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The Lump: Part 1

January 18, 2010

I wish I were the kind who keeps my worries to myself. Just calm the hell down and wait for things to be okay. That’s not me. I get a worry, I blow it all out of proportion in my head, and then I let every know what a dramatic goofball I am by sharing the worry with them, only to find out I didn’t need to worry afterall.

That being said.

I have a lump in my right breast.

Found it last night.

That goddamned right breast has caused me nothing but trouble. Remember? It was the leaky one? And how it caused me to leave the OB/GYN/BITCH clinic because my doctor told me not to worry about it? I did talk her in to a referral, eventually (more than a year after I noticed the leaky damn thing). Went through some really invasive testing. They shot dye up my nipple.

Fucking right boob.

It was an intraductal papilloma.

A wart within a duct.

I had a wart.

But hey, at least I knew what it was, right?

Since then I found a kinder, gentler OB/GYN office and met a very nice, young female doctor. I was so happy. So imagine how not happy I became several months later when I got a card saying that she was leaving the clinic and that they suggested I give the new gal, Marsha, a go.

I gave Marsha a go. And then I gave Marsha the go away.

She was nice. But she was nuts. I don’t often meet doctors who are nuts. Most doctors I meet are competent and professional. Marsha was damned goofy.

Since then, I’ve been meaning to make an appointment at another clinic. I’ve just never gotten around to it.

So last night, I reach up to push on my right boob because it’s hurt on and off for several months now (I figured it was that damn scar from the surgery or a hormonal thing) and felt this lump. Through two t-shirts. And it hurt like hell. So I went upstairs to let The Big Nugget in on the fun, figuring I didn’t want him poking around because, like I said, it hurt like hell.

“Touch this!” I said, pointing at my evil right boob.

“Sweet!” he said, jumping right up to volunteer for the job.

He found it right away. That’s how fucking big it is. It’s about the size of a nickle.

Then I had to go to bed as it was bed time. But damned if I couldn’t fall asleep because 1) a fucking lump! and 2) my boob hurt more than before I found the lump what with all the damn lump probing.

I’d tossed and turned about who to call in the morning. The old clinic with Dr. Nutso or a new clinic that I’ve had my eye on, who hasn’t met me yet.

I got up at 7 this morning and took a shower, ready to run to the first place that wanted to see my boob.

The new clinic won. And it won because the other clinic didn’t answer their phone at 8 a.m. Thank god. Because the new clinic? It has new magazines! They are current! People! When I get my first job in a doctor’s office, this will be my first thing…I will take over Magazine Gathering and Tossing. New subscriptions are on me! I don’t care. I will not work in a place that has Family Circle from August, 2009.

And the new office? It is awesome! It is a GYN clinic. No babies being born, taking your doctor away from the office.

Of course, I didn’t meet with the doctor I wanted to meet with (he’d worked at the OB/GYN/BITCH clinic years ago…even saw me after Thing 2 was born). He was out of the office this week so I saw a nurse practitioner instead.

And I love her.

Here’s what she says about The Lump: It’s about the size of a half dollar and it is round. Most cysts are round so we’ve decided it’s a cyst, and we’re sticking to it.

I have an appointment to go back to the new office this afternoon for an ultrasound, which will confirm that the nurse practitioner and I are not only positive, we are geniuses.

And that’s how we’re looking at that. But damn, boobs are scary.

Let’s now focus on the fact that I am one assertive mother shut your mouth. I found the lump around 8 p.m. last night and had myself in a doctor’s office this morning (a new doctor’s office, too!) by 8:45.

Who’s the gal with the mad phoning skills?

And insurance?

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8 Comments leave one →
  1. January 18, 2010 12:29 pm

    Royally sucks to find your body giving in to the gremlins and goblins of age, worry and fear. Hoping for a positive outcome.

  2. January 18, 2010 12:36 pm

    Sounds like a cyst to me! Good for you for getting yourself in the doctor that fast! You win at phone skils. Want to come take care of all my medical appointments?

  3. January 18, 2010 12:48 pm

    Excellent crisis management.

    I’d say the next order of business is to get phone skills to be the major consideration in determining the grade in your transcription class, to be followed by establishing your own coaching seminar for timid medical office callers.

  4. Leslie permalink
    January 18, 2010 12:49 pm

    I’m sure you’re right – it’s a cyst, but man, those breast anomalies are scary. I’ve had two, count ’em, two biopsies over the past five years, and the scariness factor sucks. Fortunately, I didn’t have breast cancer, but of course I did in my head for a few weeks each time. Hope you get the results fast … and then on to the next adventure ; )

  5. January 18, 2010 1:49 pm

    Sending you good vibes and warm thoughts. What shall you name the cyst?

  6. January 18, 2010 5:12 pm

    That is very scary, I don’t like finding any lumps and bumps where they shouldn’t be! Sounds like a cyst to me too but I am just like you, fear the worst so we can breathe a big sigh of relief and laugh at ourselves when we find out it’s not.

  7. January 18, 2010 5:37 pm

    I do hope it’s a cyst. In any case, remember, they know more than they ever did, and it can be fixed. (Unless you meet up with a horse’s a… who’s too lazy to learn the new stuff.)

    I said I would get better, and I did.

  8. Katherine permalink
    January 18, 2010 6:10 pm

    You are my mad-phone-skilz-hero, just by the way. I wanted you and your cyst (you know, the -round- one) to be aware of my admiration. You and your nurse practitioner are correct, it’s a cyst. Nurse practitioners are fantastic, and probably more accurate than physicians. Update when the cyst is positively identified, please, and I’ll send cosmic encouragement that it quit with the frigging pain already.

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