Squish
The machine looks like a xenomorph that had previously taken a 1980's Macintosh computer as a host, I thought to myself while staring at the mammography machine.
It was August of this year, and I was sitting in a large cold room waiting for the nurse. Thankfully I was allowed to keep my clothes on from the waist down. From the waist up I was wearing a robe that had been stored in an incubator but was now rapidly losing its warmth in the frigid room. I waited about 10 minutes for the nurse to return, and by minute 3 the robe had given up its battle against the cold. I assumed mammography machines preferred cold climates, and started to imagine a small herd of them in Antarctica, floating around on melting ice caps. I wasn't allowed to bring anything into the room other than what I was wearing, and there were no magazines or even medical signs on the wall to read. When my imagination ran out and my anxiety kicked in, I started to fidget with the elastic coil bracelet on my wrist that held the key to the locker with my belongings. No longer will I associate those bracelets with compact amusement park lockers, now all I picture are large wooden lockers with wipes to remove deodorant, and a line of women in incubated robes outside the door waiting their turn for access to their own locker.
My mammogram this year wasn't my first but for some reason I was incredibly nervous. Well, not some reason, I knew the reason. But what were that chances that I would be diagnosed with breast cancer the same year as my sister? My heart said the results would be normal, my brain said the results would be abnormal, and my anxiety didn't care. I couldn't even listen to the bickering between my heart and my brain because the anxiety was drowning it out.
Here is a helpful tip: if you are young and getting cancer screenings, get used to waiting. This year I had the same run around as my first mammogram. If you are over 40, you may get a reminder that your annual mammogram is due. Even though I am significantly more likely to get breast cancer at a young age than the average woman at an old age, I have to jump through the hoops. Call the doctor to get the referral -> Call to schedule the mammogram (the hospital won't call me to schedule it, since I'm not over 40) -> wait for radiologist approval for the mammogram since I am young and they need to be sure it is medically necessary, even though my doctor approved it. Then, as I sit in the room with the big box of breast squishing transparent plates, the nurse has to check with the radiologist on duty that I am allowed to get this test done, even though several of my doctors, one radiologist, and my insurance already approved it. I sit and I wait, because I am young. It doesn't matter how many times I patiently tell every single employee that I am BRCA2 positive. I wait for approval.
The nurse walked in cheerfully saying everything checks out and we can go ahead with the mammogram. She started putting together the pieces of the machine with the speed of a Rubik's cube master. She tells me to take off one side of the robe so we can get started. I am glad that I've only had female nurses. They have you take out one boob at a time, and then both later on. They adjust your arms, your stance, your body angles, then mold your boobs like play dough in between the plates. Then the plates start to compress. I was amazed by how much human breast tissue can compress. My first annual mammogram was normal, but I have some dense breast tissue, so this year the nurse asked me if she could add more pressure. I wanted there to be no questionable areas, so I approved. She had me tell her when to stop, I obliged when my entire arm started to tingle painfully. 28 pounds of pressure on my breasts. I held my breath while she took the image, then the pressure was released. I stepped back, then forward for positioning to do it all over again.
Both of my mammograms were 3D. Compared to 2D, the 3D type of mammography helps minimize any overlap in the breast tissue, making it easier to find suspicious areas. I was lucky in that my first mammogram was also 3D, so I had a baseline of healthy tissue. My insurance didn't want to cover the 3D aspect of my first mammogram, but the hospital was working with insurance that year so the insurance only paid what they would have paid for 2D instead of 3D, and I only had to pay $80 for the radiologist to look at my results. This year, insurance covered it, which meant less cost and less runaround. I was unreasonably excited when I learned my insurance was now covering 3D mammograms. Gotta take pleasure in the little things.
My breasts were only sore for a few hours after the test. I was glad I could schedule it on a day off so I could recover. I treated myself to some Dairy Queen on the way home, because dammit I deserved a blizzard.
As with any test results, the worst part is the waiting. The nurse said it usually takes between 3-5 days, maybe up to a week but that was just a cushion in case there is a back up with radiologist interpretation. That same nurse called me with results 2 days later, and as soon as I heard her voice I knew it wasn't good. I wouldn't be blogging if it was.
