ShareWIK.com

Many years ago, I was watching a segment on a TV talk show about breast cancer that made me sit up and listen a little closer. One of the doctors on the show said that a surprising number of women put off having a mammogram even when they suspected that they may have a lump on their breast. The reason? They’re afraid, afraid that their worst fears may be realized if they have a mammogram, the doctor said. In other words, maybe that lump isn’t a figment of their imagination. Maybe it’s real and even cancerous. Then what? Maybe, these women thought, it’s just better not to know …

The segment struck a nerve in me. Though the “reasoning” the doctor described seemed less than logical, I had to admit that I’d felt that way before. You see, I have fibrocystic breasts, a fancy term for breasts that are lumpy and bumpy and well, fibrous. As a result, it can be difficult to determine whether I should worry about any of those lumps or bumps. So doing self-exams can be a tricky and frightening prospect.

Because of that, I’ve avoided them for most of my life. Occasionally, I’ve done them, at the urging of my internist or gynecologist, but it’s been spotty, when I feel like it, which isn’t often. Though I’ve never stated it as such, my “philosophy” has been something like “what I don’t know won’t hurt me, right? “Well, maybe yes, maybe not …

Ironically, soon after watching that show, I detected what felt like a small, hard lump on the underside of one of my breasts. But instead of having it checked out, I waited. Maybe it’s my imagination, I thought. Maybe it will go away like the other lumps and bumps eventually do.

From time to time, though, I’d check to see if it was still there. And it was. But it often seemed to wander. So sometimes it was hard to find. Occasionally, it appeared to vanish altogether. In which case I would think aha, it’s gone, just like the other lumps. No reason to worry. But then one day I noticed tenderness where my breast met the bottom of my bra. I felt for the lump. And there it was; back again like an irritating old friend.

One night when I was tossing and turning in bed over some unrelated matter, I found myself searching for that lump again. I’d find it and lose it. Then find it again. What if it was “real,” I started thinking. What if it WAS cancerous? What if I had waited too long? What if the cancer had spread to other parts of my body? What if I only had a few months to live? The mind is a wondrous thing. Especially when sleep deprivation figures into the equation.

By the time the sun rose, I was a nervous wreck. Suddenly, I thought about that TV talk show I had seen years ago and realized I was doing the very thing described in that segment. Paralyzed with fear, I was denying that I had a lump on my breast and refusing to have it checked out.

Perhaps I should back up and mention that I hadn’t told my husband about my “phantom” lump until then. I didn’t want to worry him needlessly if that mysterious spot on my breast was nothing. But when I finally told him about it that morning, he insisted that I get it checked out. Immediately.

So I called to schedule a mammogram at the main campus of Cleveland Clinic, where there is often a two or three month wait. But not when you mention a lump. Then, all kinds of appointments miraculously open up.

So that very next day I was trying to look cool in my designer “gown,” while I waited to be called for my mammogram. But inside I felt anything but cool. I was terrified and fuming at myself for waiting so long.

The technician had a heck of a time trying to capture the images, because of location of the potential lump. She tried. And tried again. And tried two more times, pretzeling me into poses that made me grateful I had practiced yoga for many years.

I knew the news wasn’t great when they shuffled me off to an adjacent room to wait for an ultrasound. It was a room swaddled in soft pastels, with blankets placed here and there and even little snacks. It was designed to be comfortable and comforting, so why was I anything but?

There were a few other women in the room, and one – who I’m sure thought she was being helpful -- told me not to worry. Her surgeon, Dr. So and So had done a wonderful job with her mastectomy, and she’d do a fine job with mine, too.

I wanted to scream “NO. You’re wrong. I don’t have cancer. I’m just here for an ultrasound.”  But the truth was I wasn’t sure. So I just nodded numbly and thanked her and wrapped one of those snuggly blankets around myself. And waited.

The ultrasound showed a lump that concerned the radiologist. So it turned out, I actually DID have to see the famous Dr. So and So, who explained that I would need to schedule a biopsy to see if the lump was cancerous. If it were, we would meet again to discuss options.

“Do you have any questions?” she asked.

Did I have any questions? Hmmm… How about this: isn’t it possible that this is just a cyst since I have fibrocystic breasts? And isn’t it overkill – no pun intended – to sit down for a chat with an oncologist before the biopsy?

Dr. So and So agreed that it was possible that my lump wasn’t cancerous. But she said she liked to talk to patients ahead of time, just in case …

“Let’s schedule the biopsy and try not to worry.”

But I did worry. Not as much as I’d worried 10 years earlier when another doctor had detected a cyst in a standard breast exam. That had been the first time I’d had a biopsy and the waiting seemed endless. Until I finally received a form letter in the mail telling me that the lump was benign.

This latest scare seemed more serious, though given my talk with the oncologist and the fact that they needed to do a “punch biopsy” (instead of a needle biopsy), a procedure where they take a device that looks like a mini cookie cutter to punch out of a piece of the skin of your breast.

Thankfully, the biopsy was scheduled within a couple days, and while I was waiting for the results I was busy with work and some pressing family matters that kept me distracted. During that time, I prayed a lot and thought about what I’d do if it turned out my lump was cancerous.

I also thought about my “philosophy” – that maybe it was best not to know whether I had cancer. It was a theory born out of fear, and to say it had gotten me into trouble was a grand understatement. Still, I tried not to beat myself up about it. My actions, or lack thereof, were misguided, but hopefully I would learn from my errors in thinking.

A week after the procedure, I received a call from the doctor who did the biopsy. “I usually don’t like to leave results like this on voicemail,” he said, hesitating, leaving a gap the size of the Grand Canyon between that and his next sentence. “But, I wanted to put you at ease. The biopsy came back negative and I knew you’d want to know. I was almost positive that everything was okay when I did the procedure but couldn’t say for sure until now.”

There is relief with a little R and RELIEF in all caps, the kind that leads you to fall down the floor with great sobs of gratitude and thank God you’re all right. Needless to say I experienced the latter.

What did I learn from this experience? That it’s better to know if I have a “real lump” or not. Because if I do have a lump, I can find out if it’s cancerous. And if it’s cancerous I may be able to be treated before it’s too late. The bottom line is that knowledge is power. With knowledge we have choices and can act from a place of strength. Without knowledge, we may limit our choices and even die, wondering what’s what.

Do you ever avoid having a mammogram for fear of finding out what you don’t want to know? Or do you schedule a mammogram annually and hope for the best? I’d love to hear what you have to say. Please leave a comment here on ShareWIK.com.

Ellen Brown is a certified professional coach, based in Cleveland, OH, and a regular columnist on ShareWIK.com.  Visit her website at http://ellen-brown.com. 

For more Ellen Brown columns, click  here.  

©2011 ShareWIK Media Group, LLC

.