The Boob Squishing

Part One of the Mammogram Saga

Eyes up top, Sherlock!

For years, I avoided mammograms. The idea of getting my boob squished by a stranger wasn’t appealing. Frankly, even the friendliest friend would have been hard pressed to convince me to let them squish my boob. Mammograms became the ball dodged by my bratty self with any doctor.

But when we moved to Ithaca and I dove into the healthcare system here, I thought, dang. I need to be an adult and get all checked, inside and out.

So, I let the ball hit me and scheduled my mammogram.

The first clue that mammograms are a different beast was that the nurse who scheduled me ordered me not to put on deodorant the day of imaging. How deodorant manages to throw off the results of a mammogram, I don’t know. Perhaps because aluminum is used in some of them? Whatever the case, a shower before the appointment protected the nurse technician from my skunky musk.

Now, the mammogram process in and of itself is pretty simple. Stand here, put your breast there, hold your breath so there’s no movement, watch the machine revolve past your head. Repeat on the other side. The most unusual part was the nurse marking my skin tags with little dots so the radiologist didn’t accidentally think a skin tag was cancer.

Yes, please!

The technician reassured me that getting further investigative mammograms and ultrasounds in this first tour through the system was normal. Since breasts aren’t uniform, getting a follow-up mammogram to answer any questions of inconsistencies between them is pretty normal.

So, when another nurse called and scheduled a follow-up mammogram and ultrasound, I wasn’t surprised.

This second appointment was in a different building than the first. While my new mammogram technician was quite nice, the mammogram machine pinched this time as they tried to get good pictures of their specific focus. It ended up being weird and kind of awful in that way that is “Stand there. Place yourself [meaning my breast] here. That pinch is normal since the machine needs to see that one area. Don't breathe.” The machine rotated less than an inch from my face. “Now breathe. Step away. Put your arm here. Pull yourself off of the machine.” My breast made the tiniest ‘shhhhh-pop’ as it disconnected from the plastic.

I waited as an unknown radiologist read my scans from a remote location. When the Oracle of the Clinic indicated all was good, I was sent across the hall for my ultrasound.

For this part, I laid on a table, opened my gown, and raised my hand over my head. “I'm going to put some warm gel on you,” she said, meaning my bare breast.

“Well, now it's a party,” I laughed.

She did not.

I shut up and watched the screen, trying to figure out the problem area while she searched with her ultrasound wand. After mapping the tiny mystery, she placed a napkin over the gel on my breast, and told me to stay on the table and relax. The Oracle of the Clinic would check the scans and get back to her.

A nap seduced me, and her words jarred me awake. “The radiologist just got back to me, okay?”

“What?” I burbled, trying to act like I was aware.

“Oh, I'm sorry. The radiologist got back to me. She sees something but doesn't know what it is, so she wants to schedule a biopsy.”

“Oh!” A biopsy? “That's surprising.” I feel okay. Do I have cancer?

The tech smiled. “She just can't tell what it is so we need to check it out. You can get dressed and then we'll schedule the procedure.”

Good God. A procedure. I wiped the gel from my breast with the napkin and got dressed behind a curtain as she talked about what would happen. Apparently, the biopsy person would numb my breast and then insert a hollow needle into the mass to get a few samples as the ultrasound guided them. At the same time, they'd place a little titanium doo-hickey to mark the spot for reference for future Oracles of the Clinic or surgeons.

“It could just be a lymph node or a milk duct where something has gone wrong.” Another gentle smile. “It doesn't have to be cancer. And we may need to do surgery even if it isn't cancer so we can remove the issue.”

Great. People always jump to cancer.

She showed me a square piece of clear plastic, about 4” x 6”, that had representations of the markers. “It will look like one of these,” she pointed to a line of squiggles. “And it's the size of this,” and she indicated a line only a couple of millimeters long.

“You won't set off any alarms at the airport or anything.” This gal was thorough! I wondered how many people thought up that question in the shock of “We need to do a biopsy.”

Not me.

The morning of January 9th was the first available appointment. Get it done, I thought. No reason to wait around.

“Do you have any questions?” She looked at me expectantly.

“I don't. I just... This is my first tour through this system. This all started with my very first mammogram. I guess I'm getting the full tour.” I smiled at her as I saw her eyes falter. “But I feel fine. I'm not worried. Maybe I will be later, but for now, I'm okay.”

Truth be told, I was numb. I went home and, when Stephanie and I were alone, I talked to her about it, about how Mom died from cancer, how Dad’s new wife was experiencing her own health crisis. I didn't want to say anything to anyone outside the house until after we knew one way or the other. Plus, I am an adult, going out to meet whatever this biopsy would bring to me and dealing with it as necessary. Breast cancer isn't the death knell it used to be. Even as I thought about what it would mean if I had cancer, I only thought of the treatment and questioned if I would be able to continue in the caregiving that I give to Stephanie or would we need other help. That's all. Not that I would die.

My mass is only 7mm. I joked with Stephanie that I could dig it out with a penknife, except that the mystery point isn’t a lump I could feel. After we went to bed, she threw her arm over me. “It isn't cancer. You don't have cancer.”

I felt that in my gut, but also knew that my gut has been wrong before.

The next evening, I reached out to a friend who had survived breast cancer and told her about the biopsy. She reassured me, answered all my questions, and kept saying the things that were going through my mind. Just knowing that she was there made a huge difference as I navigated the holiday season.

Because of course this time of living in the “do I have cancer” haze happened over the second half of December. My avoidance skills are, if I might brag a bit, legendary. But still, the thought would arise at weird and inopportune times. Though, is there an opportune time for wondering if you have cancer?

I’d be reading a book and think, “What books should I read during chemo?” Walking the dog and wonder who would walk Mack when my energy level dropped. Making breakfast for Stephanie and question how long the treatments would take and when we could start traveling again.

These little nudges filled my mind. Not all the time. Not every day. But often enough that I didn’t want to talk about it for fear that everyone would get annoyed and tired of my speculation.

I was annoyed and tired of it myself.

And I knew it wouldn’t end until I’d gotten the results from my biopsy.

That January 9th appointment couldn’t come fast enough.

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Tune in next week for the Boob Poking….

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Speaking of birthday presents….. Why yes! My birthday is coming up soon! So to celebrate, I’m holding a sale of 20% off all paid subscriptions for twelve months. Why not upgrade in February? (The sale ends 2/29/24.)