The hospital called this afternoon. They want me to go in for another mammogram because my last one shows a small growth in my right breast.
The technician who called said the radiologist is almost positive it's a cyst, but he wants to be 100 per cent positive.
He's not the only one.
So tomorrow morning I'll go back and let them smush my breast again between cold glass plates, stand very still and hold my breath while the machine takes another picture.
I'll be holding my breath in more ways than one.
The rational part of me is calm. That's the part that knows that both my sisters have had cysts in their breasts, and my late baby sister even had to have a lump removed that proved benign.
Because of my family history, I do a breast self-exam once a month. My own doctor did a breast exam back in early May when I had my Australia physical, and neither of us have felt any lumps. Whatever this is, it is tiny.
I eat right. I exercise. I don't smoke. If I drink, I do it in moderation. All these things are good things, right?
Really, the odds are overwhelming that this is just a cyst.
That's what the thinking part of me feels.
There's another part of me that's terrifically scared, a tiny corner of my psyche that is running all sorts of terrible scenarios through an all too vivid imagination. I gotta bitch slap some sense into that imagination, and soon, eh.
The worst part of all this?
The not knowing, the waiting.
I've never been good at waiting.
Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -
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