say "probably benign" after you suffer all the indignities of the process. But you can tell by watching their faces that they don't like it.

Once upon a time I had a lump. It was in my armpit and after I saw my GP he referred me immediately to a specialist. The sign on the door said ONCOLOGY. I remember walking through that door by myself at about age 24 or 25, not having realized what I was in for. They did an ultrasound and scheduled me in surgery the next morning. I remember not even processing the possibilities of the bad, but being numb with terror. Oncology. I'm having surgery and the person who ordered it is AN ONCOLOGIST.

It was outpatient surgery and I was awake for it. I remember them putting one arm over my head and securing it, and the nurse taking my other hand and holding it. I thought she was being nice but now I realize she was doing that so I didn't interfere. What I remember most was this crunching sound. They cut into my armpit and it went crunch. I'm not sure why. Crunch crunch snip and he pulled something out. I remember the look on HIS face - it was relief "It's just a sweat gland," he exhaled. Then he added in a more serious tone, "Of course we'll send it for tests to make sure everything is ok." But I could tell from the first statement I was ok. He told me a sweat gland had gotten infected and turned hard. No big deal.

Getting my mammogram is nowhere as harrowing. I hate it. I feel like meat. I don't feel like a person while I'm there. They aren't unkind. They aren't cold. But I think they're just so "matter of fact" about what is so scary that it's just, well I'm not sure how to explain it. I guess in their efforts to mitigate the terror some of us feel while there - their neutrality swaddled in a sea of pink ends up dismissing the very human part of us that is screaming inside. I guess they don't want a bunch of sobbing females when most of us don't actually have anything wrong.

I'll get my mammogram despite how dehumanizing it is because it's important and frankly I don't want to be dead. I'll get it on time and I'll get it every six months or three months or whatever they say. I'll go and sit in my pink gown and eat their graham crackers or smart ones cookies, and drink their tea or coffee and I'll pretend like I am not sobbing inside. I'll pretend like it doesn't hurt (it's not agony but it fucking hurts) and I won't ask questions. If I ask questions I will start crying. "Do you have questions?" "No."

I have no family history, in terms of maternal breast cancer. My mom is adopted. What I know is that my mom doesn't have breast cancer. They asked me about 10 times if I was sure I couldn't get more family history, does anyone else have information? What don't these people understand about NO?

They took me to the little room this time, the bad news room. I held my breath while I waited. If I a man in a white coat showed up, I knew that was bad news. But it was just the same woman who had actually GROANED while lifting my breast onto the machine, and she walked me through my results for this round of tests. "Probably benign." I'm enough of a cynic to hear "but maybe not" aloud in my brain. She goes through the list of things, dense tissue, large breasts, etc. Come back in six months.

I sat and listened to her ramble trying to process my relief. There is a pink phone in there, with two handsets. It's just one phone. But two people can talk at the same time. I don't know what that's for. That would be a good question for next time. "Why are there two handsets on this weird phone?" Maybe it's so you can call your family with bad news and they can talk too? I'm not sure what you would use this phone for.

You do a lot of introspection and thinking about your life while you're wondering if someone is about to tell you that you have cancer. Now, if only all that wisdom would stay put once you hear you don't have it, I'd probably be on the path to a better, more fulfilling life right now.

Oh well. Maybe next time.

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Round Two Again

Mammogram testing round two sends you to the hospital outpatient center, which was where I went this morning. You're supposed to be 30 minutes early, but I have to confess I wasn't feeling it. So I got there almost on time, and no one was waiting so it's not like it was a big deal anyway.

I verified who I was and was taken from this tiny room back to the bigger, ladies only section of the imaging center. This time I enjoyed a coffee, Lorna Doones and graham crackers, compliments of the Center for Women's Diagnostics.

