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The following story was
submitted by one our Subscribers
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Sue
Steel
So you reach the big 50 and
you wake up, look around and realise that your world hasn’t
come to an end! In fact, you feel pretty damn good and
feel you could take on the world and all its problems
without too much bother.
You force yourself out of that
lovely warm, snug bed and look in the mirror, and then
reality kicks in. It’s true what people say, gravity
takes over and no matter what you do, certain parts of your
body don’t want to remain in their usual place. So you
give yourself a mental shake, take a closer look beyond the
avalanche of falling flesh and see the twinkle in your eyes.
There may not be a fresh
youthful face looking back, but there is a wealth of
experience, hurt and happiness which has sculpted the face
before you. Memories of such intense pride, humour and
sadness flood though your mind and you know you wouldn’t
ever want to change a thing. If you could only write
it all down and share it with anyone who is interested, how
much you have to give, what wisdom you have gained, how much
more you still have to amass.
So life goes on and you live
it to the full, until you reach your next reality check.
Just after your 51st
birthday you receive a letter inviting you to attend your
local clinic for your first breast screening appointment.
What a nuisance, you have to take time off work and make
sure that you smell sweet and wear something that’s easy to
slip on and off.
You attend on the day and time
detailed in your letter, only to find that when you arrive
there has been a problem with the screening equipment and
that there is an engineer in attendance who is fixing it.
That means that a queue has built up and you are going to be
away from work for longer than anticipated, no lunch then!
You sit with the others who have been summoned, sharing
tittle tattle and niceties, all slightly nervous but putting
on a brave face.
Finally your turn comes, both
staff members are female, but they have done the job so long
that although they are pleasant, they work and speak like
automatons, displaying no genuine interest in what they are
saying or doing. They reassure you that the process;
whilst uncomfortable, is not painful and that your breasts
will be handled by one of them, to make sure they are in the
correct position for the best X-ray results.
You take all of this in your
stride without saying much, just murmuring yes and o.k.
throughout. So it begins, never mind not painful, it
may not be painful for them, but believe me, when that
machine clamps down on your breast, it is bloody
uncomfortable! It doesn’t last long, but you would
rather be expecting it than thinking it wouldn’t hurt.
When you come down off the ceiling, you are asked about any
previous breast problems you may have experienced. You
tell them that over twenty years ago you had a small lump
removed from your right breast, this was found to be benign
and there had been no re-occurrence or other problems since.
You are advised that the results will take approximately 3
weeks and that in most cases there is nothing to worry
about. You leave feeling somewhat bruised but
relieved.
19 days later, a letter drops
through your letterbox; you can tell from the post mark that
it is from the hospital trust. You open it up, fully
expecting that the contents will be the results of your
breast screening, telling you all is well. Then as you
read, your brain refuses to accept what you have read.
It can’t be saying that you need further tests that
something has shown up on the mammograms. So you start
all over again, but the words remain the same, they still
say that there needs to be further investigations and that
you have to attend the hospital in TWO days time.
Finally your brain catches up;
it accepts that the words aren’t going to change and that
you have to deal with the content. Think, think,
think…, of course, the old scar tissue from the lump you had
removed years ago will have shown up on the x-rays.
All will be well, no problem. But you read the
leaflets that they sent from the hospital anyway, they tell
you about the possible procedures you may have when you
attend your appointment. You also look up all the
websites that you can think of that explain how the
procedures are done and what treatments are now available
for breast
cancer. By the end of the day you are in a daze, one minute
you are convinced a mistake has been made, the next you just
know you have full blown cancer and you are going to die
soon.
So what
do you say to your husband and family? Do you carry on as
normal or do you tell them what you are going through? So
you take the middle line, you tell your hubby that you need
his support but don’t tell anyone else for now, why worry
them when you don’t know if there is anything to worry
about?
You go
about your daily life, fielding any questions from hubby
with bravado, telling him all is well and to stop fussing.
Inside your head there is a constant voice telling you that
everything is anything but o.k. but you refuse to accept the
words that won’t go away. You haven’t slept for days and
you feel as though you might just be going mad, but still
you say, “I’m fine, don’t worry”, when hubby asks.
Then the
days arrives, you attend the department at the local
hospital, as requested. By this time you have convinced
yourself that there is nothing to worry about, it will
definitely be the old scar tissue that will be causing the
problem.
