TAKING MY LUMPS

My Dead Sister Would Be So Furious That I Still Have Breast Lumps

She’d yell at me for still having these lumps in my breasts

My breasts were always two of my favorite body parts.

Breasts are some of the hardest-working and most multi-functional body parts around.

They help you look hot. They bring you sexual pleasure. They feed your babies perfect nutrition plus loads of antibodies and other important components they can’t get anywhere else.

But then, sometimes, they turn on you.

My breasts have turned on me, just as they turned on so many of the women in my family.

My mom had benign lumps removed when I was a kid. My maternal aunt had breast cancer long ago but has been fine ever since.

It was my little sister’s breast cancer in her 40s that really scared me.

I’ve had mammograms, sonograms and now an MRI, and now I’m ready to do what I should have done long ago: Get these two lumps out of me right now.

The MRI was not that bad but not fun, either.

I took the liberty of sedating myself before I arrived because I have a touch of claustrophobia. I’m not even comfortable driving through mountain tunnels.

Lying perfectly still for 15 minutes inside a giant metal thingie, in an inherently uncomfortable position you can’t escape from until they let you out is … not fun.

Two techs helped me arrange my breasts to hang freely through two openings, and then they each attached a weird marker to each nipple. It looked like a clear cold capsule glued to a piece of adhesive.

They explained it would help the doctor identify the nipple. My question was, “If these doctors don’t know a nipple when they see one, how will they recognize a tumor?” But I kept that to myself.

And the weird cacophony of sounds the MRI machine makes is just odd. It’s clanging, it’s a klaxon-like horn, it’s plinking, it’s a 5-year-old playing someone’s electric guitar. It’s as if someone decided to play a series of sound effects from sci-fi, horror and kids’ movies.

At one point, as the IV full of contrast started, I was sure I was going to vomit, and the thought of not being able to get out of there in order to do it was upsetting. But I continued lying as still as possible, breathing as carefully as I could, and I got through it.

(Mostly because I was afraid of being charged a fortune twice. Nothing motivates me like saving money.)

But now, I’m done having image after image.

We already know there are lumps in there. What are we waiting for?

I’m getting an appointment with a surgeon, and I am going to say what I should have said a long time ago:

“Grab your knife. Either you cut these lumps out or I do it myself.”

I have known since April 11, 2022, that I have lumps in my breasts.

I was told they didn’t seem problematic and they’d just keep an eye on them.

I was initially relieved but after thinking about it, I knew I didn’t want to just wait and see. I called the doctor and left a message saying I wanted to get a biopsy.

But when the nurse called me back, I couldn’t speak.

I was crying because I had just gotten a call from my dad telling me that my sister, Tracey, had died in a car crash. So I asked the nurse to call me back in a couple of weeks. (She never did, but she might not have been able to understand what I was saying.)

When your loved one unexpectedly dies, your lumps drop way down your list of worries.

Ironically, my sister, Tracey, had breast cancer in her 40s and after some rather horrific chemo and radiation, had been doing fine for years. It’s so unfair that she fought and won a battle with breast cancer, only to die in a car crash. She had just turned 52.

But I do recall that when she was fighting breast cancer, she told me that if she had known at the beginning what she was up against, she’d have immediately had both breasts removed and reconstructed.

I took that advice to heart, and that’s why I called my doctor. I wanted to make it clear that I didn’t want to putz around with these lumps.

But putz I did.

Grief is hard. An expected death is hard enough, but one that comes out of the blue — there’s no way to even describe it. If you’ve experienced this with a loved one, you know what I mean. If you haven’t experienced it, well, I hope you never do.

Tracey would be so mad if she were here now.

I can hear her so clearly. She was not a quiet, meek person. She was a character with plenty of opinions and a non-stop, rapid-fire speaking style. I can easily have conversations with her, because I always know what she’d say.

She never stopped talking, but she was always funny. Here’s an example from a video we made in 2020. We were just screwing around:

So I absolutely know what she’d say if she could:

“I told you not to let them screw around like this. Get those lumps out of your boobs!”

“I know, Tracey, but you died that very day. I couldn’t cope.”

“Well, I’m not gonna be any less dead if you fuck around with those lumps, now am I? Get ’em out now!”

She’s right. I ought to have had the biopsy directly after the lumps showed up. I’m going to rectify this right away.

Tracey may be dead, but she has a good point. I need to get these out now.

About me:

I’m a writer and editor in central Illinois. Find me on Substack, Mastodon, Twitter or LinkedIn.