That really is a superior shortbread cookie, in my opinion. Pecan Sandies are the worst cookie on the planet. This cookie opinion piece is off topic but it's the sort of stuff I was occupying my mind with while I tried to sort out if my locker bracelet thing would tighten (it didn't) and if there was anything to read (there wasn't).

I went back for the "better" machine to do a check of the right breast. The image from the previous center was up and I wish to hell I could've had an image of it. It looked CRAZY. I can see why they refer me if that's what they get with the FIRST machine. Huge white mass of ...MYSTERY. I mean it just LOOKS like doom.

The better machine apparently provided better pics however many were required. And more were required. And more again. Then I went back out to sit, and have more cookies, and wait. Then they come to say "Hi I'm here for your ultrasound" which I had suspected I was gonna have but didn't really know for sure.

After the girl slathered me up with goo and shoved a wedge under my shoulder, thereby dislocating it from what I could tell, and forcing my arm back in a direction it doesn't go, she got to work looking for whatever was in the mass of mystery. After about 30 minutes and my shoulder going numb, she told me she had to go get someone else to take a look, because she was new to this facility.

I didn't actually believe this lie. I thought "Oh hell here we go something IS wrong dammit." But an older tech came in, took one look at me and said "Let's get some towels under your arm, that has to hurt." I instantly liked her better. She started doing the tests again, and did the entire series over, but she TALKED. She told the other tech "This is a better shot, this shows that it's just it's just dense tissue. See that? Look it's an artery - that's nothing see? Ok look this is just dense tissue here. This is what he wants to see." etc.

In essence, SHE told me it's just dense tissue and I'm fine.  She even said "This all looks really good." and smiled when she left.

I have orders to go back in six months but this time they aren't "watching" anything and I don't need to go see the boob doctor. Which is good because he was kind of weird, I thought.

So I'm fine.

I intend to stay that way.
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Round Two Again

Mammogram testing round two sends you to the hospital outpatient center, which was where I went this morning. You're supposed to be 30 minutes early, but I have to confess I wasn't feeling it. So I got there almost on time, and no one was waiting so it's not like it was a big deal anyway.

I verified who I was and was taken from this tiny room back to the bigger, ladies only section of the imaging center. This time I enjoyed a coffee, Lorna Doones and graham crackers, compliments of the Center for Women's Diagnostics.

That really is a superior shortbread cookie, in my opinion. Pecan Sandies are the worst cookie on the planet. This cookie opinion piece is off topic but it's the sort of stuff I was occupying my mind with while I tried to sort out if my locker bracelet thing would tighten (it didn't) and if there was anything to read (there wasn't).

I went back for the "better" machine to do a check of the right breast. The image from the previous center was up and I wish to hell I could've had an image of it. It looked CRAZY. I can see why they refer me if that's what they get with the FIRST machine. Huge white mass of ...MYSTERY. I mean it just LOOKS like doom.

The better machine apparently provided better pics however many were required. And more were required. And more again. Then I went back out to sit, and have more cookies, and wait. Then they come to say "Hi I'm here for your ultrasound" which I had suspected I was gonna have but didn't really know for sure.

After the girl slathered me up with goo and shoved a wedge under my shoulder, thereby dislocating it from what I could tell, and forcing my arm back in a direction it doesn't go, she got to work looking for whatever was in the mass of mystery. After about 30 minutes and my shoulder going numb, she told me she had to go get someone else to take a look, because she was new to this facility.

I didn't actually believe this lie. I thought "Oh hell here we go something IS wrong dammit." But an older tech came in, took one look at me and said "Let's get some towels under your arm, that has to hurt." I instantly liked her better. She started doing the tests again, and did the entire series over, but she TALKED. She told the other tech "This is a better shot, this shows that it's just it's just dense tissue. See that? Look it's an artery - that's nothing see? Ok look this is just dense tissue here. This is what he wants to see." etc.

In essence, SHE told me it's just dense tissue and I'm fine.  She even said "This all looks really good." and smiled when she left.

