The First Mammogram

Today was a tornado.  The wind of emotions that swirled through me qualify as a tornado.  

I've never had to deal with anxiety until cancer came into my life.  This morning, my anxiety was an 8/10.  Maybe more. This was my first mammogram since all of this started, literally a year ago.  In the same place where I realized that I probably had cancer.  I hadn't been back there since.  When I say I was dizzy and lightheaded, I'm not kidding.  It was amazing to see how my body physically reacted to being there. PTSD is real. 

Check in at 8:15am for 8:40am mammogram.  Sit in the waiting room.  Watch the others.  Who has a husband with them (like me).  Who doesn't (lucky ones).  I found myself sitting in front of a little tree with little pink 'cancer notes' on it.  Like "Thinking of my late Grandma".  As if that helps anyone in this room.  I want to smack it off the table and onto the floor.

I hear a woman called back for an ultrasound; yikes, that's not good.  My anxiety cranks up to 9/10.  Finally me.

I go back and it's business as usual.  I have a visiting nurse from Mississippi; she starts chatting about weather and benign things.  I stop her and tell her this is my first mammogram since having breast cancer and I have a port and I'm concerned about the port being touched during the mammogram.  She assures me she's done this a ton of times.  She images both breasts (painfully I might add) and sends me to the gowned waiting room for my next appointment to see my surgical oncologist.

3 minutes later, another nurse comes to get me; they need more images.  I am immediately at a 10/10 on the anxiety scale.  This is what happened last time.  THE time.  Please please please not again.  More images on the right side needed.  But that's the good side.  This cannot be happening.

Back to the mammogram room I go, this time with 2 nurses.  One seems to be the 'boss'.  She takes over and jams every part of my right side (including the PORT) into the machine, cranks it tight and takes more images.  They tell me to relax but I'm a mess.  They send me back to the gowned waiting room.

I can't take it. I find the nearest bathroom and completely lose it.  I'm hyperventilating into a paper towel and texting my husband and another friend who has cancer and understands.  I try to get myself together and eventually head back to the gowned waiting room.  It's obvious I've been crying.  I almost put my sunglasses on.  I put my earbuds in to tune out the world.  I'm teetering on the edge of an emotional cliff. 

"Jennifer"

I follow a nurse to what I think is my next appointment.  I follow her into a changing room.  She turns, looks at me, and tells my scan is clear.  Clear.  I had to have her repeat it.  I'm a mess; all the relief flows out of my eyes and I'm crying a river.  She looks surprised but I can't explain.  

Onward we go down the hall to my surgical oncologist's office.  Anyone who sees me thinks I've just received the worst news in the world; but it was the best.  So many months of keeping it together just flowed out.  

I see my fabulous surgeon and we chat.  She does an exam.  And tells me goodbye.  That she's here if I need her, but our work here is done.  I can't believe it.  More tears, of gratefulness and relief and joy.  I thank her, hug her, and tell her I hope to never see her again.  She laughs and says the same thing.

I stumble out of Newton Wellesley Hospital to our car.  A year.  A whole fucking year.  And I'm clear.  Knock wood.  All of what's happened to me comes crushing over me.  It's a weird rest of the day.  Some friends text and call, wondering what the news is.  I tell them and there's congratulations and joy.  But all I really feel is relief.  A 6 month pass until my next scan (MRI).  It will take a few days to process.  For the first time in a year, I felt a huge exhale.  Accompanied by tears, but it really does feel good under that.  My chest stretches as if it's been clamped in a vice for a year.  My shoulders feel better.  I can't wait to see how I feel tomorrow and the next day.  Because I'm still here.  xo - J