I remember the summer that the boobie fairy visited me.  It was 1973…picture it, a young girl is bra-less and enjoying summer when somewhere between seventh and eighth grade the boobie fairy brought her a pair of 36C’s.  That’s right, I went from nothing to loaded in three short months.  I remember this so distinctly because school mates gave me hell upon my return to school that fall.  I was accused of stuffing my bra (and not with my new found breasts).  There is no way to defend that, short of stripping down, and that would lead to a whole new set of taunts.  I powered through and my girls have more or less been the same since then.   Yes they no longer are under my chin, and they don’t stay centered when I lie on my back, but with the exceptions of pregnancy and breast feeding nothing has changed.

I have lived with the girls for almost 37 years.  Friends have come and friends have gone, but the girls have always been there.  There were times in the 70’s when I took them for granted.  I always assumed that they would be pert and perky.  I was (very obviously) wrong.  I remember being little…you know, pre-boobie…and I saw my great-grandmother dressing.  Her breast were unbound.  Great-grandma always wore a chemise, but she didn’t wear a bra.  On this particular morning as I watched her slip into said chemise, I briefly saw her naked torso.  I was scared shitless.  There to my horror hung two pieces of flesh that looked like tube socks with tennis balls sewn in.   To add insult to injury, when she put on her skirt she lifted these meat socks up above the waistband of her skirt before she zipped it closed.  This image has remained with me through out life.  I made a pact with God to do almost anything he wanted as long as he kept my boobs above my waist.  So far so good.  I have always taken good care of the girls.  I massaged them with cocoa butter when I was pregnant and also while I was nursing.  I have always chosen the more expensive bras over their lesser counterparts so that the girls have been well supported.  I have always used their power for good not evil.  I once got us $1000 off of our pool installation fees just by wearing a low cut dress.  I have done self breast exams every month when the electric bill came in (my way of remembering) and have been getting mammograms longer than I can remember.   Oh yes, I took good care of the girls and the girls took good care of me. 

About five years ago my OB/Gyn sent me a letter.  It seems my yearly mammogram came back with some questionable areas on Lucy (Lefty).  I was told to go back to The Breast Center (no joke) for an ultrasound.  After the ultrasound I was told that I had fluid filled cysts on my left breast and that I needed to have a needle aspiration.  It was simple, it was quick, and I thought it was over.  A year ago I got another letter that indicated that Tighty (Righty) was lumpy too.  This time it wasn’t fluid filled.  It was an honest to God lump that needed to be watched.  For the last year I have received ultrasounds every few months to be certain that the lump wasn’t changing.  Today at my one year anniversary of finding the lump I was told that my right breast is unchanging and I can go back to yearly mammograms…on that boob.  Now it seems that Lucy has developed a lump of her own.  It is big and it is deep.  The radiologist asked me about my family history.  He wanted to know about my medications, stress levels, did I smoke, did I drink and it went on and on.  Finally he told me that I needed to make another appointment to have a needle aspiration.  They told me to allow two to three hours for the procedure because I might need a biopsy.  Then the fool says, “but don’t worry.  I’m sure it is nothing.”

 I am not worried.  I think they can usually tell from looking at the ultrasound images whether or not these lumps are benign.  Here’s the thing that bugs me.  Only a man could say to a woman, with a condescending pat on the foot, “don’t worry.”  I bet if it were testicular images on the ultrasound and I had my hand on his foot he would feel differently.  The other thing that bugs the hell out of me is that this body that I have trusted and known for almost 50 years has the nerve to up and change after all this time.  Yes I see the gray in my hair.  Yes, I see the skin on my face falling into my neck.  Yes, I am not oblivious to the menopause padding that my stomach has adopted and is apparently raising for the next 50 years or so.  The arthritis has taken the spring out of my step, and the fibromyalgia has made me constantly feel as if I just got through at the gym…and I don’t go to they gym.   But, I thought I could always count on the girls to behave just as I needed them to.   I lead with my boobs.  They are my power animals.  My husband is a boob guy.  Sweetheart that he is, when the first lump showed up and I was convinced it was cancer, I sobbed into his shirt that I was afraid if I lost my boobs I would lose him too.  He calmly and sweetly assured me that I would never lose him.  Then he said, “I would cheat on you, but I would never leave you.”  At this point, we are so tired of the recurring boob drama that we no longer cry or assume the worst.  We just accept it and move on to the next test or procedure.  When it is done, we don’t think about it again until the next time.