I have orders to go back in six months but this time they aren't "watching" anything and I don't need to go see the boob doctor. Which is good because he was kind of weird, I thought.

So I'm fine.

I intend to stay that way.
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And Another Mammogram...And Other Stuff

I knew in my heart, after last time, that they were going to call me back. I had my first mammogram a few years ago, and then I got the OH SHIT COME BACK WE NEED TO SEE YOU call. I went every six months for screenings for what turned out to be dense tissue and a cyst which went away all on it's own. 

So I donned my pink gown (above) and went in for the ten minute process that was my mammogram. I grabbed a water from the fridge (they owed me the water for the indignity of the nipple stickers and the manhandling even though the lady was nice). I hurt and I was suddenly overcome with nerves. 

Getting a mammogram is the "let's see if you have cancer" test. When you get your pap smear they check for cancer and my doctor at least checks on your overall female health. But the mammogram is, at least to me, cancer or not cancer? That's more than a bit nerve wracking.

I can't completely blame the mammogram and the impending call, but I woke up at 4 am in excruciating pain, with what seemed to be an ulcer. My husband sat up with me while I waited for medicine to work and I watched the Smurfs with him. Eventually he put me back to bed.

When I woke up, I had the phone call waiting for me in my voice mail. "We need to see you at the Outpatient Breast Imaging Center" ...MONDAY. Yeah yeah I know the drill. Yes I know where to park. Looking forward to your snacks and beverages.  

I slept most of today, overcome with aching in my stomach and what I realize now is stress. I'll get referred back to the Boob Doctor as he's lovingly called. I shouldn't be stressed. Everything is fine. I'm sure it's fine.

I hope it's fine.

And Another Mammogram...And Other Stuff

I knew in my heart, after last time, that they were going to call me back. I had my first mammogram a few years ago, and then I got the OH SHIT COME BACK WE NEED TO SEE YOU call. I went every six months for screenings for what turned out to be dense tissue and a cyst which went away all on it's own. 

So I donned my pink gown (above) and went in for the ten minute process that was my mammogram. I grabbed a water from the fridge (they owed me the water for the indignity of the nipple stickers and the manhandling even though the lady was nice). I hurt and I was suddenly overcome with nerves. 

Getting a mammogram is the "let's see if you have cancer" test. When you get your pap smear they check for cancer and my doctor at least checks on your overall female health. But the mammogram is, at least to me, cancer or not cancer? That's more than a bit nerve wracking.

I can't completely blame the mammogram and the impending call, but I woke up at 4 am in excruciating pain, with what seemed to be an ulcer. My husband sat up with me while I waited for medicine to work and I watched the Smurfs with him. Eventually he put me back to bed.

When I woke up, I had the phone call waiting for me in my voice mail. "We need to see you at the Outpatient Breast Imaging Center" ...MONDAY. Yeah yeah I know the drill. Yes I know where to park. Looking forward to your snacks and beverages.  

I slept most of today, overcome with aching in my stomach and what I realize now is stress. I'll get referred back to the Boob Doctor as he's lovingly called. I shouldn't be stressed. Everything is fine. I'm sure it's fine.

I hope it's fine.

Time for a Mammogram

Alright I slacked off mightily. I was going every six months for two years because of a small cyst they were watching (it was nothing). But then I forgot. It seems I hadn't been for my annual in a couple of years and so that means I hadn't been for a mammogram. Oops.

I'll go back tomorrow. My prediction is I'll go tomorrow and then I'll get the OH SHIT call to come back because I need MORE tests with the different machine and we'll start the dance again. I won't freak out this time, I'll just go, and know that it's probably ok but they need to check because that's safe.

There isn't any breast cancer in my family, which means nothing except I'm not predisposed to it. I could get it. So I'll go and get my check and I'll do what needs to be done. My friend Michele Kocinski faced the bad news with amazing bravery, so I will use her as my example if I ever got such news.

