When I lived in Raleigh, North Carolina I worked with a woman named Mary. This is not news in and of itself, I worked with rather a lot of people none of whom you’re probably interested in me talking about. Mary was one of the coordinators in the office and she was a married mother-of-two, part Singaporean, infused with more energy than most people I’ve met, and thin as a rail.
She was also orange.
Not as in fake tan orange, not as in “you may want to lay off the bronzer orange”, I mean orange. Her face, neck, arms, hands, any visible skin she had was a shocking color of orange. The reason she was orange was straightforward – the only meals or drinks she would ingest were a thick homemade carrot shake blend packed with vitamins and minerals. That was the only thing she consumed and I know this because we once had to travel to Europe for business and she had to bring specially packed thermoses of carrot juice that she forbid them from putting through the X-ray machine, as her nutritionist and her other doctor – the one who can only be best described as a shaman – told her that putting it through X-rays would take away the healing power of the shakes.
Mary had advanced breast cancer.
Her husband had forbid her (pause while I struggle with my temper here) to have a mastectomy, which is what the doctors said was needed to save her. He flat out forbid it, saying no wife of his would still be a woman without her breasts. He also put the kaibosh on chemo or radiation, as not only did he have a pre-requisite of a rack for his wife, he also demanded a full head of hair. Mary followed his advice, went to her quack nutritionist and spiritual advisor and used beta carotene and prayer as the sole items that would cure her of her cancer.
I occasionally wonder about Mary. I haven’t tried looking for her, but there’s little doubt in my mind that she will have passed away in the many years since I left that company. No matter how powerful your religion is, prayer and the intrinsic nutritional value of carrots are surely not enough to beat cancer.
On Thursday I went to the doctor’s office to get some of my moles checked out. I’ve got a number of them that are changing shape and color and based on family history and the ones dug out of my back years ago, it was a good idea to just be cautious. I saw the nurse practitioner because the doctor was fully booked, and was referred to see the doctor on Friday.
Friday late afternoon I rucked back up to the doctor’s office to get my moles checked. After de-robing and having them looked at, my doctor pronounced them nothing to be concerned about. As I got my clothes back on, he smiled at me.
“Anything else you want to talk about?”
“Well…” I said hesitantly. “I feel silly mentioning this, it’s probably nothing.”
“Go on?” he asked kindly.
I decide to mention something small that happened the other day. “Well on Wednesday I got out of the shower and I was bleeding.”
“Bleeding?”
“Yes. I was, um, bleeding out of my right breast. Considering the fact that I couldn’t even muster up any real quantity for breast feeding, it seemed very weird.”
“Has this ever happened before?”
“No, never. And I’m no expert, but I don’t think that’s supposed to happen.”
“No indeed. Where are you in your menstrual cycle?” he asks.
“Seriously, I have absolutlely no idea. I have a Mirena.”
“Have you checked yourself?”
“I tried, but I’ve always been very lumpy and I don’t really know what I’m looking for.”
“I think it’s a good idea for me to do an exam. Let me get a sister.”
He leaves the room and I have a mild immature culture giggle over how they’re called sisters here, and not nurses. He comes back in, the sister there as my solemn chaperone, and he proceeds to do a breast exam.
And lo and behold in an area that is a bit tender he finds some lumps near the glands.
And he smiles kindly, says he thinks it’s a good idea that I have a mammogram that it may well be nothing, is probably nothing, but it would be best if I get it checked out, and says I will hear from the hospital in 2-3 weeks. I call Alastair on the way out and tell him the news and tell him that I feel just fine, I get into a fierce altercation with a cab driver, and I drive to the local Waitrose to buy bits for pizzas for that evening as Melissa arrives into town (Jeff is already here). And halfway down the cereal aisle I send Alastair a text.
OK, I am actually a little freaked out.
His response is reassuring and correct – I know you are, but it’s good to get it checked and it is probably nothing.
And then I’m ok again. Everyone gets one scare in their lifetime regarding the big C (which, by the way, I love that TV show to pieces). I am nearly 37 and this is my scare. I’ll get my small girls checked out between two pieces of glass and I’ll be able to see for myself, I’m sure, that it’s all ok, that those lumps mean nothing.