It was August of this year, and I was sitting in a large cold room waiting for the nurse. Thankfully I was allowed to keep my clothes on from the waist down. From the waist up I was wearing a robe that had been stored in an incubator but was now rapidly losing its warmth in the frigid room. I waited about 10 minutes for the nurse to return, and by minute 3 the robe had given up its battle against the cold. I assumed mammography machines preferred cold climates, and started to imagine a small herd of them in Antarctica, floating around on melting ice caps. I wasn't allowed to bring anything into the room other than what I was wearing, and there were no magazines or even medical signs on the wall to read. When my imagination ran out and my anxiety kicked in, I started to fidget with the elastic coil bracelet on my wrist that held the key to the locker with my belongings. No longer will I associate those bracelets with compact amusement park lockers, now all I picture are large wooden lockers with wipes to remove deodorant, and a line of women in incubated robes outside the door waiting their turn for access to their own locker.
My mammogram this year wasn't my first but for some reason I was incredibly nervous. Well, not some reason, I knew the reason. But what were that chances that I would be diagnosed with breast cancer the same year as my sister? My heart said the results would be normal, my brain said the results would be abnormal, and my anxiety didn't care. I couldn't even listen to the bickering between my heart and my brain because the anxiety was drowning it out.
Here is a helpful tip: if you are young and getting cancer screenings, get used to waiting. This year I had the same run around as my first mammogram. If you are over 40, you may get a reminder that your annual mammogram is due. Even though I am significantly more likely to get breast cancer at a young age than the average woman at an old age, I have to jump through the hoops. Call the doctor to get the referral -> Call to schedule the mammogram (the hospital won't call me to schedule it, since I'm not over 40) -> wait for radiologist approval for the mammogram since I am young and they need to be sure it is medically necessary, even though my doctor approved it. Then, as I sit in the room with the big box of breast squishing transparent plates, the nurse has to check with the radiologist on duty that I am allowed to get this test done, even though several of my doctors, one radiologist, and my insurance already approved it. I sit and I wait, because I am young. It doesn't matter how many times I patiently tell every single employee that I am BRCA2 positive. I wait for approval.
The nurse walked in cheerfully saying everything checks out and we can go ahead with the mammogram. She started putting together the pieces of the machine with the speed of a Rubik's cube master. She tells me to take off one side of the robe so we can get started. I am glad that I've only had female nurses. They have you take out one boob at a time, and then both later on. They adjust your arms, your stance, your body angles, then mold your boobs like play dough in between the plates. Then the plates start to compress. I was amazed by how much human breast tissue can compress. My first annual mammogram was normal, but I have some dense breast tissue, so this year the nurse asked me if she could add more pressure. I wanted there to be no questionable areas, so I approved. She had me tell her when to stop, I obliged when my entire arm started to tingle painfully. 28 pounds of pressure on my breasts. I held my breath while she took the image, then the pressure was released. I stepped back, then forward for positioning to do it all over again.
Both of my mammograms were 3D. Compared to 2D, the 3D type of mammography helps minimize any overlap in the breast tissue, making it easier to find suspicious areas. I was lucky in that my first mammogram was also 3D, so I had a baseline of healthy tissue. My insurance didn't want to cover the 3D aspect of my first mammogram, but the hospital was working with insurance that year so the insurance only paid what they would have paid for 2D instead of 3D, and I only had to pay $80 for the radiologist to look at my results. This year, insurance covered it, which meant less cost and less runaround. I was unreasonably excited when I learned my insurance was now covering 3D mammograms. Gotta take pleasure in the little things.
My breasts were only sore for a few hours after the test. I was glad I could schedule it on a day off so I could recover. I treated myself to some Dairy Queen on the way home, because dammit I deserved a blizzard.
As with any test results, the worst part is the waiting. The nurse said it usually takes between 3-5 days, maybe up to a week but that was just a cushion in case there is a back up with radiologist interpretation. That same nurse called me with results 2 days later, and as soon as I heard her voice I knew it wasn't good. I wouldn't be blogging if it was.
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