It's been 66 hours since I had my annual Mammogram/MRI. This is what the inside of my brain sounds like:
Why haven't they called me? Is something wrong? Why does the hospital run so many commercials during the Olympics? Is it to keep reminding me that they haven't called? Is not calling yet good news or bad news? Google "Mammogram Photos." Should I call them? Again, with the damn commercials. Maybe I should read the Message Boards on FORCE. No, that'll just remind they haven't called. Maybe no call is good news, if it was bad news they would want to talk to me right away, right? Why haven't you called me yet? Google "Breast MRI Photos." Nope, no missed calls. Okay, think about something other than boobs. God, my bra is really annoying me right now. Ah! Bras and boobs! Okay, phone's ringing. Not them. Why haven't they called me? Read the news, yeah the news. Damnit! Another Beaumont ad! Stop advertising and just call me!
Showing posts with label surveillance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label surveillance. Show all posts
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Sunday, August 5, 2012
A (stolen) diddy about Mammograms
For years and years they told me,
Be careful of your breasts.
Don’t ever squeeze or bruise them.
And give them monthly tests.
So I heeded all their warnings,
And protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully,
And I always wore my bra.
After 30 years of astute care,
My gyno, Dr Pruitt,
Said I should get a Mammogram
“OK,” I said, “let’s do it.”
“Stand up here real close” she said,
(She got my boob in line),
“And tell me when it hurts,” she said,
“Ah yes! Right there, that’s fine.”
She stepped upon a pedal,
I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate came slamming down,
My hooters in a vise!
My skin was stretched and mangled,
From underneath my chin.
My poor boob was being squashed,
To Swedish Pancake thin.
Excruciating pain I felt,
Within it’s viselike grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing,
My poor defenseless tit!
“Take a deep breath,” she said to me,
Who does she think she’s kidding?!?
My chest is mashed in her machine,
And woozy I am getting.
“There, that’s good,” I heard her say,
(The room was slowly swaying.)
“Now, let’s have a go at the other one.”
Have mercy, I was praying.
It squeezed me from both up and down,
It squeezed me from both sides.
I’ll bet SHE’S never had this done,
To HER tender little hide.
Next time that they make me do this,
I will request a blindfold.
I have no wish to see again,
My knockers getting steam rolled.
If I had no problem when I came in,
I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there,
It would have gone “ker-pow!”
This machine was created by a man,
Of this, I have no doubt.
I’d like to stick his balls in there,
And, see how THEY come out!
Be careful of your breasts.
Don’t ever squeeze or bruise them.
And give them monthly tests.
So I heeded all their warnings,
And protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully,
And I always wore my bra.
After 30 years of astute care,
My gyno, Dr Pruitt,
Said I should get a Mammogram
“OK,” I said, “let’s do it.”
“Stand up here real close” she said,
(She got my boob in line),
“And tell me when it hurts,” she said,
“Ah yes! Right there, that’s fine.”
She stepped upon a pedal,
I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate came slamming down,
My hooters in a vise!
My skin was stretched and mangled,
From underneath my chin.
My poor boob was being squashed,
To Swedish Pancake thin.
Excruciating pain I felt,
Within it’s viselike grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing,
My poor defenseless tit!
“Take a deep breath,” she said to me,
Who does she think she’s kidding?!?
My chest is mashed in her machine,
And woozy I am getting.
“There, that’s good,” I heard her say,
(The room was slowly swaying.)
“Now, let’s have a go at the other one.”
Have mercy, I was praying.
It squeezed me from both up and down,
It squeezed me from both sides.
I’ll bet SHE’S never had this done,
To HER tender little hide.
Next time that they make me do this,
I will request a blindfold.
I have no wish to see again,
My knockers getting steam rolled.
If I had no problem when I came in,
I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there,
It would have gone “ker-pow!”
This machine was created by a man,
Of this, I have no doubt.
