I’m in trouble. Those words echoed through my mind.
Do you know how long it takes to get a mammogram when you are worried about something? Do these people understand that they should have special spots for mothers with young children who are freaking out and positive that Mr. Google has told them they are dying? What do you mean three weeks? With nothing left to do, I waited. I sat anxiously and convinced myself that all the anxiety I had to date was actually me, once again, just spinning nothing up into something.
Finally, the day came. I am going to get some answers and although I worry, deep down I hear Ruby’s words of encouragement and felt some peace. They took me back. Time for my first mammogram. Bra off, gown on, wipe your pits, no jewelry, no perfume, smash boob, don’t breathe, smash again, let me feel you up, don’t breathe. Okay sit.
And sit I did. I wait. And wait.
They called me back in again. We need to get a few more views. I am fine with this because it seems normal. I have not had a mammogram before. No problem. Not knowing to ask questions or even what the questions would be, I just did what she asked. Smash, smash, feel, feel, don’t breathe, sit.
Sit. Wait. Sit. In sum, starting to feel a little funny.
They called me back again. Okay, just one more set of shots, and then we are going to take you in for an Ultrasound. Um, hold the phone there, hoss. What are you talking about? Why are we taking more photos? The technician explained that they found something called microcalcifications in my right breast. She explains that microcalcifications are found in most breast tissue and that they can be caused from trauma like a car accident, or can be caused by aging. They aren’t really a concern unless they are clustered together. Of course, mine are clustered together. So that meant there was a concern? I guess so.
With adrenaline pumping, I tried not to freak out as she took those additional shots. I’m in trouble. My quick mammogram appointment had, at this point, turned into a three-hour appointment and it wasn’t even over. I head for an ultrasound next. After that, I asked if I could text my husband.
Chris: I’m in trouble.
2 thoughts on “I’m In Trouble. Part 2”
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