I’m not scared.  I’m pissed.  I would like to go to one doctor’s office at least once and have him tell me that I was just fine.  There were no problems and he wished all his patients were as healthy as me.  I don’t get that.  Ever.  Even my last dental appointment ended with the threat of an imminent root canal.  The rheumatologist says, “it’s RA, it’s advancing, take your pain medication and your anti-inflammatory meds and I’ll see you in 6 months.”  My gynecologist says, “if it gets much worse we can do surgery.”  My family doctor begins all his assessments with “considering your medical history…”  My allergist says, “use your preventative inhaler regularly and always keep your emergency inhaler handy.”  Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. 

I am already serotonin challenged.  Do I really need to be burdened with such depressing physicians?  I mean, I’m not looking for Patch Adams but seriously.  Must all news be laden with ominous overtones?  I’m not asking for a lot.  Just one lousy doctor to say, “OMFG!  You are amazingly healthy in this particular area.”  I know people who have heard such things, so it can happen.  My own 78 year old mother loves to brag that our family doctor told her that she was doing well…he didn’t even throw in “for your age”.  I always hear that crap.  One of my sisters commented that she was glad that I came along because before me, she was the one who had all the bizarre crap happen to her.   Super!  Glad I could be there for you, Sis.  I try not to ask why me, but seriously “why me?” 

I have heard all of the standard lines.  You know…what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…God won’t give you more than you can handle…all things happen for a reason…and so on.  I have to call bullshit.  Sometimes things that don’t kill you make you bitter.  Sometimes God wants to see just how much you can handle before you cry Uncle, and occasionally the reason things happen is just because.  I am unconvinced that there is a reason for cancer.  Yes, I hear all of you screaming reasons you believe cancer occurs but the truth is, it is a gene that triggers cells to reproduce at amazing rates and some people who do everything wrong never get it or a have a family history of it.  And some people who try to do everything right find out they have stage 4.  There simply is no reasoning to it.

I am venting, my dear ones.  I’m mad as hell and I’m just not taking it any more.  I am tired of pretending not to hurt every single day.  I am tired of asking myself first thing in the morning “what hurts today…and how bad is it.”  I am sick of planning events that never happen because I just can’t function.  I am tired of making plans that may or may not take place because I don’t know how I will feel.  I am tired of afternoon naps, and  powering through.  I am just plain tired.  The last thing I needed was this.  Yes, I will go in next Thursday and let them pierce my breast with their stupid needle.  I will wait patiently while they check to see how the cyst responds to the aspiration and while they decide whether or not to biopsy.  If I must endure the biopsy I will.   I am not concerned that I have breast cancer.  I have no family history of it, but then again I have no family history of all the other crap I deal with daily.  Sometimes I think God is just pissed at me for not believing in organized religion.  Maybe He thinks that my idea of prayer being just as heard in my backyard as in an outlandishly huge church is crap.  Then again, I don’t think God is into paybacks.  I could be wrong.  If He is into getting even I’m screwed.  I won’t go into details.  He knows what I’m talking about. 

Bottom line dear ones, is this…never assume that these yearly tests we are told we need, will come out one way or the other.  I waltzed into the Breast Center expecting to hear that the lumps on the right were the same and Lucy was good, then they pulled the rug out from under me.  I should have been prepared.  Don’t live your life expecting the worst either.  I realize that today’s outcome could have been far worse.  I’m not dense. I am just giving you a little advice.   Just live.  Drink in every experience with a light heart, and enjoy your time here.  Life is a highway…if you live in the fast lane you might crash…but just because you are in the slow lane doesn’t mean you won’t.  Right now, if I had a seat belt on my couch I would be buckled in.  Buckle up, buttercup!  It’s going to be a lumpy ride!

 

 

Ab