My Loonie-Sized Health Scare
I am finally on the other side of something that's been plaguing my mind for most of this year.
So now that it's over, I feel like decompressing and talking about it.
It's going to be a long, rambling, stream-of-consciousness type of story, and it might not be worth your time to read it. But it is worth my time to write it.
Back in February, I was in the shower and I had a passing thought: manual breast exams.
I remembered that manual breast exams are something we should be doing. And they're something I only ever do infrequently (when I'm in the shower and have a passing thought).
So I did one.
*For anyone who isn't sure how to perform a self-exam, HERE is a link to instructions from breastcancer.org
It just so happens that during this self-exam I felt something.
It was a lump- large and firm, it was in my right breast, deep under the skin. It felt like it was almost sitting on my ribs- above and to the left of my nipple. I felt it over and over again, trying to make sure I wasn't imagining things. I'd never felt anything like it before, and I wanted to be absolutely certain that there was something there before I started to let my mind wander into the possibilities.
I will say- if I had researched it earlier, I might not have been as afraid. According to healthline.com, a cancerous lump in the breast typically (but doesn't always) has these characteristics:
When I went in to see my doctor again, a few weeks later, I mentioned it to her. She felt for it, and told me that to be safe we should schedule an ultrasound.
(Because I am still young, mammograms aren't something I was interested in. There are some potential risks associated with this kind of exam, and I'm not interested in exposing myself to them at this time. Thankfully my doctor agreed.)
The ultrasound was fine. It wasn't my first- back in 2006 I had an ultrasound-FNA biopsy- partial thyroid-ectomy that turned out to be a benign multi-nodular goiter.
I caught a peek of the screen during the ultrasound, and I made a mental note of the appearance of the lump to google later. This might seem silly- but I can't not look or research. It's how I prepare myself for potential bad news. The lump showed up as a round, smooth, oval-shaped mass, with a white membrane and completely black interior. When I googled it later, I was a little relieved. Apparently benign fibroids are more likely to look like this, whereas breast cancer can have uneven shapes and textures.
But I still had to have a biopsy. I went in to the same room as I had had my ultrasound, and they froze my breast tissue with a long needle. I was expecting the whole procedure to be very painful, but it wasn't. Even the freezing hardly hurt. It was mostly just uncomfortable- being cold and laying in the same position for a long time, propped partially on my side with my arm above my head- it was unpleasant. But even though the biopsy took a while, and they had to shove a long metal guide for the needle into my breast (because the lump was so deep), it was much less painful than I was preparing myself for.
I won't go into the gruesome details- when I think about what's actually involved in these procedures, I get a little queasy. But experiencing it first-hand is much better when I can go to my happy place in my mind.
After a few weeks, I got a happy phone call- my test results were clear, and I didn't have to worry.
That was on a Friday.
On Monday they called again. The pathologist had taken a second look at the results (or a second pathologist had taken a first look? I'm not sure), and wasn't entirely certain that my results were benign. I had a choice: I could monitor the mass with bi-annual mammograms, or I could have surgery to remove it and have it properly tested.
I've already said how I feel about mammograms. But even if they told me I could have an ultrasound or a blood test every six months to monitor it, I would have chosen the surgery. I couldn't not know.
So I was scheduled for surgery.
And this is when the tough part came: as my surgery date grew closer, I found it harder and harder to avoid troubling thoughts about my potential results. What if it was cancer? I had my mind made up that if there was even a trace, I would request a double mastectomy. But what if it was too late? How would I react to that kind of news? What course of treatment would I choose?
And on the other hand, how would the surgery affect me physically? As silly as it is in the long run, I like(d) my breasts. I didn't like thinking about one of them being permanently changed, being left with dents or puckers.
So I tried to brace myself for those potential results.
