Why You Need To Get The Gurlz Checked

One can never have too much knowledge when it comes to breast health.

Last month was my annual “squish” a/k/a breast exam.

A nurse brought me into a room with a giant contraption that takes images of your breast. It’s cold, and you’re bare as a baby’s bottom from your waist to your neck. I was turned and twisted into completely uncomfortable positions and then told to be still as a mouse and hold my breath for about ten seconds.

It is here that I cannot help remembering my first squish — it was not fun.

What in the World is Fibrous?

My PCP at the time said, “Your breasts are quite fibrous. I think you should start getting mammograms now.”

For someone in their early thirties, the words fibrous or fibrocystic breasts were unfamiliar, and mammograms should have been in my distant future. Yet, I found myself scheduling my first exam and wondering if my insurance company would cover it. Not to mention if there was something ominous waiting to be discovered. Yeah, I tend to be paranoid.

Though this test was a proactive way of defending against possible issues in the future, the insurance company tried to reject the exam. Good ole’ HMO boy! But my doctor was not having it. I don’t know what magic she worked, but it was approved.

For the curious, fibrous tatas, let us try to make this a little less serious, shall we? They are composed of tissue that feels lumpy or ropelike in texture. Since such changes can happen to your breasts between your 30s and 50s, I guess it was my time.

Try Not to Move

My appointment was at a facility that specialized in women’s breast health. The excellent doctors and nurses there made me feel a little less uneasy. I went into a dressing room, did a strip tease for no one but myself, and put on an unattractive pink gown. Shortly afterward, a nurse brought me into a room where she tortured me by sandwiching my poor breast (one at a time) between two transparent plastic plates.

I mimicked a statute when she told me, “try not to move.” And an ultrasound machine took pictures of the gurlz. After the stress of the exam, I thankfully retreated and got dressed. Back then, you were able to get your results before you left. That has changed since COVID. My husband waited patiently outside while I went through all that aggravation.

About an hour later, a doctor who had no bedside manner called me from the waiting area. In a tone drier than the Sahara Desert, he asked, “Do you have a family member here? I think you should call them in.”

I went from uneasy to full panic mode. I quickly went outside and grabbed my hubby. We both looked at him with concern as he told me, “You need a biopsy. We saw something in your images that’s a bit troubling. When are you available to come back?”

In my distress and anger, I wanted to curse his ass for being blasé when speaking to patients about something so alarming. When he got up to grab a scheduling coordinator, he tripped over the foot of his chair. That flash of amusement made my husband and I feel a little better.

The Day Has Arrived

The biopsy was scheduled for the following week. I was full of nerves and tension but determined to smile when I was around my children. I kept my mom in the dark. There was no need to make her worry. My husband was always there with a simple squeeze of my hand or doing something to make me smile.

The paperwork about the procedure did nothing to help with my fear. There were things I needed to do to prepare. It’s too much to list here. But the description of what to expect was nothing like the real thing. On the day of my biopsy, my husband waited in the lobby. I could feel his concern and his waves of support in the room.

I was given something to calm my nerves and led into another room with an equally imposing machine. Once again, I was squished between two clear plates. There were two nurses this time. And one used a particular marker to circle the area where the biopsy needed to occur. As soon as I saw that, I bawled my eyes out.

I was overwhelmed and terrified of a giant needle coming near my body. It felt like I was having surgery while I was still awake. Someone was going to put a hole in my breast. I doubt I was the first to fall apart during such a circumstance.

They gently rubbed my back and told me it would be okay. The nurses talked me through the procedure — numbing the area, when to hold my breath, etc. By the grace of God and with the help of two compassionate and skilled professionals, I made it through.

By the time everything was done, the top of my body was wrapped in the biggest gauze I had ever seen. I felt like a mummy. My hubby was called and carefully led me back to our car. Then I went home to recuperate and do the waiting game.

Waiting is no fun!

Waiting to hear the results of something that could be life-changing was a lot. When I went back to work, my co-workers did a beautiful thing. They took me into a private room and put down some serious prayers for me. I felt like I had been called to the pulpit during Sunday service. It gave me great comfort as a spiritual woman. Until this day, I never forgot what they did for me.

It took over a week to get the results. My husband and I went in and sat with the head of the facility — a beautiful soul who is no longer among the living. She sat us down and broke the news, “The biopsy results are negative. The cyst is benign,” she said with a lovely smile. We both let out the most profound sigh of relief, dried our tears of joy, and thanked her for the news.

It was two days before Thanksgiving.

Since then, I’ve had another biopsy on my other breast. And instead of having one mammogram yearly, I’ve had to have two. But the results have been negative each time, and since then, 3D mammography, also known as tomosynthesis, has become available.

Your insurance carrier may not completely cover it, but the images are vastly better than the original 2D images. Thanks to that ultrasound, I don’t have to return for another “squish” until next year.

Yes, breast exams can be stressful and a bit time-consuming. I feel the same sense of anxiety every time my annual mammogram is coming near. However, when you weigh the pro (your life) versus the cons, it’s worth it. I’m sure there are many women whose stories differ from mine. But if you got anything from my tale, I hope you’ll consider getting the gurlz or the boyz (men can be at risk, too) checked!

Sharon-