******Before I go into too much detail, know that this post has a happy ending…no need to worry or panic******

So a week ago today I had my yearly mammogram. I won’t go into all the details…at least half of you have done it. You know the drill…undress from the waist up, act blase when the technician puts the little bb-like thing on your nipple and step up to the torture sophisticated medical equipment.

She positions you and then turns on the machine that squeezes the breath out of you. Then you get dressed and go on your merry way. Everytime I’ve done this, I got a letter a few days later telling me that all is well. Until this time.

Friday the nurse called from my doctor’s office. There’s a shadow…we need to take another look. You’re scheduled for next Thursday. I went numb…and dumb. Just said thank you and hung up the phone. (Why do we say thank you when someone tells us horrible things?)

So I fretted all weekend. For those of you who don’t know, I had lymphoma in 2002 and went through six months of chemo…an experience I am not eager to repeat.

Today, when I realized that I couldn’t breath, I called the nurse back and basically had a “come apart” on the phone. She reassured me that this happens all the time, but said that she’d try to get me in sooner for the follow-up tests. And she did…so I went back this afternoon.

I put on the stupid little capelet and once again shoved my body into the torture sophisticated medical equipment. And then I waited. Technician came back…had to do it again because I moved. So we did it again. And I waited again.

Technician came back and said we need an ultrasound. So I sat around in the stupid little capelet some more…just wishing I could remember how to breathe.

Different technician comes back to take me for the ultrasound. And asks if a new employee can watch. I was a little dumbfounded, but nodded that it would be ok.

So we do the ultrasound. She smears smelly petroleum jelly in the appropriate area and starts looking around.

I’m still trying to breathe.

When she’s done she goes to visit the radiologist. She’s gone forever.

Finally, she comes back and tells me that the radiologist isn’t impressed at all with my breast and that I’m fine and free to go.

I don’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. Just what does he mean by “not impressed?” 🙂



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10 responses to “Whew…

  1. Little Sister

    Thats happened to me before, and I am sure you were extra nervous. Glad all is well. But they never told me they werent impressed with my breast. I would be insulted! One week….yippeee

  2. lashlee

    I am thoroughly impressed with your breasts. Thank you for the disclaimer at the beginning, it kept me from having trouble breathing. Love you

  3. hereinfranklin

    Love you more…:)

  4. Beck

    Well, get your mother to tell you about my day today at the Vanderbilt’s cardiac clinic……….. (4 hours of tests)obviously Vanderbilt doesn’t always get it right but they do scare the H—out of you. Bon Voyage. We’ve all had that mysterious breast “shadow”………. not to worry . The worst part is that all the tests hurt my back not my heart!!!!

  5. hereinfranklin

    Oh…sorry…hope it doesn’t interfere with your trip…bon voyage to you too!

  6. Julie Fisher

    Oh, yes, the infamous “shadow”. I, too, am a graduate of that scenario not once or twice but maybe three times. So you go for the dark room ultrasound experience. And in my case, and I bet yours too, neither the technician nor the physician or whatever he is talks to you at all. Rather, they mumble knowingly to each other about things like”this area” and “here, too” and “yes, I see” and the especially unnerving “mmmm-hmmm”. Years later when they finally realize they need to address you (the person behind the bosom), they just say something like “well, everything looks fine.” In my case I run like all h… out of there before anybody realizes that they were wrong and I will not see another birthday cake.
    SO GLAD you’re fine. See, if you had just talked with one or all of us seasoned veterans of the BIG SCARE, we could have told you that the “shadow” just needs a little light.

  7. Mother

    I hate days like this when I get these scary messages from my children. Yes, the “shadow” thing happens to everyone at some time or another and Beck’s stress test (part of a routine procedure with her new doctor-since she goes on medicare in a month and 5 days-) turned out fine for her heart but didnt help her back.

  8. That was a great description. What a comforting and secure process, eh? The maybes and the “what ifs” are pretty overwhelming sometimes.

  9. hereinfranklin

    Amen, Allie! Thanks for reading!

  10. Pingback: The Doctor’s Occupational Hazard « HereInFranklin’s Weblog

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