Titty Gate

“No suspicious mass, suspicious microcalcifications, or other sign of malignancy is identified.”

Today was a lot.

As you know I have attempted to mentally prepare myself for each step of this journey. For some reason, I thought today would be easy. No mental preparation needed.

For self preservation, I have spent the last year ignoring just how traumatic the experience of my last mammogram and ultrasound actually was for me.

Of all the things I’ve shared I don’t believe I have described what that was like for me 1 year ago. And I’m not entirely sure that I could have accurately described it previous to today. Every step of today was a beat by beat comparison in my mind to the last one. Different building, different techs, same anxiety.

Last year, it took a very long time. Multiple images back and forth, the doctor wants more. They try really hard not to be alarmist but you can feel it.

This year, it was so quick. My tech was so lovely and she talked to me the whole time. She could sense my anxiety, which I didn’t even realize I had until she looked at me and said “you’re gonna be fine”, before we even began. And I felt the tears coming. I don’t know why but I did not expect that. I know I’m fine… right? I guess… deep down I was not wholly confident.

Last year, after the doctor reviewed the images, the tech smiled at me and sent me to the ultrasound room without a word.

This year, after review, the tech came in, put her hand on my shoulder and whispered “they’re all clear”. More tears.

Last year, the ultrasound took almost 30 minutes. The tech left the room to have the staff doctor review them, the doctor and tech returned, “you need to have a biopsy,” she abruptly stated to me and handed me a piece of paper with a number to call to schedule and attempted to flee the room. I called out for her to wait, I had a question and she reluctantly turned around. I asked what the images showed, why the biopsy and she gruffly said “unclear margins, schedule the biopsy” and left the room. The tech gave me an “I’m sorry smile”. I’m sorry the doctor is so rude and sorry you probably have cancer look.

This year, the ultrasound took 15 minutes. The tech left the room to have the doctor review the images and the tech returned with a big smile, “we’ll see you next year. Everything looks great.”

Both times I waited to get to the car to full on sob.

Last year it was because I had cancer.

This year it was because I don’t.

Today was a lot.