During the summer of 2010, before I had come out, I was planning a completely different life for myself. In 1996 one of the most important women in my life, my Aunt Vera, passed away from breast cancer. It was devastating. It still is. I felt like this was a personal attack, I think many people in my family did. Five year laters, I am kicked in the gut. The matriarch of my family, my Grandmother, is diagnosed with lymphoma. Cancer has decided to pick a fight with the wrong person.
Back to '10. I'm freshly 35 and decide that because of my family history that I should have a mammogram. My doc agrees and off I go.
Then I get the dreaded phone call. Something looks suspicious. Let's do another mammogram and an ultrasound. Two weeks of waiting for the appointment. I'm trying not to freak out. I go for the appointment. We're not sure what it is let's biopsy it. Initiate freak mode. Another two weeks later, the day of the biopsy, they call me. The doctor has food poisoning we need to reschedule. My parents come down to go with me, I take one of my anxiety meds (or two) and off we go. The biopsy itself isn't bad, it's the sound of the clipper thing they use to extract the sample when it strikes that does me in. Oh, and they put a titanium marker in there so they can keep an eye on it. I get to have another mammogram.
At this point I am a pro at getting my boobs smooshed by a very large machine. I agonize the next few days over the results. Basically I had already given myself the diagnosis and have arranged everything. I am lucky to work with amazing nurses and they each had a place in my plan. I picked out my doctors. I decided that I wouldn't sit and watch as I lost my hair, I would shave it off (just like my Aunt did). But I thought, before it all goes I'll have it cut into something outrageous. Maybe dye it pink. I divvied up my belongings.
When the tests eventually did come back I was told it was fibroid, they'd keep an eye on it but it wasn't really doing any harm.
