My Runaway Imagination

10/27/2009

So I get a phone call about 10 days ago.  It was my doctor’s office, calling with the results of my recent mammogram.  Well, that’s what I thought they were calling for.  But they were actually calling to tell me that they saw something questionable on the first set of images and wanted me to come back in so they could take a round of more detailed films.  “There’s nothing to worry about”, she told me.  “This is very common and usually results in nothing at all.”  Worry?  I wasn’t worried.  I mean, there’s no way I have cancer.  That’s not even remotely plausible.  I was more concerned - dare I say, aggravated - that I would have to carve additional time out of another day so I could go back and be inconvenienced even more.  “Plan on being here for at least an hour.  The Doctor will be here and will meet you immediately after he reads your films to discuss the results.”  An hour?  Were they serious?  The timing of the appointment meant that I would be getting back on the highway exactly at the height of rush hour.  God, don’t I have better things to do with my time? This was pointless.

The weekend passed without my giving the appointment so much as a fleeting thought.  Then it was Monday morning and I had managed to arrange our schedule to factor in me being in traffic for the rest of eternity.  My day at work was a typical Monday at work which means that I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there and get home so I could get some things together before I had to leave for the Doctor.  But at some point during the 2 minute drive from work to my house (I know, it’s brutal!), my mind starting playing tricks on me.  “I think she said the Doctor was going to be there to speak to me.  That seems odd.  Why would the Doctor want to speak with me?”  I started to feel a little sweaty.  By the time I pulled into the driveway, I realized that the Doctor wanted to speak with me because he had seen a huge tumor on the first set of films and was going to need to lay out the frightening future for me.  My brain, unaccustomed to this type of hysteria, clearly was not working right.  It seemed the only logical thing for me to do was to change into my good bra.  Now, I know this is pointless.  I was going to get there and be instructed to take my bra off without anyone ever having seen it.  Still, it seemed like the right thing to do.  As I was changing I noticed these huge red blotches all over my face, neck and chest.  “What the hell?”  Yes, I had broken out in hives and they were most impressive.  It was time to leave for the appointment and I was feeling way beyond anxious.  To be truthful, I was sweating like a pig and feeling really nauseous.  I hadn’t had a mammogram in 10 years.  10 years!  Who the hell do I think I am - that I can escape cancer?  How could I have been so stupid!?  I fought to resist throwing my arms around my husband when I left the house.  I was more than a little teary.  On the ride, I screamed at myself for being so callous and all but giving myself cancer.  I had no one to blame but myself.  I got to the hospital early and sat in the parking lot trying to pull myself together and wondering if this would be my last memory “before everything changed”.

I managed to get myself inside without hyperventilating, which I took to be an encouraging sign.  The receptionist looked a little alarmed when she saw me, which of course meant that she, too, had seen the huge tumor on the first set of films.  I knew exactly where to go, having just been here a few days before.  I entered the waiting room and saw things I hadn’t noticed on my previous visit.  There was a ginormous basket full of all sorts of wonderful pampering products that was wrapped up with a big pink ribbon. 
There was also a big bulletin board full of myths, facts and statistics.  I read that 80% of all biopsies are benign.  Those are good odds, but I just knew they didn’t apply to me.  I was definitely in that 20%.  I was escorted back to the changing area and took off my good bra and put on the neither functional, attractive nor comfortable piece of cloth known as johnny.  I tried repeatedly but could not calm my shaking hands enough to tie the thing.  My heart was actually racing -though not quite as fast as my mind.  I was contemplating writing goodbye letters to my kids while I sat in the waiting room.  I was definitely going to vomit.

Once you’ve delivered children, you realize that the mammogram is not the worst exam/test ever - as long as you don’t mind someone kneading and molding a part of your body as if it were made of clay, which doesn’t seem quite so bad once they flatten it out until it’s at least as thin as a sheet of wet paper.  I actually decided to schedule a mammogram not because it had been 10 years, but because I really need to schedule a colonoscopy and thought I’d work my way up to the indignity of that by having my boobs morphed into potato pancakes first.

The films certainly were  more detailed and hurt appreciably more.  I just knew that I could feel the giant tumor as the machine squished and pinched.  I cried out on more than one occasion.  The hives were hot and red.  I have never felt such palpable dread in my life.  It was over pretty quickly, as they only needed to do one breast - the one with the huge tumor.  I put my good bra back on and took a seat in the waiting room.  There were huge black spots floating around in front of my eyes.  When the technician approached me, I stood, but was ready to faint.  “OK, you’re all set” she said.  All set?  What does that mean?  All set for the Doctor to change my life forever?  I realized she was still talking and heard her say “Everything looks perfect.  Thanks for coming back in.  You’ll get a postcard in the mail in a year as a reminder to schedule an appointment.”  She turned and left, leaving me alone in the waiting room.  The Doctor hadn’t even wanted to speak to me.  I could feel the heat draining out of my face and sat down to gather my things.  I stopped in the ladies room on my way out and saw that I looked totally normal.  The blotches were gone and those black spots had disappeared.  When I got back in the car, I was surprised to see that I had only been inside for 25  minutes (could that be right??  It seemed like hours!!!) which meant that I would be ahead of rush hour traffic.  “Well, that turned out better than I thought”, (a huge understatement) I said as I pulled onto the highway.  But, I’m still not sure I’m ready for the colonoscopy.  Even my imagination doesn’t want to go there.  

Comments

[Cyberchondriacmom]

My God Janet, I would have been FREAKING OUT. I always jump to the worst conclusions in these situations, and the fact that you were so cool and calm over the weekend is impressive.
I remember when I was pregnant with my twins and I was just absolutely convinced there was something wrong and I was going to miscarry.
So I made MADE them give me a sono at 6 weeks, even though they didn't want to. And that's when I found out was was not only having one healthy baby -- I was having two.
They pretty much had to carry me out of there.

[JohnI]

I'm glad you're fine. I'm sure the trip was full of anxiety.

My mom died of Colon Cancer when I was 17. Do the colonoscopy. Except for an afternoon of running to the bathroom every few minutes, it's not that bad. My story here: http://intorcionews.wordpress.com/2008/02/28/colonoscopy/