-S.
At my advanced age (ha), they recommend annual mammograms (at least here in the States they do). My first one turned up a little scare, and I was a nervous wreck while waiting for a sonogram to check it. Everything turned out fine, but I do remember being scared witless for a bit. Will be thinking good thoughts and sending them your way.
I’m holding you close. And I’m with you – it’s just a scare but you must have it checked. Hugs & Kisses.
Yes – have had my scare too. At least you have the presence of mind to get it checked out. At one point I had this persistent pain, down where my right ovary is, and I was convinced as I eventually went to my annual check up of all things vee-jay-jay, that my obgyn would find some sodding great tumor, so big that it was probably singing show tunes, and poised to wave as the sonogram wand came by, but turns out I had a hernia, and as an added bonus, it was my mother in laws fault. Huzzah! (shifting some of her sodding boxes that she just expected us to store ad nauseum ad infinitum, and now expects us to ship with all our stuff…
Holding your hand.
I will be thinking of you and also sending ‘it’s nothing’ vibes.
I know how you feel though, I am waiting for MRI results on my head, ‘which is probably nothing’.
Abs x
CARROTS? Sweet suffering Jesus.
So. You felt silly mentioning that blood was coming out of your nipple? *folds arms, taps foot, glares* If I’D told YOU I had bleeding boobs, you’d have frogmarched me in a merciless headlock straight down the GP, would you not? Now carrots, they WOULD be silly, if they weren’t so appallingly bloody tragic in that case. What a total streak of piss that man must have been.
And you are most certainly not going to be Mary. Lumps are frequently… just lumps. I imagine any reduction / enhancement surgery ups your odds of encountering stray benign humps & bulges, also. All will be well.
Despite the fact that I have heard mammograms are a little like having your boobs reversed over by a juggernaut, I’m glad the wheels are in motion, nevertheless.(Da-da-dum!)
On a different note, I know they’re there to protect the Dr just as much as the patient, but… God, I hate medical chaperones. I can always talk freely to a Dr, but having a very junior Health Care Assistant bobbing around, holding the KY, faffing with the notes, noticing that I haven’t shaved my legs… Gah. I can always see them out of the corner of my eye, with eyes like saucers as my cleverly different anatomy is discussed. Sadly necessary, but distracting and irritant.
You’ve had more than your fair share of health scares. Listen to Alastair, it will be nothing, any you are lucky to have a great guy by your side.
I’m thinking of you too. I’m sure it will be nothing.
More “it’s nothing” energy coming your way. Do NOT be alarmed if after the first mammo, they want you to come back for others, or if they want to ultrasound you. This happened to me at my very first I-can’t-believe-I’m-old-enough-for-a-freaking-mammogram — my mistake, I went on a Friday afternoon when the tech (I’m sure) just wanted to go home. The tech took crappy pictures, necessitating a re-do w/ additional ultrasounding.
It will be fine. Hugs.
Sending good thoughts your way. You will be just fine.
My scare turned out to be something more, but, I’m still here and turning 38 on Monday.
Hoping beyond hope it’s nothing nothing nothing. Maybe a side effect of the Mirena? Possibly?
Thinking of you. Please. Please, I know you don’t really know most of us from Adam, but I know I care about you, so please let us know.
much love.
k
I’m gonna have to go with HFF on the foot tapping and the glare, but at least you *did* say something. I have lumpity lumpy breasts since always, but found a different lump when I was about your age. Can’t say I really liked the whole mammogram process–but I think that tech was just crappy. It was nothing. I have also had the follow ups required a couple of times, but still nothing. Worry as little as you are able.
Not exactly related, but when my aunt had her first mammogram the male tech was someone who her daughter had gone to high school with. So far she wins for “most awkward.”
Sending you lots of love and light.
I am beyond glad you’re getting it checked.
Long line of expletives on carrots and monsters who call themselves human.
I had my first scare at 20. I hope that the wait for results is short. And yes, we’d all be that bit of freaked out.
I had bloody discharge from a nipple when I was in my 20′s. Got it checked out, had the mammogram, and they couldn’t find anything. So that was that, it resolved on its own, and haven’t had any problems since (20 years later).