I hate it. It's a pain in the ass. Yeah it hurts and it's embarrassing and weirdly dehumanizing to me. You have a stranger stick metal stickers to your nipples sometime, and manhandle your boobs like you aren't THERE and tell me it's not.

However, it's important. It's "this could save your life important". So I go. If for no other reason, than what you see right here.

I have every reason in the world to do it. So I'll go and I'll be glad I did, even if I don't enjoy it.
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Time for a Mammogram

Alright I slacked off mightily. I was going every six months for two years because of a small cyst they were watching (it was nothing). But then I forgot. It seems I hadn't been for my annual in a couple of years and so that means I hadn't been for a mammogram. Oops.

I'll go back tomorrow. My prediction is I'll go tomorrow and then I'll get the OH SHIT call to come back because I need MORE tests with the different machine and we'll start the dance again. I won't freak out this time, I'll just go, and know that it's probably ok but they need to check because that's safe.

There isn't any breast cancer in my family, which means nothing except I'm not predisposed to it. I could get it. So I'll go and get my check and I'll do what needs to be done. My friend Michele Kocinski faced the bad news with amazing bravery, so I will use her as my example if I ever got such news.

I hate it. It's a pain in the ass. Yeah it hurts and it's embarrassing and weirdly dehumanizing to me. You have a stranger stick metal stickers to your nipples sometime, and manhandle your boobs like you aren't THERE and tell me it's not.

However, it's important. It's "this could save your life important". So I go. If for no other reason, than what you see right here.

I have every reason in the world to do it. So I'll go and I'll be glad I did, even if I don't enjoy it.
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The Great Mammogram Festival of 2012

I went for my first ever mammogram this week, and my first reaction was "Meh - not so bad." The center was a nice place, kind of soft woods and pink and mellow with new agey music playing. If you aren't weirded out by an elderly-ish woman man handling your boobs a lot you'll probably live.
I can see why some people say it hurts. It didn't hurt ME but I think my boobs were mightier than the machine. There is simply only so flat boobs this big will go. So they said they'd contact me in about 10 days and were very nice, even though they had to take EXTRA pics to get all of my boobs in the machine.
I chalked that up to awesome.

However, they called me the next day. And wanted to see me TODAY.

So today I went and learned that they weren't entirely happy with my mammogram as I had an area in my left breast that was so dense they couldn't quite see what was happening. They showed me the mammogram and I totally wanted to snap a pic of it for you guys but that seemed uncool, and when they left the room - they took i off the monitor so I couldn't do it then either.

But, looking at the mammogram, my first reaction was WELL YOU HAVE TO CUT ALL OF THAT OUT because it looked like some hideous, soon to kill me sort of mass. But she explained that serious density looks white like bone and not to freak (too late).

So we did some different kind of ultrasound that wasn't as easy peasy as the first one, more squishy and slightly hurty.

After that, they sent me out to this sort of waiting room area with lots of other ladies in pink robes, also waiting. I learned from them that if "the radiologist comes in, it's bad news." Right about that point, the radiologist came from one of them and she burst into tears.

Everyone in the room was in a weird sort of freak out. It was so odd. There was tea and snacks and coffee, and we're all wearing these pink robes like a cult, waiting to hear if we've got cancer or what is up. Strange sisterhood for sure. Some of them had cancer before, and now were back because something new had shown up. I felt a lot better at that point, the unknown seemed less scary than being pretty sure the bad thing was there.

Then a new lady came in and called my name to come back for an ultrasound because they STILL couldn't see. The ultrasound lasted over an hour. They found two spots, round and small - less than 1cm (I watched them measure) and lots of nothing otherwise. I swear to you, they took like 50 pictures. Eventually my back started to ache and the arm over my head was going numb. When she let me let me be done and sit up, I sat and again wished she'd left the images up so I could snap one. But she didn't so I just sat there and read email.

She came back, WITH THE RADIOLOGIST.

