The Lump
It felt like a grape – juicy, fruity, bouncy, more of a Riesling than a Merlot. 4 months ago? 6 months ago? I can’t remember. All I remember is – in the shower – a painless irregularity, a slight ‘bump’ on the underside of my left breast. Dr Google is pretty certain it’s a cyst. No worries mate.
Mid May, the grape shifted. It changed into a harder, more Australian-grown-McCain-pea-sized ‘stone’ and made its way up towards my armpit. Mmmmm, perhaps – just perhaps, I’ll get ye olde GP to check-that-out. A few weeks later, I booked in for the long appointment ($190+ so need to make the most of it): get the undercarriage and the sunspots on the back of my neck checked out, plus a lube and oil change and a script for the weird, unsightly rash on my face. Oh, and by the way, is this lump on my left breasticle anything to worry about?
Bi-annual service complete, everything present and accounted for. Sunspots on the neck all ok, remember to slip-slop-slap-slide-slurp. Seems the Box Office is in need of some repair – a first and a drag. Hard core antibiotics required. No drinking. Rash on face could be leprosy or monkey pox, here’s a script for some cream. Oh, and best get that grape scanned.
Mood Monitor: 😐
I’m bleeding money. Gap payments and prescriptions. Scan – with a biopsy if required – will cost $900+. Can’t really afford it as have just paid car insurance and rego. Don’t have health cover anymore, premiums are outrageous for a single middle-aged woman. Depressing.
The Scan
Cold, rainy Canberra day. Great. Make my way to Jamieson Centre (where the fuck is that?!). QScan. First I have a mammogram. That’s a delight. Boobs handled adeptly and kindly by the lovely technician. She apologies often for flattening my fun-bags between two metal plates, on various angles – it would be ok if I was into S&M but I’m much more a massage, baby oil kind of gal. But it is medical procedure and she is respectful and efficient.
Next on to the scan with Savannah, ‘Vannah’. Did I know this was part of the referral? That’s ok, I’m into being thorough. ‘Vannah is equally as professional and kind. She swishes around with the lube and probe, clicking/selecting here and there. My boobs look like a moonscape on screen. I could definitely see myself raising a flag or two there. What is also apparent is that every bit of the ‘moonscape’ looks the same – how do they pick out the good from the bad? I am pleased I have my QScan team on the job, they are thorough. I’m calm, cool. I know it’s just a cyst. Dr Google is usually spot on + I’m an armchair expert + no history in the family + healthy (except for dermatitis and the damn box office issue) + what are the statistics?? No worries.
‘Vannah goes through the motions then indicates she is going to consult with the radiologist – she claims she is usually good at analysing these but mine she’s not so sure of …. I told her, I love giving people a challenge, don’t want to make life too easy for them. She returns with Sean, the radiologist. He too has a look around the moonscape and advises he is ‘concerned’ about the lump – can he do a biopsy? Yes he can. It involves needles, local anaesthetic and the removal of a few tiny threads of flesh. Now is as good a time as any. My tummy is rumbling. I look at the scope, 11:50am, no breakfast. The equipment arrives and Sean and ‘Vannah carry out the biopsy (which I ask to see out of morbid curiosity … it is literally two tiny threads of tissue, like something you would extract from your teeth with dental floss). Sean sits next to me. He looks serious (behind the mask – we’re all wearing masks). He states “I’m very concerned”. Mmmm, my mind ticks over. No longer concerned but “very” concerned. He continues, “It’s not a cyst. It is cancer, you need to have it removed. There will be further treatment required – chemo and/or radiation. The biopsy will go to the Canberra Hospital, you will need to go to your GP for a follow-up when the results come back – in 3 to 4 days time. I’m sorry”. OK. Thank you.
The lovely doctor Sean leaves the room. ‘Vannah is complimentary of my ‘handling the news so well’ … though she senses I am a little discombobulated. She asks whether I have someone at home? Do I have any questions? I most certainly do!! I know she can’t tell me but there are three BIG questions (worst-case-scenario of course): will I have my boobs cut off? will I have to undergo chemo (and lose all my hair – why is the hair so important??!) will I die? I know that dear ‘Vannah can’t tell me that. I thank her and leave to reception. And then I lose it.