Good thing you mentioned it I think and that they are getting you the mammogram. Best to check it out and sending yup its nothing to worry about thoughts for you.
My c scare came 14 years ago, when after an annual pap, I was called and informed I had precancerous cells, and needed another procedure to rule out cancer. Within 5 minutes off the phone, I had completely freaked out, being a single mom and realizing that, if I died, my daughter would have only my mom to care for her. The reason it only lasted 5 minutes was because the doc’s office called me back to inform me that had read me information from the wrong chart.
Mine was fine and completely normal.
yeah, i did consider sporking the woman through the eyeballs.
Any nipple discharge save mikly demands evaluation. Our protocol for bloody discharge includes mammograpgt AND galactagraphy in search for etiology of the discharge. Ultrasound may be required. very occassionsly MRI may be indicated.
Please feel free to contact me for more information if you wish.
BTW I do imaging full time and just completed a continuing medical education course on breast imaging.
Babe, I’m not trying to fluff it all away, but this happened to me a few years back. I had a very sore breast, the nipple was so tender, and yup-it bled. I also have really lumpy boobs, so I never know what I am really looking for either. So. I go to the doctor, get the exam, she is “a little concerned” about the lump-and although she tells me its probably nothing, better safe than sorry and to schedule a mammogram.
I commence to lose my shit.
A few weeks later, I had the mammogram. This was pre-breast reduction, and because my breast were so dense, they couldn’t really see anything, so I needed to get an ultrasound. Come to find out, it was nothing more than breast tissue. They patted me on my head and sent me on my way.
I cried all the way home. From relief, from the weeks of fear, from feeling so stupid for being so worried, and guilt from looking at all the woman in the waiting room and knowing that at least one of them wasn’t going to be getting as good as news as I did that day.
I’m sure its nothing. I’m POSITIVE its nothing.
Glad you mentioned it … Also sending “it’s nothing” wishes your way.
We have an absolutely horrendous family history of breast cancer in my family, as a consequence I’ve had regular screening appointments since I turned 35.
Nothing has been found to date but no time/expense will be spared to make sure that any possible early chance of finding issues/changes. And yes, always anxious between appt and results but worth it for the long term peace of mind.
Kudos for bringing it up and fingers crossed that all is well.
The wait is the hardest but the decision is made now so you can sleep easy, or at least easier. I had my scare when I was pregnant with Stella and had yet another abnormal CIN pap test. I had to wait until I delivered her to have it tested again, and subsequently treated, it did creep into my mind in the darkest hours of the night as I felt my baby move inside me that maybe there was also something else growing. Sigh. But regular check-ups and decisions made, its easier.
If I were that orange woman, I would have divorced that man pronto. He isn’t worth keeping.
But you are, so I am hoping that your mammo will show nothing of import. So many lumps are really nothing – I’m guessing yours isn’t either. Hugs!
Mary’s husband? What an a***hole. That makes me really angry.
Keeping my fingers crossed that it is nothing.
Alistair is correct, it’s nothing.
You’ve got to go easy with those nipple clamps from here on out, okay? :)
I am Robin from Raleigh, NC. I am proud of you for talking with your physician and am hoping that it all turns out to be easily resolved.
I was diagnosed in April 2007 at the age of 43. Fortunately, my husband loved me through surgery, chemo, and radiation. You are fortunate to have the same kind of man. IF it turns out to be a problem, you CAN fight it and you CAN win.
My carrot intake has usually been in the form of carrot cake. Carrots are veggies after all. And cream cheese icing has dairy………………
I’m sending good thoughts and prayers.
Robin
I am so happy to live with a man that doesnt give a shit if I have breats or not and would rather have me alive, which is a good thing really, as I no longer have any! I hope that all will be OK and anyway, what will be will be and you will deal with it and come out the otherside stronger
my scare was at age 21.
I’ll be thinking happy thoughts your way.
I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers. I know you will be OK. I have had the same scare, with the same symptoms, and everything was fine.
I just went through this myself. I understand exactly where you are. There’s nothing that can prepare you for the journey ahead…cancer or not…because it’s just damn scary either way.
