All About the Five Minutes One Day When I Thought I Had Breast Cancer

(Originally Posted in 2010)

I had some discomfort in the left upper quadrant of my chest so my doctor, just to be extra safe, sent me in for a mammogram. I went, feeling sure that I did not have breast cancer and this would be a very painful waste of my time.

The test was in the "cancer building" of St. Joseph West Hospital (I didn't like going into the cancer building & even sort of wondered while sitting in the waiting room if there were any contagious forms of cancer). After a short wait I was escorted to a changing room so I could dress myself in the stylish pink shirt that would give them full access. After another short wait in a different waiting room a technician took me into the room for the mammogram. After asking me some questions about cancer, she told me she would take some pictures of both sides & then show them to the radiologist, who might want more pictures depending on how well the first ones turned out. So she took about 4 or so pictures and then showed them to the radiologist while I waited in the waiting room with a woman older than my mom (and that is OLD). The technician returned with instructions to take a few more pictures of the left side. Once in the room she told me she had a feeling the radiologist was going to want an ultrasound of the left side.

"Do you have orders from your doctor for an ultrasound?" she asked.

"Um, no..." I answered, trying to think of a reason they would want an ultrasound other than to get a better look at "something they found" in the other pictures.

The technician took some more pictures, which, by the way, hurt a lot more than the first ones. She then returned me to my seat in the waiting room so she could, once again, confer with the yet unseen radiologist. The technician returned to the waiting room with what I thought was a concerned look on her face. She told me the radiologist did want to have an ultrasound of the left side. They were having their receptionist call my doctor for the orders. Meanwhile, she said, touching my arm, just wait here. Was there anything I needed? (speaking in the concerned voice, sitting next to me, touching my arm, looking me straight in the eyes). No, I didn't need anything, except for this whole ordeal to end.

She left & I continued flipping through my magazine. The next page just happened to be a story about breast cancer survivors and what they had learned from their breast cancer experience. This was too much for me & the tears started coming, but I managed to hold them in (just barely). I began pondering what my breast cancer experience would be like. I wondered if I could possibly be pregnant. What would that do to the baby? Would I have to choose between my own life & the life of a baby? How would we tell the kids? What kind of life would we have? Could I depend on David to help me through this? How would I get all the housework done when I was sick from chemotherapy? How much pain would I be in after the inevitable mastectomy? I was getting quite upset by my cancer diagnosis. Until I remembered that I had not, in fact, been diagnosed with cancer. Or anything.

Another technician came and told me she'd be right with me. Then she took me into a different room and I got on the bed. I was tired from my earlier meltdown, so it was nice to be able to rest. The technician took several pictures of what looked like a circular thingy and then told me she would show them to the radiologist, who may or may not want to then come talk to me. But, she reassured me, if she does come talk to you, it doesn't necessarily mean something bad has been found. Which, to me, sounded like she said, "If she wants to talk to you, then it could mean she found something bad." She left.

The radiologist returned to the room alone. She said, "WE FOUND....." (they found something!) "what appears to be a benign nodule...." blah blah blah "we just want to see you in six months to make sure it hasn't grown." blah blah blah. I don't know what else she said, except to tell you she did not tell me that I have breast cancer. And that is what matters.  And that is the end of the story about the five minutes one day when I thought I had breast cancer.