I had planned to write about something entirely different today. But then I got the scariest phone call of my life on Monday, and was up all night obsessing about the ramifications.
It was the Breast Center. They wanted me to come back in for “additional imaging.” Which means they saw something on my recent mammogram, right?
“We have no conclusive evidence of anything. We just need to take some additional pictures at this point.”
My heart stopped right there. Somehow I managed to schedule an appointment for the next morning before hanging up and calling my husband. I could only whisper.
“The Breast Center called…”
“I knew it. I knew something was weird this time, since you hadn’t heard back. And with your mom and grandma having it…” he trailed off.
“My grandmother did not have breast cancer!” I snapped. “She had lymphatic cancer, which is much harder to detect and much harder to treat!“ Then I shut up as the implications of that started to sink in.
Needless to say, it was a very bad night. We held each other close, and tried to comfort ourselves with the mantra: “It’s probably nothing. They probably just need to clarify some smudgy spot.” But we both agreed we needed to prepare ourselves for the eventuality that it was NOT nothing…
And it was all about my children. Their little faces. The long lives ahead of them.
I’ve never been so terrified entering any medical facility, for any treatment or procedure, diabetes notwithstanding. I felt angrier than I’ve ever been about the diabetes diagnosis. Because, for God’s sake, I already have one chronic illness! Isn’t one enough for Any Body? Yet I know it isn’t. Because life isn’t freakin’ fair, and bad things happen to good people. Sometimes.
But not this time.
After a series of additional Xrays (jockeying to keep my OmniPod out of harm’s way), I waited — robed and still — on a loveseat in a room full of women equally somber. A nurse with a wide, plain face called my name. Did she sound upbeat? Impossible to tell.
So when she whispered in the hallway that the doctor said “everything was normal,” I had to ask her to repeat herself.
“What?! Really? Are you sure? Are you REALLY sure?”
All I could think of was my mother, being pulled aside by some other nurse 13 years ago, and told 
that her mammogram was NOT normal. I winced. (She is doing fine now, thankfully, her life saved by the early detection that a mammogram provides.)
Anyway, the point is, I do not have breast cancer. I still only have one chronic illness. For now.
I’m so glad the test came back ok for you!
I’m so glad that everything turned out okay. What a scary experience though.
I’m glad you’re okay, Amy!!
Good news Amy.
Glad all is ok.
I’m happy to hear your good news!
The last few mammograms I’ve had, I’ve been called back each time. It’s always been “normal” after further tests, but it’s still frightening each time.
Yay!!!
Wonderful, wonderful news.
It’s really an awful experience, having reason to suspect you might be facing Something, but hoping with all your heart that it’s really Nothing.
I’m glad to hear there was Nothing there.
I’m glad you “dodged that bullet”! That family history thing is always “there” and lurking. I feel for you with the sleepless night. So glad they could get you in the next day. I’ve been there too–”come in for additional views” then “need a biopsy” then wait for results. It’s ok. Same thing next year. This time I’m going to the surgeon and having the “thing” taken out! Wish me luck! You’re right about one illness being enough, but we all know, that’s not the way life dishes it out.
I’m happy that it was nothing for you! My mom went through radical mastectomy, and is still with us today. We need you in our diabetes lives! Thank you for the work you do to inform us every day!
So glad to hear that everything is alright. Big hugs Amy!
So glad to hear you are okay!
What a big relief! Doesn’t the air smell a bit sweeter? You are loved! Thanks for sharing your life – good and bad. As so many others have expressed – I’m so glad to know it was just a scare!
I am so glad you are OK.
It’s a very scary experience indeed. But we should all remember that every year the diagnosis of cancer is confirmed for over 1 1/4 million Americans. Many of them are diagnosed with rare cancers, hard to treat and with a situation very different from what Diabetes patients live.
When you only have a handful or two of true specialists in the whole country who know how to treat a rare and deadly condition, the need to be an engaged and informed patient, communicating at every step with a core group of peers is simply clear, since this is often what differentiates if you’ll live or die, because of suboptimal diagnosis and care.
Amy, I’m delighted you don’t have to deal with cancer!
I thought the disease was not cancer because I got this from a diabetes alert that I received. But anyway, I’m glad you’re well and not have breast cancer. This is great specially of the family history that you have. Keep taking good care of yourself and keep having that mammogram once a year.
Evelyn Guzman
Free Diabetes
Alert
I completely understand how scary this is. As someone who always thought, it won’t happen to me, I’ve learned that it can and it does. And so have you. You’ve dodged yet another bullet. Hurray!
I’m so glad all is okay. I’ve had the “come back for additional screening” too. It’s scary. I was 34 at the time, and the waiting room was full of survivors/women in their 60′s. No one said anything, but you could almost hear them thinking “what is she doing here, she’s so young–how sad, etc.” Thankfully, all was okay.
Hooray, Amy! Very glad you’re OK and you don’t have to go through the world class hassle of breast cancer treatment.