I have had two “sweet Jesus please let this lump not mean anything” episodes and so far I’m 0 for two. Or two for two, depending on the interpretation – either way, both were fine. My fingers are crossed for you, since I don’t pray or have a rain dance for this sort of scenario. I’m also making wiggly “good karma” fingers out the window, but as my sense of direction sucks, I’m not sure whether the waves are heading in your direction or towards Mexico.
(In case you couldn’t tell, I was going for ‘positive impact of humor on health’ there)
As someone who had her maternal Gran pass away from breast cancer; when I found a lump in my right breast at the tender age of 19 I freaked out! Got it biopsied and it was thankfully benign but I’m a HUGE advocate for checking ones breasts EVERY month and not becoming a statistic.
More often than not, lumps in breasts are fatty tissue and nothing to worry about but it’s always a great idea to get them checked out.
Thinking of you and hope you get the all clear REAL soon.
xxx
It’s probably nothing… Alastair is a guy. He says it’s probably nothing. Guys are always right (aren’t they? They always think they are, so there must be some sliver of truth in it somewhere!). Ergo: it’s probably nothing!
You are totally entitled to freak out, though. Just as long as you remember it’s probably nothing…
No matter how powerful your religion is, prayer and the intrinsic nutritional value of carrots are surely not enough to beat cancer.”
You had to know Solomon was going to comment on this before you even finished typing your sentence. : ) I know a lady who had terminal cancer but wouldn’t do surgery or chemo. She changed her diet, and her family prayed fiercely for her, and the cancer went into complete remission. That was more than 5 years ago. I’ll agree, that’s not common, but it does happen.
Unfortunately, some of us get multiple scares. : ) I had/have a lung disease called Sarcoidosis and have had melanoma. But I (and I say this 100% seriously) I’m a better husband, father, and son for having had both.
But I do sincerely pray that your scare will be nothing more than a scare.
I’m going to do the reassuring-you-cuz-I-had-the-same-thing thing. It was about six years ago. Nothing showed up in a mammo; nothing showed up in an ultrasound. My primary care doc. insisted that I knew what was up with my own bod (I’ve also got the euphemized (?) “dense breast” tissue), so she sent the discharge to the lab. I had a biopsy (was well and truly no big) AND I went to the (gorgeous) breast specialist (read “oncologist” specializing in boobage). I, too, was pretty freaked but turns out that I had two completely unrelated but spontaneously occurring breast infections–neither which was related in any way to any scary C-word. I hadn’t breast-fed in more than 20 years, so it was rather odd, and they did remove the milk ducts in that boob–under local anesthetic. Everything is totes fine, now, and it’s going to be for you, too. It is just a feeling I have. Hugs from Atl.
I’m with HFF on the “Bleeding? Getcher ass into the GP NOW, young lady!” It’s always better to know and know soonest. Sometimes it’s nothing, but if it isn’t there is treatment and it’s getting better all the time. And it feels better to be doing something about it. If it *is* nothing—my mother got a few cysts in her breasts, and wouldn’t poor circulation promote those?—then you know that, too. (She had to have biopsies to clear them, so do be prepared for that.)
My dad has lung cancer* and one of the things we heard from a medical professional is that a lot of people get diagnosed and then delay treatment for as much as a year. What the HELL are they thinking? I mean, denial can only go so far. No wonder lung cancer has such wretched survival rates.** Dad got right into treatment, no delays.
*No symptoms until the beginning of this year, and nasty advanced, but he’s doing so well it’s in the category “If you didn’t know he was sick you wouldn’t know he was sick.” And yes, he smoked back in the day.
**A great comment I saw once about a woman who was diagnosed with cancer that had a 15% overall survival rate. Her reply? “I feel sorry for the other 85%.”
Here’s hoping (and praying cuz I do that) that it’s nothing. Keep us in the loop!
Ah, love these “life events”. (Who came up with that term, anyway?) My “life event” came out no problem (turns out it was only a cyst) but I really loved the mammogram tech saying that my proudly ample bosom was “too wiggly” for the machine. Too wiggly! Harrumph. Much love to you!!
