My Personal Bump-in-the-Road

 

November 10, 2021.

An hour from now my whole world could change.  The writer’s axiom is:  we write best when we write what we know.  For now, that is all I know:  my relatively calm little world could be completely flipped upside down…. Because last week I found a bump.  It was small, and it could be nothing, but I promised myself to watch it for a week and if that didn’t go away or do whatever they do to self-resolve, then I would “get it checked out.”  It was in the back of my mind.  The very far back of my mind.

Then, three days ago in the course of a phone call with my friend, I heard her say the words:  “I lost my 51-year-old friend to breast cancer.  She thought it was just a pimple.  She had a husband and three children…”  That JOLTED ME. The conversation continued onward, but a part of my brain was stuck in the mud like rear-wheel drive tires spinning and shooting dirt everywhere. 

I called my first choice for physicians who deal with this and happily spoke with my friend Brunetta.  She told me what to do next:  reach out to my PCP or my GYN because they have to set the wheels in motion after they see me FIRST.  I was grateful it was her on the other end of the phone, a friendly voice, a caring person I knew.  Frankly, I don’t want to be a patient at the hospital:  I just want to work here.  But it’s good to know that if I do need excellent care, I know exactly where to go.

So now I’m sitting at my desk, watching the clock, waiting for my appointment time.  Why?  It’s just a tiny little bump.  Here’s why:  because to that other lady who left behind a family, it was just a tiny little bump as well … until it wasn’t.  I don’t have the expertise or knowledge base to look at the thing and say, “it’s not a big deal.”  I want someone else to take responsibility for that so I can go on with my life without a nagging thought in the back of my mind. 

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The Next Day (November 11, 2021)

Is this the first day of the rest of my life?  The doctor was serious, but unconcerned with her initial visual of the finding.  That’s good.  To be safe, she wants me to get the mammogram re-done on that side.  That’s a bummer.  There is an old joke about how to prepare for a mammogram:  Lie down on your garage floor and strategically position yourself, and then have your good friend bring the garage door down on you.  That about sums it up. 

We had a little confusion at the office visit yesterday just before I went pale and almost passed out.  What I heard my physician say was:  “if you come back for your re-check in December and it’s still there, I will rip it out.”  (Let’s blame this misunderstanding on us wearing the stupid blue anti-covid masks.)  When I responded:  “You most certainly will NOT rip it out…” She said, “I would never RIP it out, I would nip it out….”  I shook my head NO.  She ain’t doing THAT either.  Not on my watch.

(*If you are reading this, do NOT get worried about me or call me on the phone.  Just wait-it-out with me.  I will unfold it on the blog. I’m not picking out my casket yet, and I am not freaked-out.) 

Point of telling this true story:  “Reminder:  Get your annual mammogram.”

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Last Night (November 10, 2021)

Oh, yeah, and I was also supposed to “apply heat” to it.  So I heated up my bean bags in the microwave and tucked one under my arm and laid one on my abdomen to calm me down.  The three dogs jumped up on me as we settled in on the couch to watch “Chesapeake Shores.”   (I wanted to move there until I found out it was filmed in Canada.)  I am positive that Canada is colder than New York.   Not moving there, no siree.

I was not happy with the amount of heat I was applying to the “affected area” under my arm.  So I got up, scooped up some 3-flavor vanilla Turkey Hill ice cream (Vanilla bean, Bourbon vanilla, and French vanilla).  I put Heath bar pieces on it.  (“Heat” plus an “h”).  And then I poured Kahlua over the ice cream.  That way the heat would be internal as I ate the ice cream.  I’m so clever.

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