A still small, but happy ending

I mentioned that I had a bit of a setback in my half-marathon training and also eluded in prior posts to a reason I haven't written as much recently as I typically do.  I guess it is time for my explanation.  To summarize:  The bad news is that I am not getting a boob job.  The good news is that I don't need the mastectomy that would be the only reason I would actually get one in the first place.

Okay, so maybe that is a bit (a lot) dramatic, but that is where my thoughts traveled over the past few weeks, until last Friday, when I got the call that the biopsy results showed that the calcification was benign.  Nothing like the possibility of the c-word to make you realize your own mortality.

The whole thing started innocently enough, with my doctor feeling a small lump that she wanted me to have checked out with an ultrasound.  She was pretty confident that it was just a cyst, but she wrote the prescription anyway.  Unfortunately, they wouldn't let me get the ultrasound without an accompanying mammogram.  So, two weeks after my doctor's appointment, this "small-breasted" woman got her stuff pulled and smashed and contorted in so many ways, it was comical.  Actually, I did laugh out loud when the technician, a petite little grandmother, had me and the machine in such awkward positions that she actually had to be under it operating it with her knee so her hands could be free to pull some more.  I stood there thinking, "This would make a great blog post!" and distracted myself a bit by formulating the whole thing in my head.  I am sure it was a good one, but I forgot everything that I was going to write about when the radiologist went over my report with me.

I had been wondering why I had to go back into the room three more times to get more angles and magnified images.  Turns out, there was no noticeable lump of any kind anywhere.  But there was some calcification "of concern."  I would have to make an appointment at the Breast Center of the hospital to have a stereo tactic biopsy done.  The radiologist explained to me that 50% of women over 50 have normal calcification.  (I am 34.)  And that 8 of 10 of these biopsies came back benign, but that it wasn't clear to him whether my calcification was normal or not.  Benign?  My heart raced a bit.  If it isn't benign, what is it? 

Honestly, at that point, my biggest concern was getting the appointment scheduled and done with before vacation.  I had a gut feeling that nothing was wrong.  But, every now and then, the thought would creep into my head: 2 out of 10 of these biopsies are not benign.  And of course, I did research on the Internet to figure out what exactly calcification would mean if not benign.  (The Internet is a blessing and a curse; I am sure doctors must love all of the self-diagnosis that goes on nowadays.)  I just wanted to understand what I might be getting into.  I found that microcalcification (which is what mine is) can be an early indicator of breast cancer, generally of the type ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS).  DCIS is not a cancer that tends to metastasize, and in large-breasted women, a lumpectomy usually solves the problem entirely.  In small-breasted women, a mastectomy is generally performed.  As far as cancers go, this one is relatively easy to beat, especially if caught early.  So, it seemed that the worst case ended with me moving on up to a full B cup.  (Yep, if I am going to do it, I am going large.)

One full week after my mammogram was my biopsy.  I thought about adding all of the details of that ordeal, but I decided I will spare you that.  I will just say that the biopsy involved me laying face down on a table with a hole in it, clamped into a machine, smooshed to smithereens, and pulled down so that I didn't have a chance of taking a deep breath.  It was great fun. 

Though I felt relatively confident that nothing was wrong after the mammogram, I had been quite nervous about the actual procedure of getting the biopsy.  After experiencing the biopsy (in the cancer center of the hospital), I had the sensation of this being a bigger deal than I initially thought.  Though no new revelations had been made, I was more concerned than I had previously been. 

I had the procedure done on a Wednesday.  They told me that the results may be in on Friday afternoon, but that they might not be available until Monday.  I was to be leaving for vacation Saturday night.  Come Friday afternoon, I was a nervous wreck.  I kept telling myself that there was nothing wrong, but then would immediately think, "What makes me any different than any other woman who gets the call and finds out that she has cancer?"  Because, sadly, that happens way too often.  So when the call came and the woman on the other end of the line told me that everything looked fine, a wave of relieve washed over me that brought a few tears to my eyes.

The biopsy was not fun, and prevented me from running for several days, which kind of sucked because I had not missed a single run of my training plan up to that point.  Selfishly, I was almost angry for a few minutes for even having to have gone through the process and for the worry that I felt for weeks.  But, a few runs missed is nothing compared to the alternative, and I know I am so fortunate to have good doctors who would rather be safe than sorry.  Had the phone call been different, their early action may have been a life-saver.  So yeah, no boob job for me.  And I am quite all right with that.