The disaster that didn't happen

I sent the note below to some girlfriends of mine. After reading it, if you haven't already done so, call and make an appointment for your overdue mammogram. Then forward this to your mother, sisters, BFFs, and anyone else whose next birthday means something special to you.


First of all, I don’t have breast cancer. But I did have a little scare, and it got my attention. For about three of the past five years, I’ve been called back for a “retake” of my mammogram. Some little spot or shade on the film was of concern. So last year, when Ann called me to say I needed a re-do, I never got around to it. She must have noticed, because after my mammogram last week, she called to tell me “You need to come in for a retake.” I sighed and said “Don’t we do this every year?” But then she said “Because of what they saw on the film, I’m also scheduling you for a follow-up ultrasound.” That got my attention, so I scheduled it for this morning.

Over the past week, I’ve been pretty busy, and have not had time to think about much of anything but getting my work load under control. When I did think about it, I reassured myself that the mammogram retake would be the same old deal it’s always been – some spot that would turn out to be nothing. But then there were those times that I would find myself reflecting on how radically my life could change over the next few days. Much of the time it was an intellectual exercise, a mental list of the things that I would no longer be able to take for granted: living to 104; seeing my niece and grandkids grow up; keeping the house; finishing my book; doing my pottery; cooking dinner; eating dinner. I saw it often enough in my oncology days, the way lives get turned upside down, and I did not want to experience it. But I seriously started to consider that I might have to face it. And there were those moments that I would actually feel panic about it. A bit of an over-reaction, perhaps, but I was glad not to have too much free time to dwell on it.

So today they had to do two retakes, and they still couldn’t find the spot that they were so worried about a week ago. They were concerned about that, so they decided to proceed with the ultrasound. There were, of course, problems with that, too. The ultrasound tech was fixating on one particular spot, and examining it from a number of different angles, which made me increasingly uneasy to say the least. She finally brought the doctor in, and he looked at it and said “Oh, yeah, that’s a lymph node. Normal. You’re fine.” I wondered if he had any idea what an emotional whiplash that could be – to be in fear of your life, and then have that removed with a casual wave of the hand.

They want to see me again in six months, just to be sure. It’s an appointment I plan to keep. I feel like I’ve had a reprieve. It’s not often in life that we’re in a position to appreciate the disaster that didn’t happen. But if you’re in the habit of putting off that dreaded mammogram, please don’t. Find time for it. And then be sure to invite me to your 104th birthday party, because I’m planning to be around for the occasion.