Knowing that 95% of breast lumps are benign isn't helping much right now.Jane
was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and she's had the surgery and it all looks good and she's totally going to be a breast cancer survivor, and yesterday she said something about small boobs and dense breast tissue and I figured I should probably cop a feel of MY small, dense boobs, so I did, which is why I'm quoting figures from a breast cancer site: there's a lump in my right boob (although I should probably call it A Breast now)
By some stroke of luck, I got to see my own doctor within an hour of the initial "OHFUCK" moment, because dude is booked a week in advance and the receptionist was trying to find me someone else to see that day ("her: "Dr Caddle?", me: "Uh, no. Apparently I'd rather DIE than see him again") when she squealed in excitement because someone had just cancelled! Just then!
On the one hand, I think this is really lucky. On the other, I think the universe gave me my own doctor because This Isn't Good.
Fortunately though, I was felt up by someone I know, and unfortunately, the lump I was hoping would be a phantom Empathy With Jane non-lump, turned out to be A Lump.
If you know me at all - then again, if you've been reading here lately you probably don't much about me because this place has become a virtual cone of silence - I'm not a drama queen and am being all logical and whatnot about this probably non cancerous thingummyjig in mah boob, but you know what else? THERE'S NO WAY I'M NOT GONNA WORRY THE SHIT OUT OF THE NEXT WEEK TO TEN DAYS UNTIL I KNOW JUST WHAT IN FUCK IT IS INTENTIONAL CAPSLOCK.
I look at my son and think my worst fears are being realised ie I'm shit scared of dying and leaving him alone. SHIT. SCARED.
It's not just irrational panic, either. I inhaled a cloud of asbestos dust around fifteen years ago, when some wanker from the council electric sawed a broken fence right outside my window, so now I've only got five to fifteen years to know if I'm going to die of mesothelioma or not. Wee!
Now, before anyone gets all "UNLIKELY!" on my ass, my dad died of mesothelioma. He never even SAW asbestos then one day, he DIED from it.
So I haz fears.
I'm also scared of being hit by a bus or any of the other usual ways of dying young too, just so we're clear, because I have a child and I don't want to leave him, so I don't think not wanting to die is particularly irrational.
But let's get back to the more immediate threat on my life ie The Lump.
I can't get an ultrasound until I get my period because hormonal changes make it hard to visualise or some shit. I'm guessingthat regardless of what shows up, there's going to be a needle biopsy, and I know all this because I had a lump removed sometime around the turn of the century, back when I didn't have a child then, was younger and therefore more invincible, but when they called me with the biopsy results I nearly passed out because I didn't realise just HOWSCARED I'd been about the results.
God, that was fun. The needle biopsy gave an indeterminate result, and the surgeon was all concerned because there were no duct cells, and the lump was irregular, and the effing needle monkey had exclaimed over the unusalness of the lump. "WOW, It's so STRANGE and HARD", and I was all"REALLY? I NEEDED TO KNOW THAT?". The surgeon wanted to do another needle biopsy, except when I asked her if we could just cut that bitch out instead, she said "I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED ARE YOU FREE TOMORROW?".
So it was cut out and it wasn't cancer and this won't be either.
Your job is to convince me.