One Minor Health Scare Away From Reliving Past Trauma

A tiny blip on my mammogram took me back into my seventeen-year-old self.

Are we all just one health scare away from reliving past trauma? I am, although before this week I wouldn’t have called what happened in my past trauma. It was just a life event.

I am now 55 years old and this is the first time anything abnormal has ever appeared on one of these tests.

I had a very minor health scare this month. I’m not even sure it qualifies as an official health scare. A health nervousness. Let’s call it that.

I’ve had mammograms regularly since I was 35 years old. My mother’s history of breast cancer prompted an earlier than usual start to the schedule. I am now 55 years old and this is the first time anything abnormal has ever appeared on one of these tests.

A blip on my 3D mammogram prompted the radiologist to request a second set for a closer view of my right breast. I was not looking forward to being squished in the machine for a second round, but I dutifully showed up.

I Googled “breast biopsy procedure.” Big mistake.

The blip is a probable calcium deposit, but I was referred to a breast surgeon. It didn’t make me nervous. At first. The appointment was a couple of weeks out and I felt no rush.

As time passed, my feelings started to change. The two weeks allowed my faint concern to marinate in my subconscious. I Googled “breast biopsy procedure.” Big mistake.

I found five types of biopsies:

Fine needle aspiration — A small needle is used to take a sample of cells. It seems to be used when the issue is suspected to be a fluid-filled cyst.

Ultrasound-guided core biopsy — A needle is used to take samples in this procedure as well. The needle is guided by an ultrasound machine. Ultrasound can differentiate between solid masses and cysts.

Stereotactic biopsy — A radiologist uses mammogram films and a special tool for this type. They make a small incision before placing the needle. Multiple tissue samples are usually taken.

Open excisional biopsy — This test takes an entire lump and the tissue is examined. If enough tissue is taken, it is also called a lumpectomy.

Sentinel node biopsy — They use dye to pinpoint any lymph nodes involved.

If you would like more information about these biopsy procedures, check out Breast Biopsy for Breast Cancer Diagnosis on the WebMD website.

Usually, WebMD makes me feel better. I am Research Girl. Like a superpower but… not.

I like to get information prior to meeting with doctors so that I am prepared. If the surgeon started talking about biopsy procedures, I needed background information. I wanted to understand what she was saying.

This time Google overwhelmed me with the seriousness of the information. It was a little confusing: I hadn’t had that reaction when I was preparing for a bone scan. Back then I wasn’t even nervous about spinal surgery.

I had a few moments of contemplation and then felt prepared to have a conversation with the doctor.

In 2010, a surgeon was ruling out medical conditions. He wanted to evaluate my odds of successful spinal surgery. One of the many tests was a bone scan. He didn’t say what we were looking for. Of course, I Googled.

We were looking for bone cancer or infection. There were a couple of other things it could be but those two were the “Oh crap!” ones. I knew arthritis wasn’t the problem.

This information didn’t upset me. I had a few moments of contemplation and then felt prepared to have a conversation with the doctor. The test didn’t find any of those things. Eventually, I did have a double fusion in the lumbar area of my spine.

31 years ago, I was in a hospital waiting room while my mother had a biopsy down the hall.

This simple appointment with a breast surgeon caused a great deal more worry. Why? I had no pain and felt no lumps. The radiologist report indicated the spot was likely a benign calcium deposit.

Last night I felt myself getting more nervous. Nothing close to a panic attack, don’t get me wrong. Just enough that I didn’t get to sleep until about 3 AM.

“Mom,” I thought around 1 AM. Of course. 31 years ago, I was in a hospital waiting room while my mother had a biopsy down the hall.

If the biopsy showed cancer, they would continue with the surgery and take her breast. Her surgeon filled us in afterward. I knew he had found cancer before he opened his mouth. The procedure had taken two hours.

I was that teenager again, back in a silent house.

A tiny little blip on my mammogram had taken me back in time. I was a silent 17-year-old, absorbing the body blows. I was walking into my mother’s hospital room. I was speaking politely with her roommate, wanting to scream.

I was that teenager again, back in a silent house. The washing machine was running. When Mom was released, she would need clean sheets.

Never crying, I was shell-shocked and silent. I wondered if she was dying.

She didn’t die. Not then. Mom lived a nice long life, inflicting her will on the universe and thinking she was going to live forever.

COPD finally got her in the end. That three pack a day habit even breast cancer couldn’t halt finally got her.

My feelings, though, they came back last night. Not in their full glory. I didn’t feel hollow as I worried about my appointment. Logic told me this was nothing like my mother’s experience.

I beat back the anxiety with rationality and finally slept. The appointment was fine. No biopsy indicated at this time.

My next 3D mammogram, they will all be in 3D from now on, is in 6 months. Any changes I discover in my monthly self-exam are to be reported at once.

My rational brain was right. This situation is completely unlike my mother’s. Mom was 39 and had bleeding. They found two separate types of breast cancer. She only had two days between tentative diagnosis and mastectomy. Two. Days.

I always think of my mother and my 17-year-old self during mammograms. Thankfully, I have had testing. I do not carry the mutations to my BRCA1 or BRCA2 genes, although family history raises my risk a bit.

Every day I don’t have a breast cancer diagnosis is a day I worry a little less about either of my daughters having it. I know there are no guarantees, but when you have children, you will take any reassurance you can get.

I am grateful the girls (yes, they are women, but they will always be my girls) have never sat in a waiting room wondering if I was dying. Feeling helpless and alone, even with grandparents around them.

If that were to happen now, there would be no grandparents. All the grandparents are gone. My daughters are adults though. They have significant others and parents. They have each other.

I don’t have to project my experiences on them. They have their own to deal with. Still, it is a relief.

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