So, this post will be fairly devoid of photos, because as much as I curse and use questionable language I am not ready to go down the homemade, amateur porn road (see how easy it is to just say NO, Octo?). And trust me, you’re not ready for me to go down that road either. You’re welcome.
”First”Number 7 – The Mammogram Saga
Anyway, very shortly after we moved into our new home, Mr. KB noticed some unusual lumpiness on my breast one night as I was drying off after my shower (aside: SAHP, don’t you just LOVE it when you don’t have time to shower until moments before you go to sleep? It is just the best EVER. Um, actually, no it’s not, nevermind) and asked me about it. I looked and saw it, felt it and realized that um, ya, there was something funky there and it didn’t feel right.
Calm face, voice, demeanour. Nonchalance to keep Mr. KB from being too alarmed. I’ll call the doctor in the morning, Honey, and make an appointment to get in and have it looked at. We go to bed, sleep uneasily and wake up to the usual kiddie chaos, fighting, screaming and lost lunch bags. Get everyone fed, sorted and out the door and then call and make the appointment for the following evening.
Waiting. Sucks. Mr. KB stressed out, worried. Me, deciding that “this” isn’t going to happen to me. Period.
Appointment time, I leave Mr. KB to manage bedtime routines and head into town for my appointment. Not much of a wait, although there are some very interesting specimens to observe in the waiting room. People watching (without being too obvious or getting caught) is one of my favourite things to do. Mr. KB calls me nosy, I call me interested. Maybe it’s a bit of both. Besides, there are some fucked up looking people out there. Not my fault but why shouldn’t I reap the benefits? People’s lives, freakish and ordinary, fascinate me, I can’t help it.
Name called, into the exam room. Chit chat with the doctor, flash some lumpy boob, careful to conceal the nipple-area because unless it’s absolutely necessary, I try to limit my nipple exposure in public (take note Lindsay and Ms. Jackson sometimes it is cooler to NOT show nipple). Except when I was nursing. Then it was a virtual nipple free-for-all. No apologies forthcoming, so stop waiting.
Referral for a mammogram and ultrasound (um, but but, mammograms are for OLD women, aren’t they? And I only have ultrasounds to see fetuses and heartbeats and shit – this can’t be happening).
Panic. Breathe. Refind calm demeanor to convey the information to my beloved.
Another stupid night of non-restful sleep. Repeat the routine of the following morning, except add a trip to nursery school to drop Rigatoni for the morning, then home and calling the lab. Oh, they can take me tonight? Well, that’s kind of fast. Hmmm. Why are they seeing me so quickly? If I were pregnant I would have to call three clinics to get an ultrasound appointment a month in advance. How quickly this appointment is offered is disconcerting. To say the least.
So, once again that night I depart and leave Mr. KB to put the feral monkeys to bed. I get to the lab and there is no wait. What is with this place and speed? It is not calming at all when things move quickly. But off we go, into a small, tidy room at the back of the lab. I’m handed the generic gown and instructed to remove everything from the waist up and then wait. Again, not much of a wait. It would seem that the universe is conspiring to flatten me as quickly as possible. The lab tech was really nice, but at the end of the day, she was the one that was going to place each of my breasts on a glass plate and then smush the hell out of it with another glass plate while shooting ionizing radiation through my body to find out of my lumpiness was a bad lumpiness that was going to turn our lives inside out or just further proof that I’m some kind of super human superhero.
Okay, pervs. Enough already! Here’s your damned boob shot. But for the record, these are not my boobs. Mine were flatter at the time of imaging. Hope you’re all happy now.
Now, you may think that having flat boobs is a bad thing. It’s not so bad. Smushed flat is preferrable to the side smashing that comes next. Not fun, not flattering and not comfortable. I don’t know if all mammogram techs are female, but I am ever thankful that mine was.
And this is what the Smusher looks like. It looks innocent enough, until you remember that top plate is going to slam down on your breast until you’re flatter than you were in the third grade. I can’t say that I’m a fan, but as long as it saves lives, I’m all for it. BUT, I’m pretty sure that no one (read: no MAN) has invented a similar machine to squish nuts for early detection purposes. The fuzzy end of the lollipop again, ladies.
An ultrasound is an ultrasound, but this time it actually had answers for me. I must admit that I much prefer my previous ultrasounds when I got to see my baby’s heartbeat or perfect little body growing inside me, but in absence of a baby, what the ultrasound tech found this time was good too. A very funkily and completely blocked duct. And that’s all. So, no badness and sadly, no superhero proof either. I’ll find that proof one of these days.
Relief. Happiness. A renewed committment to lose weight, eat healthier and take better care of myself and be around for Mr. KB and my kids for a long, long time.
And then I shared a tub of Moose Tracks with Mr. KB and I think that we both finally breathed again. And thought ‘ah, fuck it. The celery will still be in the fridge for me to feast on tomorrow.’ (And likely for the rest of the month *grin*).
P.S. Just a tip that is completely Keswick-related and I really, really wish that I would have known two pregnancies ago – The ultrasound and lab in Keswick on the Queensway (above Fabricland and down the hall from Keswick Dental) will do testing for ANY doctor and/or midwife, not just local ones (as I was lead to believe all these many years ago now). Knowing this would have saved me many un-necessary trips to Newmarket and even as far as Richmond Hill (!!) to get prenatal testing and routine ultrasounds done. And not having to make extra trips to Newmarket or Richmond Hill would have been a HUGE time and money saver. So, if you’re with York Region Midwives or have an OB-GYN north or south of the ’wick, keep this place in mind, it’s less than likely that your service provider will have Keswick-specific requisitions – none of mine did. Oh well, live and learn and pass it on
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