Getting older is beginning to not be so much fun.
I went for my annual exam a couple of weeks ago. My doctor (OK, actually it was the nurse practitioner I saw because my “regular” doctor--the one I’ve seen once before), is swamped. Turns out, I really like Alison, so it worked out great for me—which is what it’s all supposed to be about anyway, right?? While I was there, Alison asked me if I was interested in getting my “Healthy You!” screening. “Healthy You!” is a wellness program offered by Mississippi Blue Cross/Blue Shield which will pay for a urinalysis, CBC, glucose, and lipid labs and a mammogram once a year for women my age. Thirty-nine for just over another month, thank you!! Free tests to make sure I’m up to par? Sure! Sign me up! Especially since the government is wanting to change all that. That’s another story, though.
Luckily, my Pap came back normal. That’s where the fun ends. Like there’s ever any fun involved with a Pap to begin with!
My urinalysis showed a urinary tract infection. OK…didn’t realize anything was wrong, but one round of antibiotics later and hopefully that little issue is taken care of.
CBC showed my white blood cells a little elevated, but that was understandable due to the UTI. Glucose was within normal limits (thank goodness I’ve not developed diabetes like several other members of my family!). Lipids… hmmm…. My cholesterol was a little high (202). Not too too bad considering my butter intake, I think. However, broken down, my “good” cholesterol was not too good and my “bad” cholesterol was a little bad. I’ve got to be more mindful of my diet and exercise for the next six months. OK, I can handle all that.
Two days ago I went for my first mammogram. Was a tiny touch wigged out because of my mother instilling in me the thought of the power going out while my boobs were smooshed. I’m sorry…you now have a visual concept of that, don’t you? Thank my mother next time you see her.
Whatever dignity a woman has before childbirth pretty much flies out the window afterward. Well, it did for me anyway. So having another woman place and arrange my ta-tas on a cold plate was really no big deal. I realize I’m not like most women. The “pressure” that was supposed to feel “uncomfortable” was really no big deal either. I won’t tell you what my friend said about that, but you can probably imagine.
So, the mammographer takes the usual images—front and diagonal of each breast. Then she comes back in needing to take two more of the right breast. Not unusual for a first mammogram, on someone “younger” with denser breasts. These, I learned, were “spot” films…she was getting a better look at a particular area. After those, she came back in needing one more. This time, my right boob was smashed side to side as I leaned into the machine—the mammographer was below me trying to “adjust” me just so—kind of like the game Twister.
I heard talking outside the exam room. I figured out the mammographer was talking to the radiologist.
Next thing I know, I’m escorted to the ultrasound room. The tech squeezed the warm, blue gel on me; it made me remember the old days of listening to the baby’s heartbeat. No noise this time, though. She showed me the area that the mammographer was probably seeing and took several images.
After I got dressed, the radiologist spoke with me and showed me all my films. Not that I understood what I was looking at, but still getting to see “it” satisfied my curiosity. There is a “mass” about 9 mm in my right breast. It’s probably a fibroadenoma as he told me, 95% chance of being a benign tumor, but he would be recommending a biopsy.
Yesterday morning, Alison called me to go over the results of the day before. Poor thing…when I came in that day, she probably was thinking “routine exam”…. No big deal. Little did she know. Nothing about me is routine! She said that the radiologist’s report listed the mass as a Category 4—“suspicious abnormality”. She also concurred with the radiologist and recommended me having a biopsy.
I have an appointment Monday morning with a “breast specialist”—only the best for my boobs, you know! He’ll look at my films, go over my records and discuss what will happen next.
And just so you know…I’m not worried, scared or freaked out. At least I think I’m not.
Cooking is therapeutic for me and last night I made Peanut Brittle for the very first time in my life. My excuse was that I didn’t want my dear sweet husband to go without homemade Peanut Brittle at Christmastime. His Grammi made it every year and he had commented that he guessed he wouldn’t have any this year. He does now. And right now, I have chicken on the stove and am going to attempt to make chicken and dumplings for the very first time in my life.
No, I’m not worried, scared or freaked out… I just want to KNOW.
