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Hi.

Welcome to my blog. I document my journey through breast cancer. Hope you feel inspired!

Biopsy day.

Biopsy day.

I was only 3 doctors appointments in and already freaking out in my head about the amount of  time I was spending away from work. No I don't save lives. I’m not a CEO or even a department head. But in all the years I’ve worked for this company I’ve always felt guilt for taking time away that wasn’t PTO.

Tuh. That shit ends right HERE. I am here to tell you: Don’t  EVER feel guilty about taking care of YOU. If you drop dead tomorrow they’ll have your replacement before Wendy Williams can come on your tv screen and say “How you doin?”

So yeah...I've been to at least a hundred doctors appointments over the last year  and I.dont.give.AFFFFF what anyone’s got to say about it. Fight me.

Now, let's get into doctor’s appointment # 3.

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One of the best things I’ve gotten out of this experience is something called Emla Cream. Look it up. Remember my absurd fear of needles? Well yeah. This shit numbs whatever area you put it on.  And If you’re gonna stick a needle in my titty, I need ALLL of it.

Someone from the doctor's office calls me the day before my appointment and tells me to put some Emla cream on my breast 30 minutes prior to my appointment. Oh you ain't gotta worry about that ma’am!

The morning of my appointment I stand in my kitchen and lather the numbing cream on my boob and carefully saran wrap it. Yes, saran wrap it.

I hop in my car and drive 20 minutes up the road to Anne Arundel Medical Center. Here I am; a little closer to my fate. I arrive to the hospital that would soon become by 2nd home.

I walk into the waiting room  and sign in. I take a look around the room. No one looks like me as far as age or race. The room is filled with women over the age of 40. All of them thin and white. Some of them with those cute pixie cuts or knits wraps on their heads that implicate sickness. Little did I know that I would be rocking both in the near future.

I sit there for what seems like an eternity. It was probably more like 15 or 20 minutes but that much time with knots in your stomach, coupled with minimal cell service to distract you, it feels like you’re gonna puke from the anxiety.

They call my name. Amen.

The nurse takes me to a hallway that is lined with what appears to be dressing rooms on one side and examination rooms directly across. She tells me to undress and hands me a cotton medical gown. She instructs me to crack the door when I'm finished and she will take me to the exam room.

As I sit there waiting, I see Hippy Nurse bouncing around doing her thing. “Hey girl heeeey! What are you doing here?” I say in my head like we’re besties.

The nurse of the day comes to take me over to the exam room. We make small talk. While we chit chat she un-saran wraps my boob and wipes off the numbing cream. Then she takes out that scanner thing that I’d seen in my last appointment. (These titties are back in the check out lane again.) She explains that she's going to sonogram my boob so that she can see exactly where Dr. Rebinowitz needs to make his incisions.

INCISIONS!?!?! Was that an S on the end of that?  The scalpel’s gonna cut me open numerous times?! What am I a piece of meat?!  What are you trying to marinate me?! Oh God. Oh God. Where is my phone? I need to gchat my husband!

(Gchat is not gonna save you from what Edward Scissor Hands is about to do to you with his scalpel, girlfriend)

OK calm TF down Jennifer. I've asked this nurse at least 3 times if this is going to hurt. Ugh. What time is it?

In walks Dr. Rebinowitz. He looks exactly like a Dr. Rebinowitz. Short, white man, with salt and pepper hair and age spots starting to appear on his face and hands that allude to his age. He gets the low down from the Nurse of the Day who points out where she’s zoomed in on the masses in my breast.

The nurse of the day wishes me a sincere “Good luck! Its going to be fine.” and closes the door behind her, leaving just me and Dr. Benny as I’ve just nicknamed him in my head.

He sits down next to where I'm still laying with my boob out. Well this is awkward. He's a cross between a grandpa and Mr. Rogers. He lays out his tools on the sterilized metal tray like you see on TV.

OH.GOD! Its time.

He explains to me what he’s going to do. Of course I ask AGAIN if it is going to hurt. He tells me I’ll feel more pressure and hear a clicking sound. Otherwise I should feel minimal pain.

Lies. He is telling me lies so I don't make a run for it or just pass out right here in this chair. I don't dare look at the table with all these saws and hatchets he's about to use. Nope.

Dr. Benny picks up the tool he's going to use and shows me. Ummm do I not look scared enough already??? Oh. It kind of looks like a crochet needle but with a sharper point and a lever at the end. Oh yeah sure. That's what you're gonna use. That little thing? Please. You must think I'm a fool. Whatever. Let's just get this over with.

He makes approximately 3-4 small incisions. 2-3 in the affected breast and 1 or so in the armpit area. I can hear that clicking sound each time the lever takes a slice of titty meat. I feel the pressure that he warned me about. Oh. This isn’t bad. I’d do it again. I mean if I had to.

All of the incisions were smaller than the size of my pinky nail. He covers each incision with a small steri strip. All of this takes less than 10 minutes.

When he tells me he’s all done, I exhale again. “Oh man, I take back all the mean things I said about you in my head because I was scared” I tell him with a big grin.

He gets it. I can tell. Before leaving he tells me that they are going to send my boob meat to the lab and get back to me within the next 48 hours with results.

I’d never been so happy to leave for work. And I think I can make it before the complimentary lunch rolls out.

 

 

Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure

Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure

Better together! Happy 2nd Anniversary!

Better together! Happy 2nd Anniversary!