Head Out of the Sand: Get the Mammogram

By Brit Winfield

There isn't a woman on the planet who looks forward to her mammogram appointment. To be tugged and compressed at such intolerable angles and degrees rates close to having a tooth pulled. So it is easy to ignore that postcard from the doctor that comes in the mail once a year; the reminder to schedule the mammo appointment. But for me, there is also something else playing in my head that makes it easy to let the annual date slip by. It is fear of the unknown, of what may be lurking in the digital images that are due this year. Sometimes it seems I prefer to whistle in the dark and guiltily pretend that I have immunity.

I have a list of excuses as long as my arm that can keep me from staying on track with the mammogram appointments. I argue that I don't have the genetic predisposition or lifestyle habits that contribute to breast cancer and therefore it is alright to let diligence slip. But then I see an old family photo album and am aware that I do indeed have a maternal aunt who had breast cancer. And I am reminded that there is no definitive lifestyle that precludes the disease.

I finally follow my heart and make the appointment. When I do get to the clinic for the mammogram, I am told that my records from a couple of years ago are lost and I will need to redo paperwork. This detail gives me a renewed opportunity to resent the whole affair. But once again, I assuage my agitation by admitting to myself that I am in a premiere facility, something I should be grateful for.

After filling out reams of forms, I pick up some reading material on the magazine table. It is a photo essay of women who have passed through these very doors and found their lives changed by diagnoses of breast cancer. It is about their struggles and victories, head shavings and uncontrollable nausea, weaknesses and fears and finally, a return to normal life. The book brims with testimonials of these women's gratitude for the treatment and support of this centre and its dedicated staff. I take a quick glance around the room and wonder how many women sitting there this afternoon will have stories like this to tell.

With an 85 to 90% detection accuracy rate, mammography is vital in the arsenal against breast cancer. Of all the women who have routine screening mammograms, only 6 to 8% have potential irregularities that will require further testing. As I put on the pink seersucker easy-access top they provide in the changing room, I have no idea that today I will figure in that select group.

Examining the digital image, the radiologists are certain that teeny spot is something that merits attention. A young resident tells me that from the way the spot appears, there is a 99.9% that this will turn out to be nothing of consequence. When I argue the odds being in favor of that and skipping a biopsy, it is obvious he thinks I am crazy. His argument that the remaining 0.1% possibility of cancer needs to definitively ruled out wins the day and I am left to schedule a biopsy.

As usual, I do my best to not entertain any scary thoughts over the next few days, but apprehension builds regardless of my best efforts. The day arrives. I am guided to a dimly lit procedure room and sit in a chair that reminds me of being at the dentist's office. A sterile tray of instruments, including the core biopsy needle, is a few feet away. There is ultra sound equipment and a large monitor squarely ahead of me.

The procedure is to be a minimally invasive breast biopsy. The special core biopsy needle will extract samples about 1/16 of an inch in diameter from the suspicious spot. I will be sent home with a discreet bandaid, perhaps a little soreness and definitely no scarring.

Once I am sufficiently numbed up, the physician begins her probing with the needle. There doesn't seem to be a direct route to the target area she has her eye on and there is a good deal of weaving around inside which surprises me. At last she is pleased with her location and I sense a minor 'grab and tear' as the needle extracts the necessary tissue. I clench my teeth, not from pain but from the strangeness of that tiny numbed tug.

They are done with me in about thirty minutes and I am told that I will hear from the clinic as soon as the pathology report gets in. I leave with the souvenir bandaid. In a matter of days, there is the awaited phone call and it is good news. That 0.1% chance was sussed out and found to be no cause for alarm. A good night's sleep is in order.

All it takes is a little distance from the good news and my attention turns to being horrified with the massive discoloration on my breast. The greens and blues of an enormous bruise take their sweet time spreading before dissolving. Nobody warned me about this. A needle in the breast going hither and yon on route to a target will apparently do this. For the next while I do all my dressing in the closet without the light on to prevent myself from seeing the bruise or thinking about it. Doesn't that sound true to form?

No one can afford to ignore the truth for long and I know this. So I am determined to break with my procrastination habit and schedule my mammogram appointment a year ahead of time. In the past two years I have sat up late nights with a couple of friends whose biopsies did not turn out as mine. I have been part of the mini armies of supportive neighbors and girlfriends that provided food for their families, transportation to treatments and much needed babysitting. These women have inspired me with the way they have waged their battles with breast cancer and successfully kept their eye on the prize of wellness. They both believe that they were rewarded for their due diligence, by scheduling a regular mammogram. What greater reward could there be than having one's life spared?

About the Author:

This author: Brit Winfield has been a fundraiser for breast cancer research for more than ten years. Ms. Winfield also directs online communications for Fight Like A Girl Online and she welcomes everyone to visit the Breast Cancer T-Shirt Store.