2. This Is Getting Serious

On and off over the next few days before the appointment I thought briefly of the upcoming appointment.  I read the instructions of what might happen on the day.  I should set aside two or three hours and I might need an ultrasound and core needle biopsy with a local anaesthetic.  It mentioned I might like to bring a friend or relative along.  I decided that would be a very good idea.

Wednesday morning we drove to Ringwood to BreastScreen.  The clinic is in a beautiful leafy street and is a converted weatherboard house.  We had a long walk from where we parked the car, parking near hospitals is always restricted and a nightmare.  It was a cool morning and the leaves were starting to colour on the trees. I was very aware of how lovely it looked.

On arrival, a breast care nurse greeted us.  Who knew there were people called breast care nurses?  It sounded very comforting in a way.  She took us into an office and explained they had found ‘something’ on my mammogram and I would need to have another one, more detailed and ‘intense’ – yes, so was the pain.  The radiologist showed me what they had found, then did another scan and I had to wait in a waiting area after putting on a front opening gown.  After a short wait she appeared and said I would need an ultrasound.  I guess they knew that that white shadow was something abnormal, it just looked like other parts of the tissue to me.

As I was taken to the ultrasound room I had to pass my husband.  I lent in and whispered ‘I knew it would be the left one.  I need an ultrasound’.  Just recently I had felt an unusual sensation in my left breast from time to time and the skin seemed slightly dimpled in the soft curve at the bottom of my breast. I felt very calm, everyone was so nice and explained everything to me.  I had the ultrasound, done by a woman who was heading off to Ireland for a holiday, so we talked about Ireland the whole way through.  I found this a good distraction.  Then a doctor examined me and said ‘well I can’t feel anything.’

‘That’s probably not what you should say to a woman’ I said, a feeble attempt at humour that seemed to fall flat.

Another doctor came and sat me up and explained my ultrasound to me.  I could see a lump marked out on the screen, about 1.5cm and they weren’t sure what it was – it might be fine but it would be best to do a biopsy.  He said it probably had been there less than a year.  I wondered how they could tell that.  It was a dark blob on a grainy grey screen.  I asked if my husband could be told and the breast care nurse apparently went out, took him to a quiet area and explained what would happen.  It was a comfort to know that even though we were in separate rooms, we were on the same page about what was happening to me.

I was prepped with a strong antiseptic and the whole procedure was explained carefully to me.  A local anaesthetic was injected (just a little sting) and the doctor demonstrated the noise the needle would make.  ‘Clicks’ he called them.  They sounded more like bangs to me.  I chose to keep my eyes on the radiologist who was operating the ultrasound.  And of course I talked to her about Ireland.  I felt nothing and was warned when they would activate the gun.  They did it three times and by the third, I was over it and had a dull ache.  They seemed very pleased with the samples they had and the site was dressed and I had a small ice pack applied.  I was then taken to a waiting area, which reminded me somewhat of a small chapel.  I sat in a very comfortable chair and the nurse got me a cup of tea.  I asked for my husband to come and they got him.  I was feeling a bit dazed by now and glad of the hot tea.  We held hands and whispered together.  It seemed wrong to talk at normal volume.

The nurse reappeared and I think she talked about the process I had been through and that results would be ready on Monday.  It was Wednesday and I had to work Friday and then the following three days leading up to Easter.  She conferred with other staff and they decided they could rush the results through and would have them around noon the next day.  That sounded much better.

We went home and had a cup of coffee and I sat around, feeling a bit sorry for myself, reflecting on what I had just been through and trying to process it and consider the next 48 hours.  I felt surprisingly calm.  I had informed two of our children that I had the recall and let them know of the procedure.  I had decided against telling our middle daughter.  She was getting married in November and I figured it could be a negative thing at this time, especially if it was all ok.  I didn’t want her worrying, and I knew she would.  We arranged to Skype our eldest daughter in America when we got back and let her know the results.

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