Mammogram and Ultrasound

I was fine until the day before the mammogram, and then I started freaking out a little. I guess because I wasn’t going to be able to ignore it any longer. I just couldn’t face the thought of telling my children or my dad if I had cancer. I didn’t think I could deal with one more thing after my daughter's cancer diagnosis, my dad’s stroke a couple of months prior, another daughter involved in a devastating car accident, and losing my uncle to cancer; all in a four-year span. I was tired and afraid. I went to bed early and fell asleep with my husband’s arms around me. I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to face the day.

I checked in at the Women’s Health Center of St. Joseph's Hospital in Ann Arbor. I was soon escorted back to the area where you remove everything from the waist up and put on a lovely pink patterned gown, fastening it in the front. Then I was instructed to sit in a waiting room with several other women in the same state of dress. We all sat with our magazines or smartphones, checking Facebook for the latest status update. I looked around and wondered which of these women were here for a routine exam and which were anticipating something more serious.

I was finally taken into a small dimly lit room for the mammogram. Are they trying to create an atmosphere? How about some candles and Yanni playing in the background? The technician had warm hands and tried to be kind as she carefully adjusted my breast in the machine and then smashed the hell out of it, saying “hold your breath.” The mammography machine loomed over me and hummed with each adjustment of position. Eight different images were taken, then she told me to go back to the waiting room while the radiologist read them. She came back in a few minutes and said she needed to do a couple of more images. Great, I thought. Two more images of my right breast and back to the waiting room. “Why my right breast?” I thought. It’s the left I’m concerned about.

Finally, the technician took me to another waiting area for the ultrasound. Another tech showed me into a small room and had me lay on a table with my gown open. She squirted some slimy gel on my right breast and began to scan it with the ultrasound wand. I watched the screen as she performed the test. She stopped in two different spots, took measurements and notes, and then went on to the left breast. I am astute enough to realize that those dark spots she was focusing on were the areas of concern. I asked her if someone would be looking at the scans and talking to me about them before I left. She said absolutely. When she was finished she left the room and came back in a few minutes with a young doctor, and I do mean young. I swear she was about twelve. She explained that she wanted to take another look at a couple of spots on the ultrasound, so I lay back down while she did that. She told me that I needed to have four spots biopsied, and explained how that would happen. She asked me if I had any questions. I started to cry and said “I don’t even know what to ask.” I wanted my husband to be there with me instead of in the waiting room reading some old issue of Woman's Day. She asked if I knew of a breast surgeon, that she thought I would need one after the biopsy. Obviously, she was not feeling positive about the outcome.

A biopsy was scheduled for the following week, but in the morning someone called and said they could see me in two days. I felt relieved that I did not have to wait so long, and worried because they felt they needed to get me in so soon.

The next day I was a sobbing mess. Every time I talked to someone I cried and cried, wanting to just lay down on the floor and kick and scream. Telling my kids was the hardest part. I didn’t want to worry them. My daughters all cried with me. My son took it like a guy, very stoic and matter of fact. My dad immediately started talking about what the dogs had done during the day.

In the following days I stayed busy doing things around the house, cleaning out the chicken coop and putting up Christmas decorations. I went to a movie with a dear friend, and I went to a twelve-step meeting, where I have learned over and over again to stay in the moment and not to waste today worrying about tomorrow.