After I left the OBGYN, I started to research other lumps and bumps of the breast. As I waited four long days for my test, I started to find a little hope with my googling fingers. I tried to live, as normally as possible until Friday.
Friday, February 21, 2020
Step 2: Diagnostic Mammogram
I was easily the youngest in the waiting room by decades. It didn't take long to get called back to where I was led to a tiny dressing room with a fabric curtain. The nice lady asked me to change and wait to be escorted to the next room. So, there I was topless, again, waiting on a lady to lead me to the room where she will squeeze my breasts in multiple directions between a plexiglass looking machine. Honestly, it didn’t hurt, it was a little awkward with the different positions, but virtually painless. Then she led me to the next room, which is where the ultrasound machine was located. I laid on the bed while she took pictures of the area of concern. Once she had finished, she explained that the Radiologist, Dr. Hill, would come in and take a look herself.
Dr. Hill started probing around and I decided to watch the monitor. I joked with the young doctor, “wow, how many weeks am I?” - It looked just like a womb on the display. As you know, I have seen my fair share of womb pictures. I had 4 babies, one of which was considered geriatric (over 35 years old), meaning I had a whole heck of a lot of monitoring (and ultrasounds). She giggled softly and said, “it does kind of resemble that huh.” When she had enough pictures and measurements, she sat me up. It was quiet in the room, so I decided to say something along the lines of “so, what are your thoughts of my lady lump?” I’ve noticed I say a lot of odd things when I am nervous, but that’s nothing new. She didn’t make eye contact with me, still staring at the screen and utter the words “it’s not good.”
I had just sat up, so my blood was still rushing up to my head from lying down for a while, when everything kind of went dark and quiet. It was like I was in slow motion and couldn’t form words with my mouth. I said, “what do you mean not good?” Dr. Hill got close to me and started talking, what seemed to be a mile a minute, about how it looks “textbook like cancer”. I said, “I’m sorry, I can’t understand what you are saying right now” I was not able to concentrate on her words and the room was starting to spin. Dr. Hill grabbed my shoulder and said we are going to biopsy this and find out for sure. My googling started to come to my mind, and I asked if this could this be fluid filled by chance, because you know I googled for 3 hours and she only went to school for like 8…. years. It was about this point I started to choke up. I apologized for my tears as she tried to explain the next steps. Too bad, I can’t remember any of what she said.
The nurse was on the phone from the other side of the room, trying to fit me in same day for the biopsy. Unfortunately, they didn’t have anything until Tuesday. I would have to wait another 4 days.
As the news was setting in, I was crying quietly to myself, the lady led me back to the tiny dressing room and asked me to get dressed and wait for her to come back and get me to walk me out. She closed the curtain, but it was like opening the flood gates. I sobbed topless in that tiny makeshift dressing room for a solid 5 minutes. I got dressed while trying to compose myself, but I couldn’t. I had to prepare myself to get in the car where my husband and two small children waited for me, but for the first time that I could remember I couldn’t control my emotions. I walked through the waiting room, through the lobby, past the parking lot attendants and on to the sidewalk, all the while sobbing uncontrollably.
As I got in the car, barely able to get a breath in, my husband is telling me to calm down. I remember him saying “breathe, take a breath”. I couldn’t. My world was closing in on me and I felt claustrophobic. Thankfully, my littles both fast asleep in the back, while somehow, I verbalized what just transpired. Then I picked up the phone and did what any girl would do and called her mama. After another breakdown, I said to her “are you home?”
It was a quiet ride to my parent’s house. My husband held my hand as I softly wept. As I walked up the stairs to her door, I felt my chest getting heavier and heavier. My mama held me for a while, just letting me cry. She patted my back as she prayed. It had been many decades since she had held me like that, while I cried. Probably, since I was a 13 (but that is a story for another time).