May Day

I was so disappointed in my sister when I found out she had breast cancer. We had always agreed that, like our mother and two aunts, we would not get breast cancer until after menopause.  She broke our deal. 
 

It was my sister’s diagnosis and my mother’s nagging that got me to meet with an oncologist.  We discussed my family history and he recommended I have a mammogram and MRI.  Most women don’t start having these until later in life, but we’ve always been a family of overachievers.

Ladies, if you’ve never had a mammogram, there are only three words to describe it. A. Maze. Ing. Hopefully my experience will provide you with some valuable insight and tips for your first mammogram.   

First, I was led to a dressing room where I put my clothing and possessions into a locker and in exchange got a small key with a safety pin on the other end, reminiscent of those you would find in skating rinks in the 80s and 90s.  You know, with the plastic orange top that has the locker number printed on it. 

Next, I got to sit in a so-called relaxing room. No amount of fake orchids will help you relax when you are wearing a pink robe and sitting in a waiting room next to a stranger. My favorite feature was the overzealous wall-mounted fountain.  The splashing was so out of control that one woman actually got up and rearranged the rocks in an effort to stem the tide.  Surprisingly, I was not that woman.

Next stop, nipple markers.  Nipple markers are tiny band-aids with metal snaps where a normal band-aid would have gauze. Make sure to leave these on as long as possible so it really hurts when it’s time to take them off. 

At some point in her life almost every woman wishes her breasts were a different size. Some wish for larger breasts, some wish for smaller. This is never more true than at the moment she is having a mammogram.

A very apologetic woman helped me position myself in the machine.  It had two glass plates that smashed my breasts into pancake thickness and shape.  This was first done horizontally and then vertically.  If that mental image makes you uncomfortable, you should imagine how I felt.

Then it was time for a sonogram.  They used a machine to look at my tissue, which produced images like the ones they give pregnant ladies. I think I saw my breast’s tiny heart beating.  That’s where they finally told me there was something funny.  Not funny as in “ha ha”,  funny as in “there’s a mass in your breast.” 

After that I was sent for an MRI.  I had to lay on my stomach inside a very small tunnel while a woman gave me a play by play of what she was doing to me.  “I’m sending a liquid through your body right now that will let me see the contrast.”  I would prefer she kept this to herself and let me concentrate on the fantastic disco medley of the songs from Star Wars that was playing on the Pandora channel chosen by the patient before me.  

Finally, I was released back into the wild.

I was not surprised when they told me to come back for a biopsy. A few days later my amazing boyfriend Jason took me back to the hospital for this procedure. More nipple markers, sonograms and mammograms.  The doctor was running late so, the Breast Navigator (actual job title), tried to distract me with small talk. No, Breast Navigator, Logan Circle is not near Cleveland Park. After lying topless with my arm above my head for half an hour, a doctor came in and took tissue samples.  Jason patiently sat there while they stabbed at me, pretending to read the Hunger Games on his kindle.

On May 1, we got the call from my doctor. I think he took the news harder than we did. Seriously, if you're that upset a stranger has cancer, you may be in the wrong line of work. 

I spent the next half hour calling people to pass on the big news.  My father probably said it best “Ah, nuts. This family just can’t catch a break.” 

As I often do during times of extreme stress, I took a nap. Jason spent the afternoon working in the yard.  Later we went out and bought tons of junk food, because that’s how we do. It’s amazing how cancer can put life in perspective.  Of course I deserve the birthday cake flavored oreos, I have cancer. Want a pepperoni pizza? Sure! You just found out your girlfriend has cancer, you deserve it.

Henceforth, in our home, May Day will be celebrated by the consumption of truly disgusting junk food. Please feel free to adopt this tradition in your home as well.