You
arrive at reception and there is no-one there. So you wait
around and soon a nurse appears who seems surprised to see
you! It turns out that a lady with the same initial and
surname as you had been into the department earlier, this
caused some confusion. You are advised that you are being
fast-tracked though the system. You are asked to take off
your clothes down to your wait and put on a gown. Hubby is
left behind in the waiting area, he could have accompanied
you, but you know he is needle phobic, so you leave him
behind, just in case. You are led to a room in which there
are several large pieces of medical equipment, x-rays on
display and what looks like a small operating table,
together with privacy screens.
The
doctor that should have been waiting for you is nowhere to
be seen, so you are asked to sit outside this room until she
makes an appearance. This takes a very short time and you
are again asked to go into the room. Once inside, with a
nurse and the doctor, you are asked if you had noticed your
breast lump yourself. After replying no, you are asked to
pop onto the bed where an ultrasound investigation of the
lump will be undertaken. At this point you are still
confident that this is nothing to worry about, you are ready
with the “I thought so’s and I knew it would be alright’s”,
then the bomb shell dropped!!!! You are told that the lump
that has been detected is in your LEFT breast. The shock is
so acute that you lose all sense of reality, when you
finally start taking notice of what’s going on around you
again, things have moved on somewhat. The doctor is pointing
to the x-ray and showing you the shadow that is apparently
the lump that is causing concern. It looks quite innocent,
nothing to get so excited about really.
The
doctor and nurse do their best to reassure you, it is
encapsulated, there doesn’t appear to be any sign of
anything else in close proximity to the lump etc. etc.
Doctor explains that she will be looking at the lump more
closely with the ultrasound machine. So you are lying on
the table with your left are held above your head, nurse
holding it still and doctor passing the ultrasound hand
piece over your breast, and slowly it makes it’s first
appearance on the screen close to your head. There it is,
the tissue that is causing you so must trouble and upset.
It appears as a white shape on the screen, is shaped like a
liquorice comfit but about three times the size. Dr
confirms that she is still confident that it is probably
harmless but now needs to take a biopsy to be absolutely
certain. You accept this as normal and expect to be asked
to be given an appointment to return to undergo this
procedure.
Wrong
again. Another shock, the biopsy will be performed here and
now!! Again your heart tries to escape out of your chest,
but you manage to hang onto it by swallowing hard, and
giving a watered down smile, tell them o.k., and go ahead.
So they do, your breast is smeared with some kind of
antiseptic and then you are told that you will feel a sharp
scratch whilst the anaesthetic is administered. So far so
good, not too painful, in fact not painful at all. Then
doctor shows you the piece of equipment she will be using to
take the biopsy from the lump. It looks like a small torch
case, from inside which a thin hollow tube protrudes. At
the end of the tube there is a serrated edge which cuts out
the tissue and deposits it inside the tube. She
demonstrates how it will work and the sound it makes, it
sounds like a cracker being pulled at a party, only this
party sucks!!
So
knowing what to expect, doctor starts the procedure, ouch!
That’s sharp!! The anaesthetic hasn’t fully taken effect
yet; doctor apologises and waits a few more minutes. She
inserts the instrument into your breast and takes two
sections of tissue for investigation. You can feel the
blood running down onto the bed, but don’t look down. It is
all over soon, you are again reassured, cleaned up and a
dressing is put on the small wound.
Your not quite sure how, but
you find yourself back in your gown, in a small office being
asked personal questions by the nurse. The doctor has
long gone by this time, you remember that she
was very pleasant and kind but you are glad that you don’t
have to go through that again. The nurse is going through
the breast self examination process, something that at this
moment in time, you really don’t give a damn about, you just
want to get out of this place.
Eventually you are allowed to escape, clutching leaflets and
information sheets and with your head reeling. You now have
to wait for another week or so before you know; is it the
big C or not? You get dressed quickly, shaking so much that
you can’t seem to fasten the buttons on your top, or open
the lid to box where you deposit the soiled gown. Hubby
looks quite perplexed when you don’t really want to talk
about it, especially when other people are in the waiting
area. So you get back to the car and then you tell him what
your experience has been like. Strange really, he doesn’t
react in the way you thought he would, although you don’t
really have any idea of how he should react anyway. He just
says that there’s nothing to worry about, either way it’s
good news. If it is the big C then it has been caught early
enough to be dealt with effectively, if it’s not it’s just
an inconvenience. Typical, you think, that he can reduce
something that is so important to you down to such small
statement.
Later
that day, you receive a call from the hospital saying that
an appointment has been made with a breast consultant for
the following Monday lunchtime. At least there is a target
to aim for; you only have to live in this limo for another
few days.
