Getting It Off My Chest

6 Mar

I’m back, both physically and mentally. I am officially on vacation (more to follow in the near future on this one). I know it’s strange as I work in the Entertainment Department for the world’s largest entertainment company but I don’t find it a very creative place and therefore, I write while on vacation.

I’ve only been back a week but that’s like seven weeks in my life filled with adventure. So much important stuff has happened in that time. And by “important” I mean serious. Some adventures are planned and some are unplanned. Since this is my ridiculous view on life, I will say abracadabra and magically convert the serious into snarky.

As we’re talking magic, let’s use my imaginary time machine to go back to last November. You’ll recall that I had been home on vacation for 5 days before I left on a whirlwind trip to Kuwait. (Don’t recall? Read Kuwait Just a Minute). I came home literally exhausted, as diagnosed by my doctor. In the interest of taking care of myself, as well as taking advantage of having health insurance, I visited various doctors in order to get in a variety of overdue check-ups. Dentist – I get paid for my smile. Dermatologist – what is this strange mole thing? Gynecologist – yes, got the indoor plumbing checked out. Radiologist – got the girls squeezed.

The results, one less wisdom tooth, one less mole (it was nothing) and girly inside parts are fine and dandy. It’s that last one that caused the trouble. It’s never a good thing when you get a phone call with your mammogram results and your doctor says, “Let me start by saying your left breast looks great.” Uh-oh.

Before I knew it I had another mammogram scheduled. This is the most my breasts have been squeezed in a long time (uh, perhaps this is over-sharing). This, combined with the feeling of, ‘something’s wrong’ when I had returned home, and my emotional state was a bit on edge. I went in for the second mammogram. mammogram_comicI should stop here to let you know something that most of my friends know. I have great boobs. No, they’re not Playboy DD boobs. They’re just a nice full B cup and still perky. In fact, my breasts and my hair are the two things about my body that I really like. So, when the technician started to really pull and smash them (that’s what it felt like anyway) I was sure that all perkiness would be lost and my breast would be hanging down to my navel when she pulled it out of the machine. But, in the interest of getting a clear picture of what was going on inside, I did a bit of yoga breathing (until she told me not to breathe), closed my eyes, bit my lip and thought good thoughts.

The technician soon escorted me into the waiting room while the Radiologist looked at the results. I sat there reading People Magazine (Kristen Stewart cheated on Robert Pattinson? OMG!) and trying not to think too much. Within a few minutes the Tech. came back in to tell me they wanted to do an ultrasound (breathing, breathing). “Sure,” I said, with my best game face. I lay down while she rubbed gel over my breast (men, it sounds a lot more exciting than it was). She took a few pictures of the inside of my breast and asked me not to move while she brought the results to the Radiologist. I laid there. . .for a while. . . too long, I thought. . .not good. She came back and it was like trying to read the faces of the jury as they came back with their verdict. She told me I could get dressed and then the Radiologist would like to meet with me. Uh-oh.

Calmly, I put on my clothes and was invited in to look at my x-rays. From what I could see, my girls looked as good from inside as they do from outside. The Radiologist had a different opinion. He pointed to an area that looked very much like a constellation. Are you kidding me? How the heck did he pick this out? He had to magnify it like a million times for me to see it. But, as he knew what he’s looking for, I decided to trust him when he said it was not normal. I like to think of my breasts as above average but, in this case, average would have been a good thing. He told me that these results called for a biopsy (breathe, remember to breathe). As if this wasn’t enough to deal with, this was one week before Thanksgiving and I was due to return to the ship the Saturday following Thanksgiving. I would be gone for four months. The biopsy was scheduled for Monday. Great, this gave me an entire weekend to think of all of the worst case scenarios.

I called my friend BreAnn. I was hoping to get together as she’s always good for a laugh. Besides that, BreAnn was fighting colon cancer and could probably relate to waiting for biopsy results. She had been through two rounds of chemo that hadn’t worked and was now trying to cleanse her body from all the treatment in order to get herself strong enough to fight it more naturally. Imagine my surprise when she picked up the phone and told me she was having brain surgery in an hour (you can’t make this stuff up). She said it so matter-of-factly that she seemed to take a bit of joy in the shock value (told you, always good for a laugh). Apparently she had a huge issue the day before, was brought to the hospital and they discovered a brain tumor. So, with my boob in question and my friend having brain surgery, I decided to have a scotch.

Short drinking interlude. In fact, let’s make this a drinking game. Read this post again and, every time I use the word ‘boob’ (if you’re really thirsty you can also drink at ‘breast.’ Not a lot of rules in this game), take a drink. I will continue this tomorrow once you’re sober. You can read it in, “The Waiting is the Hardest Part.”


One Response to “Getting It Off My Chest”


  1. Come Fly With Me | My Own Adventure - January 5, 2014

    […] and scotch, reconnected with friends, wrote, traveled a little, had surgery (remember that? No? Read here) and generally got my body, mind and relationships healthy again. When I was ready, I began looking […]

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: