Tired of the dance.

It was with great trepidation that I headed West to Loyola yesterday for my mammogram. I don't know why, but this one seemed to bother me. It wasn't that I really thought they would find something, but I just couldn't shake the feeling that I really just didn't want to go.

When I arrived late, I spent very little time waiting before they called me in for my mammogram. I have to tell you, it was less painful and difficult when I had huge tits to smash. Now that I have small ones, it seems they are hell bent on pulling them off my chest to clutch them in the vice grip of death. The huge scar on the right side, from the port being ripped out, hurts like hell when they pull and stretch and squeeze. They went ahead and did both sides because I still had the fluid pocket in the right breast.

For all of my underlying bad vibe feelings, I was not prepared for the afternoon from hell. Yet again, it started with the tech coming back to inform me the doctor wanted more views and different shots to examine "spots" (trust me, their word, not mine) that the radiologist had seen on the first series. The took a new set of completely different angle shots and these hurt like an SOB. I was very relieved when she informed me that I was finished and could wait again. It was now 3:30 (my original appointment having been for 1:20) and any hopes of meeting Amy at the VA to discuss something she wanted me to read for her, were dashed.

After what felt like an eternity, I was told that I would have to have an ultrasound of the right breast because the doctor was concerned with the lump. It was like deja vu all over again! Fortunately, Amy had decided to come over and meet me at Loyola and I took great comfort in knowing she was in the waiting room for me. I just lay on the table with a small sense of dread and a clear knowledge that I was not up to another long drawn battle.

Fortunately, everything is fine. The lump is getting smaller, and while it is taking longer then hoped to dissipate, they do think it will eventually go away. I will live another day to fight the fight. I just hate this particular dance.

Lunch and the Reality Bites

After spending allllllllllllllllllll morning at Loyola, determining for myself that it was cancer, and then having the radiologist agree that the lymph nodes needed to be viewed on the ultrasound, Mom and I decided that lunch was in order. Because the doctor had indicated that they wanted me in for a biopsy ASAP, we chose to eat close to the hospital. Driving through Forest Park, we found a plethora of dining choices along Madison Ave. Mom and I were both pleased to find a sister restaurant to our favorite, La Sorella, and were thrilled to find parking just across the street.

Lunch was the first good food I had been able to get down in a very long time (more on the neausea later) and it tasted good going down. Just as our food arrived, Mom looked at me and declared, "Crap! I forgot to feed the meter." I grabbed my jacket, phone (the hospital could call at any second) and my wallet and went running out into the street. JUST as I crossed the street, the parking police had pulled behind the car and the officer was about to write me a ticket for an expired meter. While Mom and I had both noticed the meter, neither of us actually went to feed it. LOL. Because the officer didn't seem to want to back down, I informed him that I had pretty much just been diagnosed with breast cancer and we had stopped for lunch and forgot to feed the meter. He immediately expressed his sorrow for me and agreed the last thing I needed was a parking ticket.

Like I said, lunch was actually very good and I ate almost all of it. During lunch I tried to express my fears and concerns and to let Mom know that it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that I actually had breast cancer and that I needed to start making plans. Mom, like everyone else, kept saying, "It might be nothing, you don't know until they know for sure." What I wanted to scream, but actually calmly stated, was that "nothing" does not grow tendrils nor potentially invade your lymph nodes. I had to start making plans for the worst and hope for the best. Or did I?