Down in the Lumps

Hey folks, sorry for the long absence, but real life intervenes and sometimes the blog is the first to go.

About 10 days ago, I went to the doctor for my routine exam and she found a lump in my breast. The soonest they could get me in to get a mammogram and a scan was yesterday, so for the last ten days I've been pretty much burning brightly with anxiety. Now that the date for my follow up has come and gone, and I still don't know ANYTHING, my anxiety is doing its little dance and going towards the PISSED side. I left the radiology department yesterday with a mental list I'd like to give them personally. A list that would include:

• Have a FRIGGN' SENSE OF HUMOR. Humor HELPS, people!
• Offer to explain what you are doing and/or SHOW what you are doing. Just because your patient doesn't speak up, doesn't mean she doesn't WANT TO KNOW.
• Warmer robes would also help. With the AC blasting, I sat with about 3 other women SHIVERING in our thin seersucker robes.

I've been doing research and I know the drill. I know that most lumps--as in 80-90% of lumps are nothing but just that, lumps. I also have been through a health scare before, where I learned that doctors say things to you with the same nonchalance that they would tell you about what they ate for lunch, not realizing that you are clinging to every word they say and the WAY they say it. For example, when my doctor used the term "LARGE" to describe the lump, she may not have meant, "This woman is DOOMED," but I wouldn't know. Unfortunately, I am not in her brain. I am in MY brain where I am filling in the blanks faster that a game of Mad Libs. I once had a doctor say to me, "Do you WANT children? Why not just get a HYSTERECTOMY?" In the same way she might have asked me, "Do you want a skirt? Why not just get a pair of shorts?" If you are an OBGYN doctor, please do not ever say such a thing to a 29 year old woman. 5-6 years will pass and she will STILL want to kill you.

I like to think of the woman, who sat in her robe, waiting with me yesterday. She must have seen my worried face because she said in a thick Polish accent, "Don't worry about this. This is my THIRD time back and it's always something. Even if they find something, they make mistakes. They told my friend she was dying of stomach cancer and then two weeks later said they made a mistake. You--you are too young. Don't worry."

I borrowed some of her attitude until it became clear that they weren't going to explain anything to me that day and I would have to go home with what I came in with: my insurance card and the big wide unknown. Here's to another day of not knowing, which is, as Graham pointed out, how we all live anyway. Since he's younger than me and not the one with a stuffed pasta shell riding shotgun in his rack, I wanted to say something sarcastic like, "Thanks, YODA." But he was right. He always is.