This was the scary bit, because the conversations around me were "This is the first one, this is the second one, here is the first one, here is the second one." I lay there while they did the ultrasounds starting all over again, looking at everything again with him watching the machine live instead of looking at stills.

After they got done, he told me that he felt like it was a duct, or a fatty deposit or a cyst and didn't look worrisome as they didn't see blood going to it. However, I have to go back in six months to make sure "nothing changes".

That's kind of disconcerting.

My diagnosis "probably benign."

That is just shy of "not benign and will in fact kill you" so, I am going to give my doctor a couple of days to get the results and then I want to talk to him. Probably benign isn't really good enough to me. I want to hear THIS IS BENIGN AND WILL NOT KILL YOU WE PROMISE which is not what they said.

So, I guess they're going to have to find a way to say that.

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The Great Mammogram Festival of 2012

I went for my first ever mammogram this week, and my first reaction was "Meh - not so bad." The center was a nice place, kind of soft woods and pink and mellow with new agey music playing. If you aren't weirded out by an elderly-ish woman man handling your boobs a lot you'll probably live.
I can see why some people say it hurts. It didn't hurt ME but I think my boobs were mightier than the machine. There is simply only so flat boobs this big will go. So they said they'd contact me in about 10 days and were very nice, even though they had to take EXTRA pics to get all of my boobs in the machine.
I chalked that up to awesome.

However, they called me the next day. And wanted to see me TODAY.

So today I went and learned that they weren't entirely happy with my mammogram as I had an area in my left breast that was so dense they couldn't quite see what was happening. They showed me the mammogram and I totally wanted to snap a pic of it for you guys but that seemed uncool, and when they left the room - they took i off the monitor so I couldn't do it then either.

But, looking at the mammogram, my first reaction was WELL YOU HAVE TO CUT ALL OF THAT OUT because it looked like some hideous, soon to kill me sort of mass. But she explained that serious density looks white like bone and not to freak (too late).

So we did some different kind of ultrasound that wasn't as easy peasy as the first one, more squishy and slightly hurty.

After that, they sent me out to this sort of waiting room area with lots of other ladies in pink robes, also waiting. I learned from them that if "the radiologist comes in, it's bad news." Right about that point, the radiologist came from one of them and she burst into tears.

Everyone in the room was in a weird sort of freak out. It was so odd. There was tea and snacks and coffee, and we're all wearing these pink robes like a cult, waiting to hear if we've got cancer or what is up. Strange sisterhood for sure. Some of them had cancer before, and now were back because something new had shown up. I felt a lot better at that point, the unknown seemed less scary than being pretty sure the bad thing was there.

Then a new lady came in and called my name to come back for an ultrasound because they STILL couldn't see. The ultrasound lasted over an hour. They found two spots, round and small - less than 1cm (I watched them measure) and lots of nothing otherwise. I swear to you, they took like 50 pictures. Eventually my back started to ache and the arm over my head was going numb. When she let me let me be done and sit up, I sat and again wished she'd left the images up so I could snap one. But she didn't so I just sat there and read email.

She came back, WITH THE RADIOLOGIST.

This was the scary bit, because the conversations around me were "This is the first one, this is the second one, here is the first one, here is the second one." I lay there while they did the ultrasounds starting all over again, looking at everything again with him watching the machine live instead of looking at stills.

After they got done, he told me that he felt like it was a duct, or a fatty deposit or a cyst and didn't look worrisome as they didn't see blood going to it. However, I have to go back in six months to make sure "nothing changes".

That's kind of disconcerting.

My diagnosis "probably benign."

That is just shy of "not benign and will in fact kill you" so, I am going to give my doctor a couple of days to get the results and then I want to talk to him. Probably benign isn't really good enough to me. I want to hear THIS IS BENIGN AND WILL NOT KILL YOU WE PROMISE which is not what they said.

So, I guess they're going to have to find a way to say that.

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