So, today was the yearly mammogram day. I dread these visits because there is always an issue. Always another 'view' required, always a 'let's do an ultrasound' required, always a looong wait between views and tests and conversations with the doctor. All the while my anxiety level rises and rises. Thank god I am already on blood pressure medication. I get myself all worked up during those hours thinking 'what if'. What if they find something? What if I have to come back? What if I have Cancer? What if I die? All in all, not a pleasant experience. I always come out of there feeling like I have been on an emotional rollercoaster.
Today was difficult but for different reasons. First of all, I had to bring Sarah. Usually she is calm, cooperative and easy to keep busy while I wait. Sure, she would get tired but I could generally work with her. Not so today. She did not want to be there and had no qualms about letting me know. So I was on extra duty to keep her from being disruptive.
Secondly, at the exact moment they called me in from the waiting room, Jimmy rang on the cell phone. So now I have this woman telling me what room to go in, where to put my clothes, what to put on and where to wait to be called---and Jimmy is excitedly telling me in my right ear about what he is doing today down in DC. Now, I am FAR more interested in what Jimmy is saying than anything else so I continue this conversation while trying to figure out where the heck I am supposed to be going. So I push the wheelchair over by the group of ladies sitting in their green gowns and say to them as I disappear into the dressing room- "Don't mind her!" all the while talking into a cell phone(which are not allowed, but there was NO WAY I was going to stop my child from telling me something he was excited to share). So, in I go and try to maneuver into one of those lovely green gowns on while still chatting and listening to Jimmy. Sarah is doing who-knows-what out there,probably drooling all over the place and whining....I can't begin to imagine what the ladies are thinking.
We end the phone call, I tell Jimmy to call me later. So now I go out to sit with Sarah. The ladies group is silent. They look at me. They stare at Sarah. I wonder what she was doing while unattended by me. She's pretty much leaning over to the right, whining and drooling. Lovely.
I get her settled better and we start looking through magazines to pass the time. Slowly some of the ladies start asking each other questions about how long they have been waiting, what doctor they are seeing, where they live and finally---why they are here today. What comes to light is shocking to me. ALL THESE LADIES ARE HERE FOR BREAST BIOPSIES. Every single one. Except me. So now they are comparing different types of biopsies. Like women share recipies. I feel like I am on the edge of a nightmare. These ladies are experiencing what I fear most, a possible breast cancer diagnosis. And they are all so lovely, composed, humorous, dignified and supportive. And they are talking excitedly about upcoming trips and events. How do they do this? How are they not falling apart with anxiety about test results? How are they smiling? How are they talking about Italy and the best places to visit? HOW? What is their secret?
I looked at each and every one of them, young and old, with admiration. One older woman had a faded mastectomy scar under her gown. These women are survivors. They have something I am lacking. And I am not sure exactly what it is. But I wish I had it. If I was told I needed a breast biopsy, I would have to be medicated heavily with anti-anxiety medication as I would be SURE I had cancer and would not survive the disease. I can't help it, it is how I am. I have problems apparently.
So, I was called in for my little routine mammogram that felt very insignificant at this point and when I returned to the ladies group there was only one left. The others had all been called separately for their biopsies. The hour of sharing and bonding was over.I felt a little sad. Everyone had scattered back into their own lives. None of us will ever know how the next one fared. I said goodbye and went on my way too.
Oh, and my results? Entirely normal. No ultrasounds, no more 'views, no biopsies, no cancer. A simple mammogram and I go home. Unusual for me. Huh. I guess I will be around for another year.
