Ultrasounds, Mammograms, and One Ruined Birthday

Happy Birthday, Mom!

My mammogram/ultrasound appointment was scheduled for 1:00 p.m. I was hoping that it wouldn't interfere too much with my mom's birthday, and maybe we could go do something fun after. We had appointments for manicures at 4:30, which gave us ample time because my imaging appointment was supposed to take 2-3 hours. Mom wanted to come with me, so she spent a good few hours waiting in a chair, patiently. What a trooper!

I really thought it was going to take maybe an hour to an hour and a half, that they would tell me, yes, it's a fluid-filled cyst, and if it doesn't go away, please see us and we'll drain it. I was wrong.

To start off, I had to change into a gown, putting it on with the opening on the front. I waited for the ultrasound technician to call me in, and when she did, we went into a dark room with a little bed. Mom had to stay out in the waiting area. She put a little warmed gel (nice feature!) on me and her device, and started navigating my right breast. She would make little computer clicks to take pictures, and the pictures were sent to the radiologist. It's a painless procedure, and the only bad part is that the gel is sorta yucky when it gets on your gown. (Unless you're very timid, and then maybe exposing your breast to a stranger is awkward. In a medical setting, this has never been a problem for me. Well, there was one time when I was studying in France, and I went to get some antiobiotics from the doctor. The doctor had a student with her, and asked if she could do a breast exam to show the student. It was fine, but totally unrelated and unnecessary to the objective of the appointment scheduled. Frenchies.)

The images were sent to the radiologist so she could read them. The technician sent me out to wait with my mom until further notice...

And then another technician summoned me for a mammogram. She told me that the radiologist wanted to see more, so I would have to have my first mammogram. I left Mom in the the waiting area and followed the technician into a different room with a large machine.

For my friends who haven't yet had the pleasure: I always thought one would be sitting for a mammogram, but in the end you have to stand. The machine must have been designed by a man becaue it's really uncomfortable, and you have to stand in really awkard positions because there is no space for your head. Let alone the fact that your breast has to be squashed by two clear plastic plates, with the technician wrangling your breast into the perfect position (wrangling may have been necessary because mine just aren't that big or droopy). So you're standing there, and the technician puts your boob in the right place, then steps on a pedal and really squashes it, then runs to a little booth to take the picture, and right before she tells you to hold your breath and not move an inch. Fun.

Note: I found this whole experience, though slightly painful and generally uncomfortable, to be kind of funny. I mean, you should try to look down when you have one done, if you can. You see your own breast, smooshed like a pancake between transparent plastic plates. And the technician puts these little tape-like stickers on your nipples with a small metal bead to indicate where your nipples are. C'mon, that's funny.

The technician sent my images to the radiologist, and I went to sit with Mom some more to read insipid celebrity magazines. A few minutes later, the same technician came back and said the radiologist wanted to see a closer view through mammography. Since I thought it was just going to be an ultrasound, I started to get a little alarmed. It couldn't be a good sign that this invisible radiologist kept wanting to see more, and no one seemed to know exactly what was really going on.

Anyway, my right breast had to go through the whole mammography ordeal again, and it hurt a bit more the second time. It's like a giant boob pinch, so it's not like a lingering pain, just a quick discomfort.

The technician sent the images to the radiologist (does this sound like "Groundhog's Day" to anyone else?) and after more time waiting, the first technician (the ultrasound one) took us back to the dark little room again. This time the radiologist wanted to see more, and she wanted to see it in "real time," meaning she would be performing the ultrasound. She took more pictures and pushed harder with her "magic wand" than the technician. Her face was very serious and concerned, and as I was already alarmed, that increased my anxiety that we were not leaving with good news. The radiologist, Dr. F., left the room after asking the technician to take some images of my entire right breast.

After that, the technician left (I think) and Dr. F. came back to talk to us (FINALLY!). Her lips were pulled taut and her expression was pretty serious. She showed us my images, which didn't mean much to me, but she also told us that there appeared to be two masses, and that they were referred to as "suspicious" (as if they were probably going to rob a 7-11?). She said she was concerned, and that I would have to have a biopsy as soon as possible.

I let out a few tears because 1) I'm 25 and these are just supposed to be cysts!, 2) I'm ruining my mother's birthday, though she doesn't care, and 3) I have no idea how to plan my life (working, etc.) because new appointments keep popping up and additional appointments hinge on the unforeseen outcomes of existing appointments.

A nurse talked to us to explain the biopsy procedure and comfort us. I was trying to hold it together, but none of these people were scared to use the "C-word" (that would be cancer, you pervs...) and I found that disconcerting. The more people apologized, the more serious it seemed. And the nurse let us know that Dr. F. told her that she was "very worried." Not good. I scheduled an appointment for a Core Needle Biopsy for Tuesday, July 15.

WHAT'S GOING ON? Seriously, this is NOT my life.

Mom and I still made our nail appointments, but we were just going through the actions because I didn't want to cancel with so little notice. And I wanted to pretend we could have a normal day. Didn't happen though. We told my dad and sister, and I called some people to let them know what was going on. We tried to enjoy a BBQ, but everyone's minds were pretty distracted. I went back to Winter Park to work, knowing I'd only be there for the weekend since I had an early biopsy appointment. And I knew I'd have some explaining to do at work.

According to the Homeland Security Advisory System, I would say we were at "Elevated (yellow): significant risk."