And the surgery wasn't bad. Like the biopsy, I had built it up in my mind to be this horrible, painful, uncomfortable experience. I have had two surgeries before, and the lead-up and recovery were both terribly unpleasant. But I don't remember much about the actual day-of-surgery that was too horrible. So I kept bracing myself for pain that never came, or that came but left much sooner than I thought. I was lucky enough to be able to go home the same day, and I got to recover in the comfort of my own home, with my boyfriend cutting my food for me and my mom washing my hair for a few days.
So after all of that detail- this is what I've taken from the experience- and I want to share it. This part is worth reading.
Check your BOOBS. Check them. Do it in the shower- do it wherever. Get to know your body. Because now that the whole thing is over, I know that the fear was worth the peace of mind I have now. And now, when I get more fibroids (which I likely will), I won't be so nervous. I'll know what to look for.
It's so important that we do whatever we can to detect cancer early. It's so much more treatable if you can catch it when it's in the early stages.
The worrying is always the worst part. This wasn't my first cancer scare, and there's a good chance it won't be my last. And it's normal to be nervous and to consider the worst-case-scenario. But the surgery is rarely as bad as the nerves that come with it. I am still working on taking deep breaths, thinking positive thoughts, and letting the fear enter and leave me. It's going to be a life-long practice.
Scars are normal/cool/better than dying. My right breast has a scar now. It's not bad, as far as scars go. It is parallel to the border of my areola, and it's already starting to fade. Soon I will start to massage it with vitamin E oil, and it will be less and less noticeable as time goes on. But even if it was huge and never faded, it would still be part of me. After my thyroid surgery, my scar was very red for a long time. I got questions from strangers about how it happened, and I explained it hundreds of times. Now it's hardly noticeable. At the end of my life, my scars will be proof that I lived. Like ageing, scars are earned.
And finally, recovery means giving up control and accepting help. My biggest challenge came after I came home. I had to take a week off of work. I had to stop lifting for a few weeks. I had to relax and stay still, and I had to accept help. All of those things were hard. I am always doing something. To me, "relaxing" means watching tv while knitting or crocheting. I couldn't do those things when I was in recovery, and learning to slow down and do nothing was both challenging and rewarding.
So now that it's over, I feel like decompressing and talking about it.
It's going to be a long, rambling, stream-of-consciousness type of story, and it might not be worth your time to read it. But it is worth my time to write it.
Back in February, I was in the shower and I had a passing thought: manual breast exams.
I remembered that manual breast exams are something we should be doing. And they're something I only ever do infrequently (when I'm in the shower and have a passing thought).
So I did one.
*For anyone who isn't sure how to perform a self-exam, HERE is a link to instructions from breastcancer.org
It just so happens that during this self-exam I felt something.
It was a lump- large and firm, it was in my right breast, deep under the skin. It felt like it was almost sitting on my ribs- above and to the left of my nipple. I felt it over and over again, trying to make sure I wasn't imagining things. I'd never felt anything like it before, and I wanted to be absolutely certain that there was something there before I started to let my mind wander into the possibilities.
I will say- if I had researched it earlier, I might not have been as afraid. According to healthline.com, a cancerous lump in the breast typically (but doesn't always) has these characteristics:
- It's a hard mass
- It's painless
- It has irregular edges
- It is immobile (doesn’t move when pushed)
- It appears in the upper outer portion of your breast
- It grows over time
When I went in to see my doctor again, a few weeks later, I mentioned it to her. She felt for it, and told me that to be safe we should schedule an ultrasound.
(Because I am still young, mammograms aren't something I was interested in. There are some potential risks associated with this kind of exam, and I'm not interested in exposing myself to them at this time. Thankfully my doctor agreed.)
The ultrasound was fine. It wasn't my first- back in 2006 I had an ultrasound-FNA biopsy- partial thyroid-ectomy that turned out to be a benign multi-nodular goiter.
I caught a peek of the screen during the ultrasound, and I made a mental note of the appearance of the lump to google later. This might seem silly- but I can't not look or research. It's how I prepare myself for potential bad news. The lump showed up as a round, smooth, oval-shaped mass, with a white membrane and completely black interior. When I googled it later, I was a little relieved. Apparently benign fibroids are more likely to look like this, whereas breast cancer can have uneven shapes and textures.
