Confessions of a Serial Swooper

Monday, August 8.

Possibly the day on which my life changed forever.

The day I got a callback on my annual mammogram.

They say they see something a little “off” in the scan of my right breast.   They want me to come back in for a re-scan where they can have a radiologist read it over with me.

So, I calmly scheduled the follow-up appointment, hung up the phone, put the kids down for some quiet time and allowed myself to completely….freak…out.

Prone to melodrama, even when it comes to a subcutaneous hemorrhage (that’s a bruise to normal people), I was pretty sure I was in deep, deep trouble.  My father’s mother was lost to breast cancer at age 49.  Having just turned 40 a few weeks ago, I’d be lying if I told you that fact hasn’t been with me for many years already.  The recent links to cancer genetically passed down by paternal lineage did nothing to calm my fears.

I called my Mommy (who I don’t ever refer to as “Mommy”, fyi, but in this case I was definitely calling “my Mommy”.)  Suffering her own difficult health issues lately, I considered not calling her at all.  The last thing she needed was unnecessary worry.  But, I knew she’d want me to tell her.  Want me to need her.  Want me to know that no matter what her own situation, she was (and always will be) my go-to when I needed a shoulder.  And, I did.  And, she was.

I also called two of my closest girlfriends, who were perfectly sympathetic and supportive all at once.  “Can I take  the kids?”  “Can I come with you?”  “Can I help?”  “Glass of wine?”    No, thanks.  No, thanks.   No, thanks.  YES, please!

And, of course, I told Husband.  Who read a few things online and told me I’d be fine.

On Aug 8, 2011, at 2:25 PM, Husband <husband@workemail.com> wrote:

Relax.  It will be over before you can say “overlapping breast tissue.”

Which made me laugh.

But then he came home and wouldn’t indulge my melodrama AT ALL.    “You’ll be fine.  Happens all the time.  No need to tell everybody, blah blah blah.”

Which totally pissed me off.

Partially because it’s so male and annoying to refuse to acknowledge something might be terrible until it actually is terrible.

Partially because he was the only person I could get mad at, when I wasn’t really mad at him at all.

Anyway, long over-dramatized story later…

I spent the next three days worrying.  And being an extra nice Mommy to my kids (you know, so they remember me fondly).  And, feeling up my right breast in the shower like a 12-year old boy who just got to 2nd base.

I had my scan at 7:30 am this morning.

Sweet friends texted best wishes.

Husband calmly waited in the lobby for the radiologist to call him in to chat about results.

And, then we got the word.

Well, lookee there.

“Overlapping breast tissue”

We hugged and kissed and went about our day today.

He hasn’t said “I told you so.”

Yet.