My Left Tit: My Mammogram Scare
I’ve had a bit of a shake up recently. It started on Saturday 1st May with a letter plopping through my door to call me in for a second mammogram on the following Thursday; they had found something. I went into a spiral of panic which undulated unsettlingly for the next few days, really ramping up the night before my one day a week at work and again on the night before the actual appointment.
So I spent the days between the letter and the clinic in a state of panic, mostly low level but constant, exhausting and scary. I struggled to keep myself together a lot of the time, occasionally forgetting, then remembering again and a new surge of whatever it is that floods my body would rush through me. I spoke to a small handful of people about it, got wonderful support from my friends, got some Kalms from the chemist and managed, with a top up of Imodium, to make the appointment.
I climbed up the hill to the Breast Care Centre nestled among the low buildings that surround the new massive hospital. My hands shaking a bit as I lock up my bike and I dread the breathing I know I’ll do heavily in a mask.
The receptionist was very kind and understanding about my anxiety, everyone there who dealt with me was. There was a wonderful supportive camaraderie in the waiting room and through a collective feeling of nerves and worries, some of us talked and that was really helpful.
I was called in for the first part of the tests, a second mammogram. The squishy squashy ladies were cheerful and humorous which is perfect for me. I was pretty terrified. And for “this may feel a little uncomfortable for a few moments”, read “this actually really bloody hurts”! Thank goodness it was fleeting.
I had a long wait between that and the next bit; the results and a talk through what they found. I paced the waiting room like a bear at a crappy old zoo. Back and forth, back and forth, trying to modulate my breathing in the mask. Trying to calm my stomach. Trying to contain my nerves. I focussed my attention on the sculptural light catcher in the vaulted ceiling. I was there for around three hours in total and most of that was pacing and puffing while trying to keep calm, as much for the benefit of the others in the waiting room as it was for me.
You never feel as alone as you do in a waiting room.
I don’t quite know how long the wait was, I tried not to time check all the time knowing it wouldn’t help, but it stretched out. Then my name was called and I jumped to collect my things and paddled through the corridor. I followed them into a room with all the equipment in and sat down nervously. They told me there was a small shadow on my left breast, quick to add it was very likely nothing to worry about, though they couldn’t tell me that with certainty just yet.
I then had a biopsy rather sprung on me which was terrifying...until it began, and then it really wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it might be. The nurse held my hand and talked to me to ease my panic and the specialist got on with it and was also very mindful of my nerves. They spoke calmly to me, letting me know what was happening, but not too much, and they distracted me with conversation. They did an ultrasound scan and then after a local anaesthetic they put a little metal marker thing in the spot so they know they’re getting the right bit, they took a tiny sliver from inside. It took less time than I imagined, and with a couple of steri strips and some paracetamol I was done. I somehow managed to keep my nerve, just about. A little chat in a small room on a pink sofa with a nurse on leaving to explain everything and check in with you, it’s an emotional time, and off I went with a great sense of relief...for now.
Fresh air and big skies awaited me outside the centre.
I had to wait a week for the results of the biopsy but even if it was something iffy, it’s small, contained and simple to remove, a day surgery. But with luck, a lot of it, it will be a small nothing that can be left alone.
Every thought was sprinkled with worry, every distraction wasn’t quite distraction enough. I was consumed with it but not as badly as the week before when I knew nothing except there was something. I knew at this stage that whatever it was, it’s small, so the drama I allowed my head to investigate was reduced dramatically. I had to go there. All the different scenarios. I didn’t want to catastrophise it, but I did want to be realistic about the various possibilities. I imagined a full mastectomy, thinking about how that would be, what I would do, how I would adjust. I was thinking about saying goodbye to my boobs, my unappreciated and irritating boobs, and musing; well, it might be a sort of relief not to have to think about them so much. I thought about the potential for chemo and radiotherapy and the horrors therein. I always imagined, even at its worst, that I would be ok in the end though.
THE RESULTS
13th May 2021
A week on and I was scrabbling about for my paperwork to see what time to call them the next day for the results and the phone rings, they called me, strange eh? They wanted me to know as soon as the results were in that the news is good!!! It IS a nothing that can be left alone. It’s just a benign tissue something or other. Honestly, beyond being told it was fine I didn’t really manage to listen to complicated words. I am so relieved and happy and I feel extremely lucky. I know many people who have been through breast cancer and other cancers in varying forms and it’s rough. I feel like I’ve had a brush with something pretty big. But also a bit like I’ve had nothing at all. I feel elated and deflated. I feel lucky. But above all I feel grateful. That was a very long couple of weeks.
AFTER CARE
I’ve been feeling very strange since all this, in the first few days since I got the all clear my emotions and energy were quite zapped. I felt like a cheat, but the very real feeling of it being something was huge. I've been apologising to my boobs for threatening to cut them off, and hugging my left tit as it healed. For a week or so after the biopsy I could still feel the pain run through that line of the needle, and weeks later there’s still some residual bursts of that sharp twang. I would get a big wave of relief wash over me occasionally and at the same time, everything is just back to normal. I feel guilty for having such big feelings when other people have gone through so much.
PEOPLE, CHECK YOUR ORBS.
It’s so important to do regular examinations on yourself and see a doctor if you notice changes. I had my first mammogram when I was 50 as is standard, but I know younger women who have had breast cancer. My tiny shadow that was nothing was very deep in and not at all noticeable from the outside checks I do fairly regularly. Any changes must be noted. But it’s difficult as changes occur for all sorts of reasons, menopause being a big one. Ageing in general changes the shape of you, the feel of you. My once pert, neat, organised boobs now have to be adjusted frequently to stay where I want them and I can’t find a single bra that fits comfortably, supports me and doesn’t make me feel like the most difficult person in the shop! But I will value my boobs a little more now, I feel like they’re more deserving of my love. I feel like they had a shock. I certainly did. I love many things about being older but health scares aren't one of them.
Written by by Vonalina Cake
My name is Von, I’ve lived in Bristol since 1992 and I’ve lived a lot of lives since then.