I’d like to stick his balls in there,
And, see how THEY come out!
Monday, June 20, 2011
Update: Surveillance-versary!
So, I'm a big fat loser. My surveillance-versary was June 10th! I guess in the midst of not obsessing over my high-risk, I stopped thinking a little too much about it!
Here's the other part I realized: I haven't met a single goal I laid out for myself since my initial meeting with Heather. Not a one. I haven't lost weight. I haven't stopped eating red meat. I didn't start taking vitamins. I didn't change my diet. I didn't drink less . . . well, let's not get ahead of ourselves here, I never did promise that one!
So at the risk of being accused of having a defeatist attitude (again) here is what I have accomplished:
1. I had one Mammogram
2. I had one MRI.
3. I had one Biopsy.
4. I performed at least one self breast exam each month (probably 2 realistically)
6. I tested for the BRCA gene
*these are important because early detection saves lives
7. I told my story.
8. I started going to local FORCE meetings.
9. I met other young, high risk women by telling my story.
10. I finally walked in a breast cancer walk that I raised money for
11. I tried to reach out to my extended family about our risk
12. I had researched enough and learned enough to help my sister begin her journey.
*these are important because many women who are high risk do not know it, or do not know how to proceed
13. I quit smoking (I hope, it's only been a month so I'm afraid to brag).
14. I limited my weekly red meat intake, for the most part:). Hey, I'm a sucker for a cheeseburger!
15. I joined a gym and partake on occasion.
and most importantly . . .
16. I DON'T HAVE BREAST CANCER!
Here's to an even more successful year 2!
Here's the other part I realized: I haven't met a single goal I laid out for myself since my initial meeting with Heather. Not a one. I haven't lost weight. I haven't stopped eating red meat. I didn't start taking vitamins. I didn't change my diet. I didn't drink less . . . well, let's not get ahead of ourselves here, I never did promise that one!
So at the risk of being accused of having a defeatist attitude (again) here is what I have accomplished:
1. I had one Mammogram
2. I had one MRI.
3. I had one Biopsy.
4. I performed at least one self breast exam each month (probably 2 realistically)
6. I tested for the BRCA gene
*these are important because early detection saves lives
7. I told my story.
8. I started going to local FORCE meetings.
9. I met other young, high risk women by telling my story.
10. I finally walked in a breast cancer walk that I raised money for
11. I tried to reach out to my extended family about our risk
12. I had researched enough and learned enough to help my sister begin her journey.
*these are important because many women who are high risk do not know it, or do not know how to proceed
13. I quit smoking (I hope, it's only been a month so I'm afraid to brag).
14. I limited my weekly red meat intake, for the most part:). Hey, I'm a sucker for a cheeseburger!
15. I joined a gym and partake on occasion.
and most importantly . . .
16. I DON'T HAVE BREAST CANCER!
Here's to an even more successful year 2!
Saturday, June 18, 2011
It's my Surveillance-versary!
So, I just realized, it's nearly July. July to many people is Independence Day, summer vacation, barbeque's, camping, 90 degree weather, boating, ridiculous air conditioning bills. To me July is my annual mammogram.
My annual mammogram also marks the completion of the first year in my life as a high risk woman. So I survived year one. With me I take at least 12 self breast exams, an uninformed negative test result, one tiny scar on my right boob, a lead marker near said scar, nearly $1,5000 in related bills and enough tears shed to flood the entire Metropolitan area.
And, because my first MRI (aka, January) came back with an area of suspicion that needed to be biopsied, I need to run the MRI again. Hopefully on the same day.
The average person may not think this deal sounds so bad; 2 tests a year, 6 months apart and a doctors office visit in between. What the average person doesn't realize is I finally feel like I got my head back on straight again. I don't think about my status weekly, daily, hourly, any longer. I wasn't researching everything boob related. I stopped dreaming up my eventual PBM or RX. I stopped practicing the speech I would have to give my friends, family and co-workers.
