The Dreaded Word

I have been a Leo all my life, and proud of it!

Apparently, according to new astrological figures, I was deceived.  I am not, in fact, a Leo.

I am Cancer.

HA!  No thanks.  No offense, Trina.  I know that has been your sign all your life and you are probably as attached to it as I was to Leo.

But this post is not really about astrological signs.  After all, any of you who know me at all will know just how much I rely on the zodiac to help me chart my course in life (none at all).

It is about that dreaded word.

CANCER.

You see, I failed to report to you on my mammogram results, because they were unexpected.  At least, to me.

Now, don't go freaking out right now!  I DO NOT HAVE CANCER!!!!!  Breathe, alright?!

I got a letter from the hospital radiology department saying that there was an area on my right breast that warranted further investigation.  They had contacted my physician with the results, and  would I please come in for an ultrasound?  It was scheduled for a week later.  It was scheduled for today.

A week.

Do you know how long that is to someone with a fertile imagination?

I spent that week in a fierce internal struggle to overcome and suppress my imagination and subjugate it to the cold, calm, and comforting reason of my intellect.  I knew that this, my first mammogram, was a BASELINE.  That means that they needed to chart out any and all irregularities, no matter how benign or trivial they are. 

(Or, not so trivial...)  STOP THAT, IMAGINATION!  You've seen too many TV drama shows!

(Yes, but it is not outside the realm of possibility.  You know you'll lose all your hair in chemo.  Maybe you could cut it and make a wig of your own hair.  Or maybe you could look all cancer/rocker and sport a red Harley do-rag?)  THAT IS ENOUGH OF THAT!

(You know, your bucket list is awfully long.  I'm thinking you should get on that knitting goal and that violin playing goal now, or it'll be too late.)  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?  We have to go get goo all over our right boob and have some stranger-man-doctor look at us and you are worried about knitting and the violin?!  Your priorities are seriously messed up!

(Well, fine, but at least it is a cancer with a high rate of survival, so really, what's the big deal?  Maybe I'll finally lose those nasty pounds that won't go away... although I admit I'd rather not look all emaciated.  Oooh, I just got the most amazing idea for a painting!  It will be epic!!!  And you know, at least we have insurance to cover it.)  YOU MORON!  The insurance is through YOUR work!  How's that going to pan out if you are too sick to work?!

(Um... weren't you supposed to be suppressing me?  What's up with that?)  Oh.  Right.  Sorry.


*****

So, there you have it.  A little slice of what it's been like inside my brain for the past week.  Only multiply that exponentially and include all the agony of a wife and mother and you might get some idea.

I took a half day off work to go get goo-ed up and ogled at.  Apparently the radiologist keeps the same work hours I do.  I bet he gets paid more, though.

I know you are dying for a prognosis.  Sorry, bad choice of words.

There are four smallish tumors in my right breast.  All benign.  But not benign enough to leave completely alone, apparently, because I get to go back in 6 months and get goo-ed and ogled again.

The official term is fibroadenoma.  Scary sounding word (fibro add en oma), mild sounding results.

So, on with life.  No cancer/rocker red Harley do-rag.

And, boy, am I glad!!!