Boobs

Today we are going to talk about breast health and it's going to be graphic.


My story has a happy ending.  Many similar stories do not.


Several years ago, I accidentally stumbled upon a lump in my left breast. Whoops.  Guess I should have actually been doing breast self-exams LIKE WE ARE ALL SUPPOSED TO!*  


Anyway, I got it ultrasounded, and it was obviously just a fibroadenoma.  It was just a hard lump of tissue, nothing serious at all.


Until the awful thing started to hurt.  I put up with that for a few years, then the pain started to get more severe and more frequent.  It was so bad at times, it was like someone was sticking a hot car antenna through my breast into my ribcage.  Then, the pain would cascade down my ribs and linger, feeling like whole patches of my skin and bones were recovering from third-degree burns.


I decided it had to come out.  Luckily, I have an awesome doctor.  I'm not revealing her name, because the last thing I need is more people going to her and then she'll get burned out and not be a doctor any more and I can't have that because she is the best and I love her.


July 11, 2011, in her office, my doctor freezes my breast, slices me open, and removes my fibroadenoma.


This is trickier than it should have been.  My lump was clearly defined, but it was only attached at one end, and slid around a lot. Also, when the doc cut me open, she discovered that my milk ducts were all gnarled.  Gnarled milk ducts?  Is that even a thing? She spent probably twenty minutes digging around in there trying to grab the stupid lump with her fancy tweezers.


After a fibroadenoma is removed, it doesn't usually grow back.  (Foreshadowing!)


That's why I wasn't worried and didn't do another breast self-examination until I felt a searing pain in my left breast.


In the span of five months, my fibroadenoma had grown back, and as far as I could feel, it seemed to be the same size as the one that had been removed in July. (The size of that one had remained stable for years.)


It was January, and I had no choice but to return to the doctor (which is never a chore because she is sooooooooo prettay). This time, we discussed sending me to a general surgeon. The doc wanted me to think seriously about that. Was the pain consistent enough to merit a full-on surgery?


I saw my doctor for the second time about two weeks later, on February 13th, and had my ultrasound on February 14th. That seemed to go pretty well. But, on the 16th, my doc's office called, and wanted to schedule me for a "non-urgent" follow-up appointment for the Friday. I couldn't make it on Friday, so I booked it for the Monday.


Non-urgent, right?


On Friday, the lab called, and they needed to book me for a second ultrasound at a fancy breasts-only lab.


Panic set in. Why would they need to do another ultrasound? Oh my god, it grew back so quickly. It could be anything. I am going to die.  I won't die, that's ridiculous. Cancer doesn't usually hurt! Nope, I am definitely going to die.


Well. my doctor wasn't very pleased with the lab going rogue and booking me an appointment themselves. She wanted to book it after speaking to me, so I wouldn't panic.  She explained to me that she needed to have a biopsy done before sending me to the surgeon. The ultrasound showed it was another fibroadenoma, but the surgeon needed the biopsy results before she could see me. And they weren't booking me for an ultrasound anyway, they were booking me for an ultrasound-guided biopsy. Thanks, lab.


Two-point-five-day panic assuaged. Fast forward to April.


I prepare my last meal. It's only a local anaesthetic, but the surgery is going down in a hospital so I'm freaked out. I'll probably get staph, necrotizing fasciitis, or a superbug. Then die.

I choose carefully.  French-pressed coffee in my finch mug, which was a gift,
and honey Shreddies.

It was a great breakfast.


Hawk picked me up and drove me to the hospital, not because I was scared of going alone, but because he is an amazing boyfriend and a great man.*


Because Hawk actually knew where we were going, we arrived in enough time to get hopelessly lost in the hospital and do two or three circles of the lobby before we found the "burgundy line" we were meant to follow along the wall to our destination.


The surgery itself was a breeze. The surgeon froze my entire left breast. It stayed numb for about six hours afterward. I was hooked up to a cautery machine, which added the pleasure of seeing spirals of smoke, formerly my flesh, curling up above my head. The doc was quick, the nurses kind and friendly, everything was great.


But Mum and Dad forgot about me. I was forced to send them an email chastising them for forgetting to wish me well. I included this picture, in which I made as sad a face as I could and ended up resembling my Dad's mother, Gram.

Forget my surgery and pay the price in photos.  Great parenting, guys.

Instead of asking what the ginormous bandage was for, they chastised ME for not reminding them I was going in.  Jeez.  I guess maintaining your own support group is another aspect of breast health we all need to be aware of.


The bandage was just a pressure bandage, stretched tightly across my body to decrease bleeding and scarring.  Nevertheless, it was good for shock value.

Wow, that's a lot of my body you're seeing right now.

That had to stay on for 24 hours.  When it came off, my skin was covered with petichiae from the pressure and I had an unbelievable bruise on my breast.

Side boob is not private.

I'm going to have a gigantic, crescent-shaped scar for a long time.  This particular fibroadenoma won't be growing back, but after two surgeries, my breast tissue will be much denser.  It will be more difficult for me to find other abnormalities.


Ladies and newly-traumatized gentlemen, this experience was really awful for me.  I faced two (minor) surgeries, my skin is torn to shreds, I have a bruise the size, texture, and colour of a blood orange, and will end up with a giant scar.


And that is the happy ending.


If that lump were malignant, I would be dead, because I would not have found it in time.  Ladies, do your monthly breast self-exams.  Talk to your doctor about your family history and get mammograms as early and often as you need to, and then don't put them off.


Please.


That is all.  The next post will be nonsense as usual.




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*Many websites refer to this as a BSE.  Don't call it that.  BSE is bovine spongiform encephalopathy, or mad cow disease.  When I first googled for self-exams, I thought I'd done something horribly, horribly wrong.


*This deserves a post in itself.  Maybe later.  For now, one point of evidence:  when I was having a panic attack about the second ultrasound, he just gave me a hug until I calmed down, then, with a straight face, told me I would be fine, and that sometimes, women just need a man to tell them what to do.  It was so funny I forgot to be upset for several hours.