But now. Now that July is staring me straight on, I feel the beginning pangs of dread, of terror coming back. They get caught in my throat late at night. They subconsciously make my hands linger longer over my breasts suspicious of every change. They haunt me. They whisper to me. They follow me. It's a disease you can't see, that dread. And it's back, just like it promised. Six months later.
My annual mammogram also marks the completion of the first year in my life as a high risk woman. So I survived year one. With me I take at least 12 self breast exams, an uninformed negative test result, one tiny scar on my right boob, a lead marker near said scar, nearly $1,5000 in related bills and enough tears shed to flood the entire Metropolitan area.
And, because my first MRI (aka, January) came back with an area of suspicion that needed to be biopsied, I need to run the MRI again. Hopefully on the same day.
The average person may not think this deal sounds so bad; 2 tests a year, 6 months apart and a doctors office visit in between. What the average person doesn't realize is I finally feel like I got my head back on straight again. I don't think about my status weekly, daily, hourly, any longer. I wasn't researching everything boob related. I stopped dreaming up my eventual PBM or RX. I stopped practicing the speech I would have to give my friends, family and co-workers.
But now. Now that July is staring me straight on, I feel the beginning pangs of dread, of terror coming back. They get caught in my throat late at night. They subconsciously make my hands linger longer over my breasts suspicious of every change. They haunt me. They whisper to me. They follow me. It's a disease you can't see, that dread. And it's back, just like it promised. Six months later.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Being on the low end of high risk
Sometimes I really feel like I don't belong. And before you reassure me that I'm a part of the high risk community, hear me out (because this isn't that post where I say I feel fat because I want everyone to reassure me I'm skinny and beautiful).
I attended my first FORCE meeting locally. And it was lovely. The women were lovely. The conversation and exchange of ideas was lovely. Aside from all of us facing cancer head on, it was lovely. I was the only(known) uninformed negative there. With the exception of one woman preparing to be tested, the rest of the women were positive and either completed surgeries, were scheduled for surgeries or were preparing for surgery. Now, I know surgery isn't for me, right now. The CGC (who was there and who also did my test) said it best:
But sometimes it's just downright lonely. Women who have tested positive for the gene forget what it's like to be in that unknown but surveying stage. And women who aren't high risk aren't being screened like I am. Hell, at my age, the only screening my peers receive is at their Ob/Gyn appointment. Sometimes I feel like the low end of the high risk community is a silent voice, a forgotten battle because most of the women in this recognized community are running a sprint, and well, us uninformed negatives are in it for the marathon.
I attended my first FORCE meeting locally. And it was lovely. The women were lovely. The conversation and exchange of ideas was lovely. Aside from all of us facing cancer head on, it was lovely. I was the only(known) uninformed negative there. With the exception of one woman preparing to be tested, the rest of the women were positive and either completed surgeries, were scheduled for surgeries or were preparing for surgery. Now, I know surgery isn't for me, right now. The CGC (who was there and who also did my test) said it best:
The difference between 25% and 85% risk isn't the path we take, it's how much time we assume we have to move along that path.I've realized that being negative is a blessing in many ways. My family history wasn't as significant as that of the other women in the room, and I have time (cross your fingers, knock on wood, and whatever other heebie jeebie stuff you do for good luck) to make decisions. I'm taking a proactive approach to my cancer screening and I'm doing everything right. And I'm not complaining, well not usually. I'm grateful to be of todays generation and not my grandmothers and I'm grateful for all of my Previvor Sisters.
But sometimes it's just downright lonely. Women who have tested positive for the gene forget what it's like to be in that unknown but surveying stage. And women who aren't high risk aren't being screened like I am. Hell, at my age, the only screening my peers receive is at their Ob/Gyn appointment. Sometimes I feel like the low end of the high risk community is a silent voice, a forgotten battle because most of the women in this recognized community are running a sprint, and well, us uninformed negatives are in it for the marathon.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Turning the Page; Chapter Two
I'm back! And what a whirlwind the ride has been! I woke up ready and armed for my first of many annual mammograms to come, prepared to do what's best preventively for my health. I had no idea what was awaiting on the other side of the Monster Mash (my nickname for the Mammography machine).
