Welcome to the magical world of transformation…

I searched the wall for something, anything to hold my attention away from the poking and prodding I knew was going on. I settled on counting the dots on the ceiling tiles, which got old quick. So instead I searched for groups of three dots. I like things that come in threes – just like my two sisters and me.

“Can you feel this?” he wondered.

“No,” I answered honestly. Couldn’t feel a thing. Not the needle prick. Not even the loneliness.

“Okay. Can I have an 18 gauge needle please?” he asked her.

Crap! Why the heck do I have to know that that’s a huge needle?!

I searched the ceiling frantically for the next bundle of three. There’s one!

Okay, now breathe.

I noticed that my leg muscles were tensed and I slowly released the tension. I remembered how when I gave birth I learned how to relax through the pain, which really helped relieve it. But, in all honesty, I wasn’t in any pain as the doctor inserted his large needle into my breast and pressed into the cyst. Too bad for me it wasn’t a fragile bubble of fluid just waiting to be popped. Nope. Instead the cyst turned out to be as hard to crack as a walnut.

The doctor would lean into the needle in order to penetrate the cyst and each time he applied more pressure I would tense and hold my breath. I was seriously afraid he would push too hard and the needle would slip puncturing the dreaded vessel again. I fought back the bloody images.

Instead I searched the trios of dots looking for anything that resembled the flowers on my sister Nancy’s blouse. When I was in labor with Carina, Nancy was my coach and she wore this v-neck t-shirt with tiny pink flowers all over it. When I had contractions I would immerse myself in the flowers, grip her hand, and the pain would subside even when the contractions didn’t stop. I remember feeling so safe with her by my side and I lay there alone in the breast spa wishing she was there with me.

“Got it! Can I have a 5 cc tube please?” he asked her.

“What color is it?” I asked and looked towards him for the first time since being poked.

“It’s greenish brown, which means that there is no need to send it to the lab.” He held up the tube of fluid he had withdrawn from my boob. It looked reddish brown to me, but it didn’t really matter as long as it was normal cyst fluid that doesn’t even need to be tested for cancer.

For the first time through this whole lumpy bumpy breast ordeal, there was quantifiable, touchable proof that I don’t have cancer. Yay! It’s such a relief to climb off this huge table, strip the cotton robe, and skip on outta here without waiting for more test results. I’ll take my deflated, but healthy boob with me and see ya in 6 months for a check-up. Thanks, Doc!

The Breast Spa {part 1}
The Breast Spa {part 2}

Tags: boob, breast, cancer, lumpy bumpy breast, sisters

{note: read part 1 first}

“Okay.  Some warm gel now, ” he said.

“Oh!  That’s so nice that it’s not cold,” I said surprised as he smeared the warm gel over my boob and pressed the ultrasound paddle against my lumpy, bumpy breast.

“We’re like the spa,” he replied smiling.

It’s true.  They kinda are like the spa with the robe, dim lighting, soft music, and warm gel…except for the part where he sticks me with a big, fat needle!

After a few minutes of slipping and sliding around my boob he said, “I don’t see a mass.  I see a cyst and a little oval shape behind this vessel.”

That must have been the vessel the surgeon hit, I thought.

“But, I don’t think it’s a mass,” he continues, “I think it’s an injury to the artery from the last biopsy.  Look at this.”

He goes on to show me where the cyst is.  It’s buried underneath a lot of breast tissue.  He said it’s probably been there for a long time even though I just found it a month ago.  Then he shows me the other dark spot and there’s this red and blue line pulsing in front of it.  He says it’s the artery and that because it’s traversing the dark spot, that it’s probably not a mass and most likely nothing to be concerned about.

Honestly, I couldn’t make the connection between what he was saying and what he was showing me.  The screen was fuzzy and things kept moving.  He spoke in probably’s and most likely’s.  I wanted to see and hear something concrete; something I could wrap my hands around and hold onto.  Instead the only thing to grasp was faith in his opinion, which he seemed kind of skeptical about himself.  But, he was certain about aspirating the cyst instead of doing another biopsy, which was such a relief to me because that meant no more spring-loaded needles!

She came over and wiped off all the now-cold gel and washed my breast with red sponges of betadine soap.  Chills ran up and down my body.

“Can you roll over towards the wall please?” she asked and wedged some cushions underneath my side and bottom to prop me up.

“Okay, now lift your arm up over your head and rest it on the pillow.”

Could this be any more uncomfortable? My fingers stared to tingle and I wondered how long I could hold this twisted and skewed position.  Well, if my arm and back hurt, then maybe my boob will hurt less!

He draped sterile towels over my chest leaving only my boob exposed.  “Please don’t touch these,” he instructed.  “Okay, a little pinch now.”

I turned my head away from him searching the blank white wall for something to focus on.  Why didn’t they have beautiful artwork in here like they did in the hallway?  What kind of spa is this anyways?!

Tags: biopsy, boob, breast, cancer, health, lumpy bumpy breast, ultrasound