But I still had to have a biopsy. I went in to the same room as I had had my ultrasound, and they froze my breast tissue with a long needle. I was expecting the whole procedure to be very painful, but it wasn't. Even the freezing hardly hurt. It was mostly just uncomfortable- being cold and laying in the same position for a long time, propped partially on my side with my arm above my head- it was unpleasant. But even though the biopsy took a while, and they had to shove a long metal guide for the needle into my breast (because the lump was so deep), it was much less painful than I was preparing myself for.
I won't go into the gruesome details- when I think about what's actually involved in these procedures, I get a little queasy. But experiencing it first-hand is much better when I can go to my happy place in my mind.
After a few weeks, I got a happy phone call- my test results were clear, and I didn't have to worry.
That was on a Friday.
On Monday they called again. The pathologist had taken a second look at the results (or a second pathologist had taken a first look? I'm not sure), and wasn't entirely certain that my results were benign. I had a choice: I could monitor the mass with bi-annual mammograms, or I could have surgery to remove it and have it properly tested.
I've already said how I feel about mammograms. But even if they told me I could have an ultrasound or a blood test every six months to monitor it, I would have chosen the surgery. I couldn't not know.
So I was scheduled for surgery.
And this is when the tough part came: as my surgery date grew closer, I found it harder and harder to avoid troubling thoughts about my potential results. What if it was cancer? I had my mind made up that if there was even a trace, I would request a double mastectomy. But what if it was too late? How would I react to that kind of news? What course of treatment would I choose?
And on the other hand, how would the surgery affect me physically? As silly as it is in the long run, I like(d) my breasts. I didn't like thinking about one of them being permanently changed, being left with dents or puckers.
So I tried to brace myself for those potential results.
And the surgery wasn't bad. Like the biopsy, I had built it up in my mind to be this horrible, painful, uncomfortable experience. I have had two surgeries before, and the lead-up and recovery were both terribly unpleasant. But I don't remember much about the actual day-of-surgery that was too horrible. So I kept bracing myself for pain that never came, or that came but left much sooner than I thought. I was lucky enough to be able to go home the same day, and I got to recover in the comfort of my own home, with my boyfriend cutting my food for me and my mom washing my hair for a few days.
So after all of that detail- this is what I've taken from the experience- and I want to share it. This part is worth reading.
Check your BOOBS. Check them. Do it in the shower- do it wherever. Get to know your body. Because now that the whole thing is over, I know that the fear was worth the peace of mind I have now. And now, when I get more fibroids (which I likely will), I won't be so nervous. I'll know what to look for.
It's so important that we do whatever we can to detect cancer early. It's so much more treatable if you can catch it when it's in the early stages.
The worrying is always the worst part. This wasn't my first cancer scare, and there's a good chance it won't be my last. And it's normal to be nervous and to consider the worst-case-scenario. But the surgery is rarely as bad as the nerves that come with it. I am still working on taking deep breaths, thinking positive thoughts, and letting the fear enter and leave me. It's going to be a life-long practice.
Scars are normal/cool/better than dying. My right breast has a scar now. It's not bad, as far as scars go. It is parallel to the border of my areola, and it's already starting to fade. Soon I will start to massage it with vitamin E oil, and it will be less and less noticeable as time goes on. But even if it was huge and never faded, it would still be part of me. After my thyroid surgery, my scar was very red for a long time. I got questions from strangers about how it happened, and I explained it hundreds of times. Now it's hardly noticeable. At the end of my life, my scars will be proof that I lived. Like ageing, scars are earned.
And finally, recovery means giving up control and accepting help. My biggest challenge came after I came home. I had to take a week off of work. I had to stop lifting for a few weeks. I had to relax and stay still, and I had to accept help. All of those things were hard. I am always doing something. To me, "relaxing" means watching tv while knitting or crocheting. I couldn't do those things when I was in recovery, and learning to slow down and do nothing was both challenging and rewarding.
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