i officially don't have breast cancer, so that's good.

two weeks ago, i found a suspect lump while nursing finneas and got a bit concerned.  so i called the doctor the next day, who got me in the same afternoon.  after an awkward exam (like the qualifier is necessary), she scheduled me for an ultrasound and a meeting with a surgeon.

at this point, i was mostly nonchalant about everything.  the midwife thought it might be a cyst; i have a family history of cysts; it was probably just that.  but what if, on the very off chance, perhaps...? 

having nearly two weeks between the original 'sighting' and the ultrasound, though, proved way more stressful than i thought it would.  by this sunday, my stomach was in knots, i felt absolutely nauseous, and most of the day i was trying not to cry about the fact that i was obviously on my death bed.  i would never get to see penelope walk down the aisle.  i wouldn't get to meet my grandchildren.  i was already thinking through all the people i knew who could be a viable stepmother for my kids - you know, kindly but no-nonsense.  like mary poppins.  as you should already know, i'm crazy and stress just exacerbates it.

so i finally had my appointment yesterday.  first, the ultrasound: the ultrasound tech spent a while poking and prodding and frowning in silence.  then she said that she needed to show the photos to the radiologist, who came in a while later to say that he (yes, he) couldn't see what he would like on the screen and could i please just get all bare chesty again?  then he spent a bunch of time staring at the screen, also frowning and also in silence except for the parts where he asked if i had a family history of breast cancer (yes) and if the lump had grown any since i'd found it (yes). 

at this point i was pretty confident that i was going to have to text my husband a loving goodbye since i wouldn't make it home in time to tell him.  (and i'd have to die with the regret that not only were my last words via text, but also that they cost todd a quarter since we don't have a texting package).

the radiologist said he was pretty sure it wasn't cancer, but that he'd have the surgeon talk to me more in-depth about it.

so then, the meeting with the (male) surgeon: after another awkward exam, he told me that it was, in fact, a cyst, complicated by the fact that i was nursing.  he then proceeded to drain it, which i'll spare you the details of, but it involved a syringe in some very sensitive tissue.  and then it involved a band-aid right on my boob.  sweet.

i walked out of the office today with a HUGE sigh of relief that that the only implications this whole thing had on my mortality was that if i die in a car wreck or something in the next 24 hours, the paramedics are going to find my band-aided boob and be all, what the what?  but even in this scenario, i'll at least be in heaven at that point, awaiting the resurrection of my new body, which i'm pretty sure will be band-aidless, so i don't have to be quite so embarrassed about what the paramedics think of me now.

so all in all, a pretty successful breast lump investigation, if you ask me.


Allison said...

Oh wow! That must have been so scary! I'm very glad everything turned out alright. I bet you and your boob are much happier now :)

whenjeskasparks said...

true story: my mom once REALLY LOUDLY IN AN OPEN WAITING ROOM told my boss (dr. whatshisbucket) that "when they drain the cysts out of my breasts---- wouldn't know you it! it looks just like root beer."

aaaaaaaaand that's what i'll be discussing in therapy this week.

(and i'm glad you're not dead. distant or not, i wouldn't be able to function without you.)

paige said...

um...mine looked nothing like root beer. maybe the fact that your mom's producing fountain soda explains some stuff.