Well, three clinical breast exams, a DNA test, thousands of hours of research, a dozen anonymous web-friends later, and more scientific knowledge than my K-Bachelors degree education provided me and I finally feel like I'm at the next chapter. Let's call it: Surveillance: The next stage in my fight to prevent Breast Cancer.
I met with Heather the NP today and all's clear. I have some seriously dense (and a bit sore) tissue near on the outer parts of my breasts (let's say the 3 and 9 o clock) but it's nothing to be concerned about. I'll have my first MRI next month as scheduled and hopefully next time I'm back in my NP's office it'll be October and I'll be thinner (Goal: 12 lbs before summer).
Thanks for riding the ride with me. Hopefully it's smoother on out from here.
Well, three clinical breast exams, a DNA test, thousands of hours of research, a dozen anonymous web-friends later, and more scientific knowledge than my K-Bachelors degree education provided me and I finally feel like I'm at the next chapter. Let's call it: Surveillance: The next stage in my fight to prevent Breast Cancer.
I met with Heather the NP today and all's clear. I have some seriously dense (and a bit sore) tissue near on the outer parts of my breasts (let's say the 3 and 9 o clock) but it's nothing to be concerned about. I'll have my first MRI next month as scheduled and hopefully next time I'm back in my NP's office it'll be October and I'll be thinner (Goal: 12 lbs before summer).
Thanks for riding the ride with me. Hopefully it's smoother on out from here.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Preparing for the Genetic Counselor
In 9 days I take a test that only has 3 results. I remain at 33% chance of BC in my life time, I increase due to some mutation not related to the BRCA gene, or I have one of the BRCA gene mutations.
I know I could skip the test and continue routine surveillance, but that doesn't sound right for me (although I foresee a lifetime of it anyways). A new doctor appointment every 3 months for the rest of my life spent waiting to hear: You have breast cancer. No thanks! I don't want to detect it early, I don't want to get it and survive, I don't want treatment, chemo, radiation, I don't want cancer period. I want to go back to the day that I only needed an annual mammogram.
And as much as I don't want to wish BRCA on anyone, let alone myself, knowing I'll never be a true negative makes me want to be a positive. I have an actual answer then, I have real numbers to work with, real risks, real outcomes, not hypotecticals based on a high risk.
*Exhale* Back to my list of questions for my genetic counselor.
In cases in which a family has a history of breast and/or ovarian cancer and no known mutation in BRCA1 or BRCA2 has been previously identified, a negative test result is not informative. It is not possible to tell whether an individual has a harmful BRCA1 or BRCA2 mutation that was not detected by testing (a “false negative”) or whether the result is a true negative. In addition, it is possible for people to have a mutation in a gene other than BRCA1 or BRCA2 that increases their cancer risk but is not detectable by the test(s) used. - from www.cancer.govThe whole point of this test is to determine your risk level as accurately as possible so that you can take the correct preventive measures. I don't want to get to cancer! I am 18 months away from the beginning of my family history with breast cancer. I want to stop it by any means necessary and if I have the opportunity to do so, I will. Maybe that sounds severe or exaggerated but I wouldn't play Russian Roulette with a gun 1/3 filled either!
I know I could skip the test and continue routine surveillance, but that doesn't sound right for me (although I foresee a lifetime of it anyways). A new doctor appointment every 3 months for the rest of my life spent waiting to hear: You have breast cancer. No thanks! I don't want to detect it early, I don't want to get it and survive, I don't want treatment, chemo, radiation, I don't want cancer period. I want to go back to the day that I only needed an annual mammogram.
