“I just found a big lump in my breast tissue area. HTG. I don’t know who I call.”
My husband received this text this past Monday, erev 9 b’Av, the saddest day in Jewish history.
“Oy. Call a doctor.” he texted back.
What the Hell else could he say? He’d been through this so many times before. Then there was that one time it was Cancer. What do you text to a person that had breast cancer, got treated, then, after it was supposedly all gone, thank you very much, found a lump in the remaining breast tissue hiding under her arm?
“Tough break, 4 u!” (This is just a fictional example! Please don’t be getting all angry at anyone, real or fictional!)
“Wow, that sucks! You always did have huge hooters, no wonder it was hiding!”
“Seriously? I had my dress picked out for your NED party! And it is not returnable! And yes, I got a great deal!
I’m going with choice 3. Monday (today) I will have a sonogram and MRI, since I have no mamms to gram. This is the imaging of choice for my mastectomy sistas out there. Get your mammograms and MRIs, people with breasts! And, as they say in the NYC subway, ‘if you see (or feel) something, say something‘. Word. I found my original cancer by fondling myself. It’s a good thing, too, because no one believed me at first (this is the subject of another blog post).
This time, however, no time was wasted in getting me an appointment with a Harvard educated breast surgeon, Dr. Red Stripe. Although Dr. Stripe assured me that chances of recurrence in a person with Stage 0 cancer, she also indicated that in my case (my history of other cancers), we need to err on the side of caution and get some imaging done, especially because this thing is in the little breast tissue I have left,
hiding in my armpit, called the Axillary Tail of Spence. The ATOS is the perfect place for The Guys In The White Van to plant their evil Cancercerific seeds.
“Ok, I have a sonogram and MRI on Monday.”
My husband received that text this afternoon. What I’m really hoping for is that he receives this text in a couple of weeks or so:
“Sono and MRI done. Sonograper (is that her title?) says it is nothing to worry about”
Then, about a week after that, he’ll get this one:
“Dr. Red Stripe says all is good! I’m NED!”
After all, I already have my dress.