Re: The Orange Woman – Sweet fucking Jesus! There was a girl I was friends with in high school, a smart, savvy, otherwise with-it girl whose parents were from some oddball religion that no doubt regarded modern medicine as one of the devil’s many temptations. She fought her cancer armed only with her faith and some oddball herbal concoction her folks drove down to Tijuana once a month to obtain (no kidding). Suffice to say she didn’t live more than a few years…makes me mad to this day. Perhaps she might have died after chemo and bone marrow replacements, but still…modern medicine isn’t perfect, but I’ll take my chances with that over the dark ages any day.
Re: You – yes, yes, by all means get the mammogram. My wife has a family history, has gotten one annually since she was thirty. Not always foolproof, but we both sleep better at night knowing she’s been checked out. Best wishes!
I went through this last year and know how scary it is. Sending you best wishes for clear results on the mammogram.
Thinking of you and sending reassuring thoughts your way that it is NOTHING and just your “one scare.”
Can I give you one piece of advice? PLEASE make sure you do all you can to protect yourself emotionally between now and the test results. Cancel dinners, take a few days off work… whatever you need to get yourself through in one strong piece. A few years my GP told me he was 90% sure based on my symptoms and family history that I had a brain tumour. I sobbed in his surgery than all the way home and then sucked it up somehow and hosted a family dinner party for 40. To this day I have no idea why I put myself through that – or anything of the other ridiculous things that impacted my fragile state in the next 2 days while I was waiting for my MRI. Put YOU first. xxx
…and for the record it wasn’t a tumour, it ws the first of a new kind of migraine I developed that included serious visual disturbances.
I agree with Fikka about taking care of yourself right now. This is one of those times for rest and comfort food without guilt.
Sending good thoughts your way that everything will be all clear!
Shannon, I don’t know of it will make any difference during your mammogram, but when I had mine last year, special note was made for the doctor reading the exam that I had a breast reduction. In fact, it was even ordered different. I did not find it painful at all, but I did take some motrin befor because they really have you almost hyper extend your shoulders to get your arm up and out of the way. I would do the same before the ultrasound for the same reason, and because she will really press that probe onto those tender areas.
I am thinking of you. I had scare in 2008, a mass in my abdomen that required surgery( it was just adhesions). Not knowing, for me was the worst part. Again, I will send all my good thoughts out into the universe as you wait for your testing.
So, Kate mentioned a few months ago that you had a really good blog. For some reason I just thought to look it up. I’m currently going through my first scare too. My GYN found a lump on Monday…I’m to wait until after my period in two weeks & have it ultrasounded if it’s still there. I’m trying not to be freaked out, but I TOTALLY am. (How frustrating is it that you have to wait 2-3 weeks?! I mean, stress CAUSES cancer!)
Here’s hoping everything comes back normal, for both of us.
P.S.-Now that I’ve looked around a bit, I realize I don’t think you are who I thought you were. Which makes it even more strange that I found this post. Fingers still crossed, for myself & for a freaked out stranger, somewhere out there. :)
I’m sending good thoughts and prayers for your test tomorrow. I am asking for gentleness, skill, and knowledge for your care providers. I am asking for peace, comfort, and good test results for you.
My friends mum did the carrots after all else failed, many years ago.
Thinking of you. And you have reminded me to get my own mammogram scheduled
Late, as always, to find out what’s going on. I was two years older than you when I got my scare which was micro-calcification in the lump I’d found when I wondered why lifting my four year old was causing breast pain. Decided instantly not to worry until I actually had something to worry about. And a lumpectomy later, I had saved myself several weeks of stress. But everyone has to manage it as best they can given their own particular personality quirks. There is no right way.
My bi-annual mammogram two years ago (which means there is another in my immediate future to look forward to) found another unexplained shadow. After countless ultrasounds and poking about from specialists, and monitoring over a 12 month period, the consensus was, as HFF mentioned, that breast reduction could cause anomalies such as this. Something, the breast cancer specialist continued, that the plastic surgeons don’t mention when you are investigating whether you should try for a normal size chest. Je ne regrete pas.
Sitting here on the other side of the world and wishing you nothing but good things from your appointment today. Love and hugs!