Remember yesterday? When I said I was swamped and couldn't post?
I mean, I really do have people coming today and I have cleaning and cooking and proofreading to do, but that's not why I didn't post. I didn't post because I was busy being nervous.
Listen to this.
Last year I got my first mammogram ever. I waited three years past when you're supposed to because I was scared. My cousin Maureen, who was an aerobics instructor, really thin, didn't drink, didn't smoke, died of breast cancer at age 44. But last year I sucked it up and got a mammogram.
And they found something. I blogged about it last year. I am so freaked out by it still that I can't even make myself go back to those pages and look at them again to give you a link. It was November 24, 2008, I think.
What they found sounded really bad and really serious. My doctor told me to prepare for the worst. Those three days–the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday before Thanksgiving–from the time I got the initial call saying, "We need you to come back in" until I finally got seen again? Three worst days of my life. Without a doubt. I have never been so scared.
So then when I went back for the second test, the day before Thanksgiving last year, the doctor said, "Oh, you're fine!" and he said I had to come back in six months.
There was a 2% chance that when I went back in six months that I'd really have something wrong with me. Two percent! Guess who spent those entire six months concentrating on the 2%? I Googled, I went on Mayoclinic.com, I read horror stories.
And then when I went back? I was still fine. But guess what? I was so freaked out by then that I was convinced they had missed something, and when I went back THIS year for my regular mammogram that they'd tell me oh, darn. There really WAS something wrong with you.
So last week I went back again. For my regular mammogram. They told me if anything was wrong they'd call me Monday. You can imagine how slightly…keyed up…I was on Monday. I shopped for Thanksgiving and called home 750 times to see if they'd called. All day I thought about it.
Finally, at 4:00, I figured I was in the clear. I was watching Francis bathe Henry, and I was smiling, and feeling peaceful. And the phone rang.
It was the mammogram place. They found something…ON THE OTHER SIDE.
All year I have been obsessed about what they found on the left, and now they had something on the right?
They told me I could come in next week, but I insisted they get me in sooner. So today? Just like last year? I had a day-before-Thanksgiving appointment for a diagnostic mammogram. I mean, really? Again? Seriously?
But here's the story. I'm fine! I'm really fine this time. I am a Birad 2 and not a Birad 3, as I was last year, which means I don't have to get rechecked in six months. They are 100% sure it was nothing.
When the doctor came in to tell me, after I burst into tears, I had so many questions for her, she asked, "What is your background? In what field of healthcare do you work?"
"I am a hypochondriac," I told her. I guess I'm really good at it. I've been given a lot of fodder for it this year.
So, happy Thanksgiving, y'all. I for one will be even more grateful than I was LAST year.
Wouldn't it be hilarious if I choke to death on the wishbone now?