Before I tell you this story, let me just say that I'm fine and healthy and everything is going to be all right.
A couple of weeks ago I went in for my regular annual exam, and my doctor found a lump in my left breast. It was a pretty big one, and she couldn't believe I hadn't found it myself. The truth is, I don't pay very much attention to my own breasts. I mean, I know I'm supposed to do monthly exams, but I'm only 27 years old.
So for a few days, I was freaking out. I tried to be laid back about it, but at my core I am not a laid back person. I'd like to be, but at this point I think it's pretty hopeless; the dye is cast. Plus, I've always sort of thought I would get breast cancer. God's last laugh on the small-breasted girl, you know. Anyway--I tried to be moderately cool about it on the outside, but I had only limited success. I told my closest people here about it, and I don't think they were fooled. They were great about it, though, and let me be as silly as I needed to be.
But after a while, my belief in my own immortality kicked back in, and I became convinced that there was nothing really wrong with me--or at least, convinced enough to stop thinking about it every single minute of the day. Besides, I had to wait a couple of weeks to get in for tests, and you just can't stay in full-on panic mode for that long. Not when you have a job and classes and stuff, anyway.
Yesterday I finally got to go in for the whole series of tests: two ultrasounds, one mammogram, and multiple feel-ups by half a dozen people I don't know. That's what happens when you are a poor graduate student: you become a learning tool for interns and students all over the city. Not that I minded. People have to learn.
Getting your breasts tested is a pretty hilarious experience, in a lot of ways. At one point I was sitting in a waiting room wearing my jeans and one of those gowns that opens in the front, with three other women dressed the same way, all thumbing through four-year-old beauty magazines and making small talk. Also, mammograms are not much fun. I can see why older women avoid them. Who knew my boob would stretch that far?
I was being pretty cool all day, I thought, but when I stopped at Dick�s for a burger in-between appointments and realized I didn�t have enough cash on me for the burger, fries, and chocolate shake I wanted, I burst into tears. I really never thought I would cry over a Dick�s burger. I mean, they�re tasty, but they�re not that tasty.
I still have to go in for a biopsy, but everyone seems to agree that I almost certainly do not have cancer. Everyone also seems to agree that I should have the thing removed, if for no other reason than because it is apparently growing, and waiting will only mean a bigger scar. But the surgery is outpatient and not a big deal at all. I�ll be fine.
So that�s what�s been going on with me. If anything, it�s made me appreciate what I have even more�a good group of friends, a family I know will support me. I�m lucky.
Enough about my boobs! Have a good weekend, everyone. Allow me to suggest drunken karaoke. I and mine will be performing at the China Gate. Do stop by to see my friend M's fine performace of "Pour Some Sugar on Me," complete with back-up dancers.
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