Several weeks ago I went in for a routine mammogram. It had been around 2-3 years since my last one.
I am relatively healthy and have even been tested negative for the BRCA1 gene which indicates a genetic predisposition to breast cancer.
Still, it was obvious the scan showed a relatively large grey area of dense tissue, and I was not surprised to get a call back for further testing.
The following week, I was back in the doctor’s office for another “diagnostic” mammogram, which would be followed up by an ultrasound of the breast.
With a pink robe on, I joined the other pink-robed women of various ages in the designated waiting area. I wondered if they needed further testing too, and how they managed to stay so positive looking while I cried silently and braced myself for the worst.
“I know you are anxious,” said one of the ultrasound techs as she walked past me. “We are trying to get you in as soon as there’s a room available.”
Finally, I was brought in for the ultrasound. The tech scanned the suspicious area, making notations. She warned me it was usual for the ultrasound doctor – one I had never met – would come in and conduct her own scan as well.
The doctor was a young woman, likely in her 30’s. She introduced herself and quickly went to work – scanning the area in question. On the screen, the words “ABNORMAL MAMMOGRAM” were in plain sight. She took careful measurements and recorded them. Her pensive nature caused me to panic even more.
“I’m usually very quiet when I’m taking measurements, ” she explained. She methodically continued with measurements and calculations. Following the exam, she explained that there was no lump – rather a growing mass of tissue that was not apparent in the previous scan from several years ago.
The doctor and tech explained that in similar cases there’s an 80% chance it’s benign, and 20% chance of malignancy. Although those statistics should be reassuring, I was shaking with fear. I would need to undergo a biopsy where tissue would be collected from the suspicious area and sent to the lab.
“Prepare yourself for any outcome,” the tech informed me. The situation seemed unreal to me. I was in shock. What irked me the most is the lack of empathy and poor bedside manner of the doctor. I knew she was young, and it wouldn’t be ethical for her to speculate and try to reassure me of anything, but a pat on the back and “don’t worry everything will be alright,” would have suited me just fine.
A week later, I came in for a stereotactic breast biopsy. After putting on a robe, I was brought to the medical procedure room and shown where I would lay flat on my stomach, my breast going through a hole on the table – where it would be scanned and prodded, numbed with a shot of lidocaine, and poked with a long needle that would provide the tissue necessary for the pathology.
The experience was extremely uncomfortable. I turned my head to the side, as not to see the doctor performing the procedure, and squeezed a nurses hand as she tried to calm me with small talk. “Why is this so hard, ” I muttered through the tears.
“As women,” the nurse explained, “we are so used to being in control of every situation – as mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters. When we are not in control of something happening to us, it’s hard to digest.”
After the procedure, I was warned that it would take some 3-7 business days to get the results back. AN ENTIRE WEEK OF WAITING. A week of anxious mind racing and googling of worst-case-scenarios, severe mood swings, and even suffering psychosomatic symptoms. Would I need to have part of this tissue surgically removed? Endure chemo? Undergo a life-changing surgery?
Of the few people I spoke to about this experience – everyone had a story of a friend, colleague, family member that had gone through something similar – sometimes with an outcome that required treatment and/or surgery. It had hit so close to home. So many women had suffered a worse outcome than mine, yet lived to raise their children and be present for their grandchildren.
I am so thankful and grateful the pathology indicated no reason for concern, yet this would be an area that would need to be monitored closely in the months and years to come.
For me, every month will be Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I’ve developed a heightened empathy and admiration for the many women who stay strong and positive in the face of breast cancer.
Dana, thank you for writing this. Your experience is very similar to mine. I’m still having follow-up ultrasounds every 6 months, two years after finding a (benign) lump. You’re not alone in feeling anxious and out of control. Wishing you peace.