Ring ring...
Ok, it was the iPhone. So... buzz...buzzzzzz....
Ok, it was the iPhone. So... buzz...buzzzzzz....
Cheery Voice says, "Hi Patricia!"
No one that knows me actually calls me Patricia so this can't be good, right?
"I'm calling from XYZ Radiology," Cheery Voice continues.
Longest. pause. ever. Me thinking- did I have scans sometime I can't remember? Thyroid again? Seriously a little stumped here...
"I need to schedule your..." (insert dramatic pause) "Mammogram."
Dun dun dunnnnnnnnnn.
Mammogram. With a capital M in her voice.
This will be my first since, you know, I just turned 40. I mentioned it to my new doc last week all casually like a good little former American Cancer Society employee should. It's time! I need to get checked! Early detection saves lives!
I'm flashing back to the hundreds- no, thousands of times- I've said to callers on the phone in my former position, "It's usually nothing! They often ask for a second mammogram just to make sure." I tried to be calm and helpful to those callers.
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| In my rear-view mirror |
I apologize, callers.
I get it now. This shit is scary. Look at me- I'm already skipping over the first scan to the time the office calls to ask for a second one. Just to make sure. And I know better! I was a professional, dammit! But here I go jumping to C when I haven't even made the appointment for A.
Lawdy, Shenanigans. Get a hold of yourself
This is a case where knowing the stats is not a good thing. The odds aren't always in our favor. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. The odds are higher when a direct family member has been diagnosed. I'm not in that higher odds group, thank God. The closest I have is two aunts who were diagnosed, one related by blood & one by marriage.
But it's enough to scare me. And sadden me. And make it all way too real.
But it's enough to scare me. And sadden me. And make it all way too real.
Confession time. Friends, please don't hate me. But as we get older I've been holding my breath so to speak. Waiting for one of you to announce your diagnosis. Not hoping, mind you, but waiting to hear the news. Yeah. Not cool, I know.
But the odds. The odds say...
But the odds. The odds say...
Clearly there's a Dark Side working here. See, now you know the truth: Shenanigans isn't always fun, games, & Disney. She's actually a glass half empty kind of person at times. Even though I knew this day was coming and the phone call shouldn't have caught me off guard, but, whoa, did it ever.
40. Man, 40 is a big number. I think I said that before, right? It's now a shit just got REAL big number.
40. Man, 40 is a big number. I think I said that before, right? It's now a shit just got REAL big number.
So I'll take my place with the millions of other 40 year-olds this year getting their first squish. Do you think Kate Moss is having her boobs checked this year? Or Tiffani Thiessen? They should. They turn 40 too.
As if the actual procedure doesn't sound like torture, I have visions of them taking twice as long to get every angle of my large, flappy, 5 times over breast feeding milk machines placed just right. Hawt, right? Just didn't want anyone getting too excited with the boob talk here. Shit getting real, yo!
I'll go in Friday. I'll get squished. I'll then wait for the all clear phone call that means I beat the odds.
This year.
This year.
Update 5.16: Done! And it was more uncomfortable talking to Chatty Cathy about why I know I'm not pregnant than actually getting squished. That part was nothing!
Though she must read my blog. As I was getting dressed she says,"Since this is your first, expect a call back for further testing. Either another mammogram or ultrasound is probably needed."
Errr... Ok.
Not sure if that helped or freaked me out more! Stay tuned...
Talk to me, Goose. How was your mammogram experience? Is this reaction "normal"? Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes...












