Remember that last mammogram, the one that was going to take eight weeks to get the results back from? Remember how I complained and chased and phoned and whined until they told me it was clear. Turns out it wasn’t.
Turns out the second radiologist to check it found something suspicious. There are teeny tiny spots of calcium in the bad boob. There are only three that I could see. They showed me on the scan. Three tiny specks that you need to zoom in very close to see. I can understand how the first radiologist missed it.
Three microscopic white specks that are suspicious. Could be scar tissue. Could be from radiotherapy. Could be nothing.
Could be the sign of precancerous activity.
Could be everything.
They wanted to do a second mammogram. Sometimes if the scan is really clear, they can tell from the shape and spread of the calcifications what they actually are. So they hooked me up to the machine again in that cold, cold room, but couldn’t be certain.
They did an ultrasound to check for lumps and bumps. Nothing. Good.
But they weren’t happy still so they hooked me back up to the mammogram machine. This time on my side lying down with a whole nurse purely to be kind, to keep me distracted. They anaethistised the boob, a sharp scratch.
Then the mammogram tells them exactly how deep to dig with their giant needle. They take five biopsies and are very happy to capture those tiny calcified cells. They’re very pleased, I can hear it in their voices. I’m just relieved I don’t have to have the giant needle punched in my body again.
The nurse presses on the wound for ten minutes to prevent bruising and stop the bleeding. I’m grateful for her and for the anaesthetic that is still working while she pushes down on me.
Now I’m very tired. The wound is healing but my body is so very tired. Two weeks until the results come back.
I know this terrain. Scanxiety. I know how to cope. Oh but I’m tired of just coping. I was beginning to take time for granted a little. I didn’t plan ahead far. A year I thought, maybe three? I could start this sewing business. I could figure out how to get my family a secure home to live in. I could..
But we’re in different ‘could’ territory now. It could be nothing. It could be everything.