And as much as I don't want to wish BRCA on anyone, let alone myself, knowing I'll never be a true negative makes me want to be a positive. I have an actual answer then, I have real numbers to work with, real risks, real outcomes, not hypotecticals based on a high risk.
*Exhale* Back to my list of questions for my genetic counselor.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
The wait on my chest
I am not good at "doing nothing." Don't get me wrong, I'm great at vegging out on a Sunday afternoon, TV in the background, laptop on my lap (ahem), snack food an arms reach away. But I'm your classic, textbook definition of a Type A personality, or as Wikipedia puts it: an impatient, time conscious, controlling, concerned about their status, highly competitive, ambitious, business like, aggressive "stress junkie."
And now I feel like my whole life is a waiting game; and I'm not very good at waiting. First, I waited until I was 30 for my first mammogram, then I waited for the results, then I waited to meet the NP, now I'm waiting to meet with a geneticist. After that, I'll wait 4-6 weeks for my results. If my results are positive (awful word for it since it really means something negative) then I'll wait the appropriate amount of time (5 minutes enough?) and make my prevention decision. If my results are negative, then I'll wait for my MRI, and it's results thereafter, wait until I have my mammo 6 months after that. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.
I feel like I'm just waiting to get cancer, like cancer is the finish line and I'm somewhere on the course without a map. I need a "you are here" dot like on the mall maps so I can stop waiting. I need answers, results, action. I need to stop waiting. I want to start doing.
Mainly, I feel like I'm waiting for people to get it. The support boards are great and have offered me so much direction and insight for what happens after, but I am actively trying to find something, someone for now. I'm waiting for someone to come along and not question what I am doing, but ask questions about what I am doing. I am waiting to talk to someone who doesn't imply that I'm handling this all wrong. I'm waiting for a conversation with someone who gets that this is a big deal and why it's the weight on my chest right now.
I'm waiting, always waiting.
And now I feel like my whole life is a waiting game; and I'm not very good at waiting. First, I waited until I was 30 for my first mammogram, then I waited for the results, then I waited to meet the NP, now I'm waiting to meet with a geneticist. After that, I'll wait 4-6 weeks for my results. If my results are positive (awful word for it since it really means something negative) then I'll wait the appropriate amount of time (5 minutes enough?) and make my prevention decision. If my results are negative, then I'll wait for my MRI, and it's results thereafter, wait until I have my mammo 6 months after that. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.
I feel like I'm just waiting to get cancer, like cancer is the finish line and I'm somewhere on the course without a map. I need a "you are here" dot like on the mall maps so I can stop waiting. I need answers, results, action. I need to stop waiting. I want to start doing.
Mainly, I feel like I'm waiting for people to get it. The support boards are great and have offered me so much direction and insight for what happens after, but I am actively trying to find something, someone for now. I'm waiting for someone to come along and not question what I am doing, but ask questions about what I am doing. I am waiting to talk to someone who doesn't imply that I'm handling this all wrong. I'm waiting for a conversation with someone who gets that this is a big deal and why it's the weight on my chest right now.
I'm waiting, always waiting.
Check yourself before you wreck yourself
Today I SBE'd, shorthand for Self Breast Exam. This is my first SBE post my NP appointment so I wanted to do a little bit of research on what to look for. Basically, you're looking for:
Plus, now I'm curious and loaded with questions for when I see my NP next (10 months!). I want to know what a lump feels like, how it will differ from the already present "dense-ness" of my breasts, how do you tell the difference?
Here's your how to guide:
- Any new lump (which may or may not be painful or tender)
- Unusual thickening of your breasts
- Sticky or bloody discharge from your nipples
- Any changes in the skin of your nipples or breasts, such as puckering or dimpling
- An unusual increase in the size of one breast
- One breast unusually lower than the other
Plus, now I'm curious and loaded with questions for when I see my NP next (10 months!). I want to know what a lump feels like, how it will differ from the already present "dense-ness" of my breasts, how do you tell the difference?
Here's your how to guide:
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