Somehow
you get through the days, never free from the ‘what if’s’
running through your head. Sometimes snapping at hubby and
sometimes not wanting to talk. You keep as much to yourself
as possible and don’t making contact with family members as
you usually do. Work is a nightmare and eventually you give
up trying to concentrate, you take Thursday and Friday off,
concentrating on cleaning the house and walking the dog.
Eventually the day arrives and you attend the hospital with
hubby in tow. He asks you if you want him to come in to see
the consultant with you. You say no, but that if the news
is bad, you will call him into the consultation room. So
you wait in the designated waiting area, watching people
come and go, talking to each other but not really saying
anything. Both of you have your own thoughts buzzing around
your head and neither of you is saying anything that makes
much sense, just trivia, filling the time.
Then you
hear your name and your heart freezes. You hear your name
again and you move towards it, leaving hubby looking after
you, his face like a scared rabbit. The lady consultant
smiles at you and leads you towards her room. You sit down
as she shuts the door. She is saying something, her lips
are moving, but you aren’t hearing anything, the world seems
to have turned on its access and left you behind.
Then you
hear what she is saying, loud and clear through the chatter
in your head, you hear ‘I’ve got some very good news for
you, your breast lump is benign’. You hadn’t realised that
you had been holding your breath, slowly you take a breath
and you feel the spread of warmth on your chest as you flush
with relief. The consultant gives you a minute to compose
yourself and then briefly examines the breast to feel the
lump for herself. She offers you the opportunity to have
the lump removed, or not as you choose. You immediately say
you want rid of it, after all it has been the cause of so
much emotion and upset. She says that she will be happy to
perform the operation but would like you to go home and
think about it before making the final decision.
You
leave her office and return to hubby, he looks into you face
and knows instinctively that all is well. So you hold hands
as you leave the hospital and everything returns to normal,
everything is alright with your world.
You
remember that the consultant said that the lump had probably
been the result of taking HRT for over ten years. You go to
take to your G.P. about this; he immediately advises that
you stop taking the medication as there is a 16% higher risk
of having breast cancer when you have taken it for longer
than ten years. So you stop taking it. The withdrawal
symptoms for the first week are dire! Nausea, headaches,
feeling so tired and depressed, everything in your world is
upside down. By the second week, you feel so much better,
life is good again.
You are
waiting for the next appointment with the breast consultant
and will decide whether or not to have the lump removed.
That appointment is to take place in a few days time on
Monday 26th September 2005. I may let you know
what I decide to do at a later date!!
This is hysterical! Make sure you read the whole thing.
There is a serious message at the end, but you get to laugh on the
way there.
GO GET YOUR MAMMIES GRAMMED
For years and years they told me,
Be careful of your breasts.
Don't ever squeeze or bruise them.
And give them monthly tests.
So I heeded all their warnings,
And protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully,
And ! I always wore my bra.
After 30 years of astute care,
My gyno, Dr Pruitt,
Said I should get a Mammogram
"OK," I said, "let's do it."
"Stand up here real close" she said,
(She got my boob in line),
"And tell me when it hurts," she said,
"Ah yes! Right there, that's fine."
She stepped upon a pedal,
I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate came slamming down,
My hooter's in a vise!
My skin was stretched and mangled,
From underneath my chin.
My poor boob was being squashed,
To Swedish Pancake thin.
Excruciating pain I felt,
Within it's viselike grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing,
My poor defenseless tit!
"Take a deep breath" she said to me,
Who does she think she's kidding?!?
My chest is mashed in her machine,
And woozy I am getting.
"There, that's good," I heard her say,
(The room was slowly swaying.)
"Now, let'! s have a go at the other one."
Have mercy, I was praying.
It squeezed me from both up and down,
It squeezed me from both sides.
I'll bet SHE'S never had this done,
To HER tender little hide.
Next time that they make me do this,
I will request a blindfold.
I have no wish to see again,
My knockers getting steam rolled.
If I had no problem when I came in,
I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there,
It would have gone "ker-pow!"
This machine was created by a man,
Of this, I have no doubt.
I'd like to stick his balls in there,
And, see how THEY come out!
Breast Cancer Awareness...
Go have those boobs checked out and stay healthy!
Pass the message on to
your mothers, sisters, daughters, aunts, cousins,
friends, --- and even your enemies.
Because the WORST enemy is Breast Cancer
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