Heeere we go!
I knew I needed to find a doctor and get this boob checked out. But -- NEEDLES!!!! I have been afraid of needles since I popped out of the womb. This is not an exaggeration. Up until my 30’s I avoided the doctor like the plague. Unless I was on the verge of dying I was not going to the hospital. I mean, I punched my arm through a window (accidentally) in my 20’s and legit cut up a t-shirt in my bedroom to stop the bleeding. All because I didn't want to go to the doctor to get stitches. You’d have thought I was on an episode of MASH. I now have a gnarly scar that not even Cocoa Butter or Mederma will help fix.
I decided to grow some cojones and find a doctor. I ask my friend Ellyn who lives close to the area of Maryland that I had just moved to. I didn’t tell her much about what was going on but that I wanted to find a black lady doctor that was good. She gave me a referral and the next day I called for an appointment. Nothing available for another TWO weeks. OK! I was in a rush but also not freaked out enough yet to express my urgency to the lady on the other end. Two weeks it is.
The next two weeks I spent going from trying to remain calm to feeling knots in the pit of stomach from thinking about the worst case scenario— Breast Cancer. Two weeks flew by. I was relieved. After two weeks of google searching and a whole lot of WEB MD’ing, I was done torturing myself and ready to find out a legitimate diagnosis.
I meet with the doctor knowing all the possibilities from the very accurate information listed on the lovely internet. No one in my family had ever had breast cancer so, nah, that’s not it. And I’m nowhere close to 40 so...I’m in the clear! Yay!
The OBGYN walks in. She asks me why I’m there. (You read what I wrote on that chart girl. You know why I’m here.) She gives me a breast exam and feels for lumps. No lumps. (Exhale) I explain to her the blood coming from my nipple and she gives it a squeeze to see what I’m talking about. A little comes out. Just a little. It’s not oozing out or anything. I mean if something were wrong it would be spraying the doctor in the face like a water gun! Right?
She reads the terror that I haven’t expressed verbally but is written all over my face.
(Give.me.an.answer. Don’t sugar coat it. Give it to me straight. WHAT IS THIS?)
With a reassuring and calm voice she tells me not to assume that It’s breast cancer. She lists all of the other possibilities. BUT just to be safe she recommends that I go get a mammogram.
“You can have it taken care of right here in this building. Ground level. I’ll have one of the girls at the front desk schedule it for you” she says.
Boom. I’ve got an appointment for next week to get to the bottom of this.
Heeeere we go.
