Thursday, March 15, 2007

Math

I drive to Burlington buoyed by the wisdom, the well-wishes and the positive energy of my husband and friends, sharing the long road with the usual sparse traffic of pick-up trucks, business travelers and the occasional semi on a long haul or Amish buggy. I note that I’m not as calm as I’d like to be, wonder why that surprises me, and take comfort in the scheduler’s words: 80% of the time these things turn out to be nothing.
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When you get a screening mammogram, the “yearly” thing a woman of my age is supposed to do, you go to the older, original hospital building just down from the UVM campus, give your registration information and then proceed to MAMMOGRAPHY. There you’re escorted to a cubicle where you’re give instructions to take off everything from the waist up, don a hospital gown and proceed to a small waiting room. There are usually a few other women similarly clad sitting there, and there’s the usual friendly camaraderie of female strangers sharing an unpopular duty.

Today my destination was someplace called THE BREAST CLINIC, on campus in the new medical center building. I find it adjacent to ONCOLOGY, am greeted and escorted to a changing cubicle, and then directed to the waiting room. Unlike the familiar MAMMOGRAPHY waiting room, this one is silent. I note the age range of the other women: the youngest is probably in her early thirties; one woman must be approaching seventy-five or eighty. There are seven of us seriously reading last summer’s People or Good Housekeeping. One wise soul has a book.

A pleasant but serious technician calls my name, and we proceed to a room with the familiar tit-squisher machine. Modern technology presents the breast images on a computer screen that you – the patient – can see within seconds of the x-ray. ‘Funny to see that piece of my anatomy flattened into something resembling a half-moon, but there, in what I assume is “the lower inside quadrant” I can see something resembling a small cloud against the darker sky that is apparently normal breast tissue.

Filming concludes, and the technician tells me I will need to have sonography on the left side. I had been told that this would happen if today’s mammography confirmed the suspicion raised by last week’s pictures. By now I have a sinking feeling in my gut, but I smile and thank her and return to the waiting room. New women have replaced three of the previous waiters.

My wait is short, and the next technician is perky. She explains that the doctor may want to come in to observe while she’s doing the sonogram, and I assume this would probably not be an encouraging situation. “Lefty” gets smeared with warm gel and the tech and I make small-talk as she moves the sensor over and around the area in question, ever watching her computer screen and clicking her keyboard. And then she’s finished.

She asks if I’m comfortable and tells me she will return in about five minutes. They’re a surprisingly short five minutes during which I have a closer look at the horse photos on the shelf above her desk and try to make some sense out of the image on her computer monitor. And then she’s back: “It’s a fluid-filled cyst,” she says with a smile, “and absolutely nothing to worry about. You’re back on regular screening mammography. You’re free to go; come back in a year.”
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And with that, my tension and fears melt away and the woman I see in the cubicle mirror looks markedly happier than the one I saw an hour ago. Maybe I should be joyous, but I’m not. There were ten women in the waiting room this morning, "eighty percent of the time these things turn out to be nothing," and even I don’t need a calculator to do the math.
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Image from Breast Friends, whose Antigua webpage says: Breast cancer is the most common form of cancer affecting women worldwide, with there being a 1 in 8 chance throughout a woman’s lifetime that she will be affected. Yet this cancer is 90% curable when caught early, and if caught early 95% of women live more than 5 years following diagnosis.
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Thank you Crabby, Katy, Whim, Karan, Becky, DNR, Robin, Barb, Em, Foam, Carmon, C-Dell and Sling for being "with me" yesterday. I'd like to believe that if each of us is diligent in getting the recommended screenings, even those of us who cry will be shedding unnecessary tears.
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And thank you sweet Bob for the beautiful roses, the shot of Bailey's and the warm hug when I got home. I am one lucky wizard.

12 comments:

Unknown said...

Wonderful news! Thank you for posting so quickly and reassuring us all and letting us share your relief. I am truly hoping those other women receive the same good news. Carmon

The Wild Inside said...

Wow .. what an adventure! And you relate it so well .. almost felt like I was there. I kept checking for an update .. thank you so much for posting one.

I donate one special cancer bracelet every March to a friend who chairs a Relay for Life down in Florida .. she tells me who the "winner" is, I fashion a tidy little number reflecting the colors relating to the cancer in question, and I feel like I've lifted the spirit of one sufferer (I've gotten incredible notes from recipients) .. however small the token, I know short of coming up with a cure, there's little more I can do. And it does give me just a fleeting sense of having participated in some way.

I was so happy to read the one paragraph with your reprieve within it. So .. go put on some favorite spirit-lifting tunes, grab a swig of something cold n sweet .. and get back to work! Dig up some little green shoots for us, a colorful little crocus peaking up and out with the promise of warmth and fragrance, noisy kids and romping dogs.

You ARE one lucky Wizard.

whimsical brainpan said...

*does the snoopy dance*

Hooray! Oh Wizard I am so happy for you! And at least you know that because you are responsible and do your yearly checkup if they ever do find anything serious (God forbid) it will have been caught early.

Congratulations on the outcome, your bravery, and the wisdom you show by getting your yearly mammogram.

Kati said...

A big ol' sigh of relief, for you!!!! And a prayer that the two women in that room who (statistically) found they have cancer, will have found it early enough to prevent it's spread, and will continue long, healthy lives as survivors.

Crabby said...

A toast to you my wise friend. Phew on another safe year. And may you be blessed with many, many, more of them.

Can't stress this strongly enough girls, get those mammograms on time. It's all you have to do. do that and even if things go astray, they WILL fix you. The key truly is early detection.

Know that expression, "watch you back"? Pah...for us...It's more appropriate to say, "watch your girls".

Bardouble29 said...

Huge Sigh of relief...you have been on my heart and mind for 2 days. Sounds like you can use another of those beers!

I have never been in to have my girls checked and I am thinking its about time for me to start doing this on a regular basis...

Robin said...

Yippeeee! I'm so relieved! Thanks for letting us know!

darkfoam said...

whew...
huge breath of exhale...
:)

Em said...

Wizened, I am so relieved and happy for you. This is great news. I can only imagine the anxiety and tension while undergoing the various tests. Well without appearing overly familiar with your 'girls', I'm glad "Lefty" is just fine. And just so she doesn't feel left out, I hope "Righty" has a good year, as well. :)

Pepper said...

I am so glad to hear it is good news. That is a very scary situation.

Anonymous said...

Oooooooooof! The sound of one huge breath expelling from my lungs, which didn't realize they weren't doing their thing. So very happy for the good news, wise woman. Five women in my family ... five ... did not pass that same test.

Happiness and health to you!

DNR said...

Wize one, I am sorry I have been absent. I am very glad to hear things are OK.