Archive for the ‘breasts’ Category

I had my first mammogram last week. After all my fun with barium, having my boobs squished wasn’t as big a deal as some have made it out to be. It wasn’t exactly fun, but it was brief and transitory – and better than what men have to go through to have their prostates checked.

But, of course, they called me back. I wasn’t particularly surprised. I have lumpy boobs. When I was 21 years old, my OB found a lump on my left breast. I couldn’t feel it at all, among all the other lumpy bits that seemed to be there. He pronounced it to be a cyst and sent me to my GP to have it aspirated (where they suck the fluid out with a needle). The aspiration didn’t work, which earned me an ultrasound. Young and foolish, I kept asking the reticent techie questions until I managed to figure out that what she was looking at was solid, not liquid. It was foolish because a little knowledge really can be a dangerous thing, and I spent a week convinced I had cancer.

It wasn’t. It was just a plain old fiboid tumour, much more common than cancer. That taught me not to ask techies unanswerable questions and not to assume that just because you don’t know the other options possible, it must be cancer.

The tumour kept growing, and I had it removed a few months later. My boobs settled down until Boo was a few months old, at least as far as lumps are concerned. I found a very round, hard one that I thought was a plugged duct until it didn’t go away. When an ultrasound didn’t clear things up, I had a biopsy. That was kind of gross, especially as I was still nursing a lot. I won’t go into details. Except to say that the biopsy was clear.
My mother has lumpy boobs too, and warned me that the mammograms don’t like lumpy boobs. So it really, really wasn’t a surprise to be called back. Still annoying, though.

I returned this morning for an ultrasound. The technician found something, measured it and took the photos off to the radiologist. He said that was a cyst and sent her back to find something else. She found something else, photographed that and took it to him. Then she returned and said it was time for another mammogram instead. Just the small suspicious part, she said. Yay, I said. It hurts more, she said.

More boob squishing, and back for another ultrasound, this time by the radiologist himself. “You have difficult breasts,” he said. Then he decided there’s nothing alarming in there and sent me home.

I don’t much like my breasts. I liked them before kids – little, perky and not requiring a bra. And while they got first huge and scary, then small and flabby while I breastfed, I liked them them for their incredible usefulness. But now, now they are just too small to fill out a sweater usefully and too floppy to go braless. And they are lumpy and dense, so they will be causing me no end of trouble for the next 40 years. If I didn’t dislike pain so much, I’d just have them pre-emptively cut off and save myself the parking costs for the 80 mammograms and 120 ultrasounds I face in my future (based on this year’s total).

You know, I’ve been trying to be good about putting more pictures up on my little blog, but I really can’t think of an appropriate one for this topic. Lots of inappropriate ones, but nothing polite. So, in the interests of making the world a more beautiful place, I offer a picture of Daniel Craig, the latest and best James Bond. Yum.


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