Army of Mom

So this is how liberty dies ... with thunderous applause.


What a day for a biopsy! Friday the 13th

"Ok, so we have Mrs. AOM scheduled for a stereotactic breast biopsy at 1 p.m. Friday the 13th. Right?" the nurse asked the radiology tech. The doctor cringed as he heard the words and uttered "yikes" as he looked at me and smiled. Oh, gee thanks, doc. That is encouraging. But, I like this doctor. He has a very assuring way about him. Doesn't hurt that he is cute in an Army of Dad way - sort of tall and thick with a scar on his face. :) I like rugged looking guys, what can I say?

But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I had an appointment with Dr. McDearmont at 10:30 a.m. this morning. His office staff is nice and efficient. As I was riding up the elevator into the professional building, which is attached to the hospital, I kept staring at the floor. I asked the lady in the elevator which way the elevator doors opened (because there were some on both sides). We exit to the ones opposite of the ones we entered in, she says with a smile. I liked her. She had a pleasant smile. I'm staring at her shoes because I am nervous and don't want to look up. I'm not in the mood for small talk. Please don't talk me, I'm thinking. She had on nurse shoes. I started thinking about Forrest Gump at the bus stop "those must be comfortable shoes" he tells the nurse while his mouth is full of chocolate covered somethings. So, the bell rings and the door opens. I wandered out like a freshman on the first day of college checking his class schedule and looking for the right building. I find it and stride on in. It was identical to the office of the obstetrician who delivered Zoom Zoom. She had an office in an adjacent building. The familiarity and good memories relaxed me just a bit. I hand over my DL and insurance card and again fill out multiple forms with the same information I wrote on other forms in another office on some other day. I will singlehandedly be responsible for killing an entire rain forest if we don't take care of my ailments soon.

In the waiting room is an overweight black lady with a cute purse. Her credit card was declined for $30. I felt bad for her. A thin, older white lady is sitting next to me with her purse in her lap. I kept wondering why she didn't look at a magazine or something. A poor old white guy arrives in a wheelchair. He looks in pretty bad shape and didn't smile back at me when I smiled his direction. I didn't blame him. The receptionist asks the next lady "how are you doing?" and I'm thinking, probably not too good if she is at the surgeon's office, but I bite my tongue. I see a cute doctor walk by the receptionist's desk in his scrubs and I fought back the urge to smile while thinking I hope that's my doctor. It was. :) If some guy has to manhandle my boobs, at least he can be cute, right?

So, the same pleasant lady in the comfortable shoes from the elevator opens the door and calls my name. I smiled at her and felt a little more at ease. "Elevator." I said to her. I'm quite clever at times. *shaking my head* "Now you know why I looked so apprehensive," I followed up with. "Yeah, you can usually tell the people who are coming to our office," she said. I chuckled at that. I'm sure she's right. So, she takes me to a room and scans my paperwork. She has a lump in her breast, too. Her identical twin sister has breast cancer. "I know how you feel," she said. She REALLY does know how I feel, I thought. She is going to do the wait-and-see game and have a repeat breast sonogram in six months. "I hate waiting," she said. Me, too, I thought.

The big booming voiced doctor comes in and introduces himself while shaking my hand. He reminds me a bit of my former obstetrician (the one who took care of me during Stinkerbelle's pregnancy) except this guy is bigger and more rugged. He didn't talk down to me, which I really liked. He talked about all the various things we could do to check out the lump. So, after talk of this biopsy and that, what it could turn out to be or not. "Let's hope it is a complex cyst," he says. "But, it could be cancer. We're going to find out, though, so we can decide how to handle this." I was waiting for him to want to do a football huddle. He reminds me of a football player, I'm thinking. Then he shows me this hot little paper gown thing that looks like something Devo dudes might wear and asks me to take off my bra and shirt and put it on. So, I go into the little closet area, complete with mirror, and slip it on. I like the way I look today, I thought as I looked in the mirror.

Dr. McDearmont comes back and examines my breasts, but can't feel it. Given my history (mom with breast cancer and my childhood cancer) he decides that a stereotactic breast biopsy will be the best choice. He briefly explains what will happen: a radiologist will use a mammogram to do the biopsy. I'll get a local anesthetic and some valium to sedate me a bit. No, Army of Dad can't be present, he tells me. AOD is a rock and is a very calming presence for me. I tend to be a little dramatic. I know, you're shocked. So, I focus on the sedative to help me feel better. The doc leaves and the nurse asks me if I'd like to have this done ASAP. Yes, I tell her, thinking I like her more and more all the time.

So, she hands me a little generic brochure about the procedure. It's titled (cleverly) Stereotactic Breast Biopsy: A Study of Your Breast Tissue. I may have to scan the drawing they have in there to post. It is actually pretty funny. Shows a woman laying on an x-ray table with her boob hanging in a hole. Reminds me a bit of that scene in Porky's where the dude sticks his dick in the opening to the girls locker room. Anyway. The following link is not from my doctor's office, but it is a good description of what I'll have done Friday.

As I'm leaving the doctor's office, the nurse tells me to show up at the hospital at 11:30 a.m. Friday. No deoderant. Won't I smell nice? Nerves and anxiety and I can't wear deoderant or perfume. They'll sniff me coming. She smiles again reassuringly and tells me not to worry. Ok, try not to worry, she says. Oh, she calls as I'm turning to walk out the door, don't expect to hear from us until next week. We have to wait for the pathologist's report to come in.

It will be alright I think to myself as I stifle the urge to cry. I try not to make eye contact with anyone in the waiting room. Poor schmucks, I'm thinking. It is going to be alright. I hate hearing that. Funny, isn't it? Not funny haha, but funny peculiar. I'm tired of hearing people tell me it is going to be alright. Yeah, I know it is. It is routine. Yeah, I know that, too. But, do YOU want to go through this ROUTINE procedure? Hell no you don't want to do it. No one wants to. And, while I'm pretty certain this will be nothing but a complex cyst, I don't want to do it. I don't want to hear another "it'll be ok." My best friend knew exactly what to say to me when I told her about this stuff. "Yuck, that doesn't sound like fun," she said. I almost cried because I thought she knows me so well, she knew exactly what I needed to hear. I love her for that.

So, my pity party is mostly over. Now, I just want to cry because I'm so blessed. My friends are so good to me. My other best friend's mom and sister sent me "get well" cards. I'm not sure what I've done to have so many wonderful friends and have such a supportive family. But, it must have been good. Praise be to God. We'll get through this and be stronger for it.

Now, say a little prayer that I'll know exactly what to tell the kids tonight. AOD and I haven't said anything yet, but they have to be wondering why mom keeps going to the doctor. I'm surprised Pickle hasn't asked if I'm going to have another baby. I know he thinks my stomach and ass are fat enough for it!

Stay tuned dear readers ... same bat time, same bat website. :)


  • At 9:35 AM, August 11, 2004, Blogger Army of Mom said…

    UPDATE: We didn't tell the kids anything last night. Another (pretty close to best) friend suggested not telling them anything until we knew something. Pickle's dad thought the same thing and AOD and I came to the conclusion that we might as well wait till we get the pathologist's report back. If nothing will be done, nothing to tell them. I'll tell them about the cryosurgery that day. It is no big deal, so I'll just tell them a little about it then. FYI.


Post a Comment

<< Home