Breasts: I’m not sure about you but I have something of a love hate relationship with mine. I can look in the mirror one day and they are there and looking dandy, the next I feel quite differently about them. During the month of October many of us turn our thoughts to our breasts, thanks to it being breast cancer awareness month. I wanted to tell you my personal story, and why I think self examines should be an important part of your healthcare routine.
There was a time some years ago that made me realize just how important my breasts actually, were to me. One day I noticed a small lump in my left breast. It wasn’t huge, but I knew it was a lump. My Hubby examined it as well, just to make sure I wasn’t imagining it, and he confirmed that there was a pea sized lump there. It was at that point, my life went into something of a tailspin.
I went to see the Doctor the next day, who then referred me to the local breast cancer clinic. Another two days came and went until I found myself sitting in the reception area, waiting to see the specialist. It was only then, that I really began to reflect on what my breasts actually meant to me. Fear of losing something has a way of making you appreciate it more, I guess. I wondered what it would be like to lose a breast. Would it change the way I felt about myself, or the way others perceived me? Would my Hubby leave me for a younger, perky double breasted woman? Looking back, I realized that many of the thoughts I had were pretty silly, but they ran through my head non the less and I’m sure I was not alone in my thinking as several of us sat there waiting to see our specialist.
I had so many questions, at least until I went in to see said specialist, who examined me and then decided a quick biopsy was in order. I wasn’t ready for that, I wasn’t prepared for that. I had no idea what that even meant, but they gave me a quick run down and it seemed simple enough.
Before long I found myself lying flat on a table, with one breast poking through a hole, and before I knew it, the Doctor had jabbed what I can only describe as a staple gun into my boob, and taken a tiny, tiny piece out. A little bit of pain they said. Yes, it was quick but it wasn’t painless but then without any pomp or ceremony I was dressed and now came the wait. The wait for the test results, which back then would take about 48 hours.
I spent the next two days resting at home, with a painful boob, which looking back was a constant reminder of the possible doom I was facing. I talked to Hubby who assured me that he would still love me, even with one boob, if that was the case. We had some deep conversations about the subject, which again was a good thing. I searched the internet, which I soon discovered was not actually a good idea. The Internet was relatively new at the time, but the info I found was scary and only fueled my fears, until finally I was called back to the clinic to get my answers.
The whole specialists visit was done in something of a haze, I didn’t have cancer and I was going to be fine. I said thanks and left. It wasn’t until I reached the parking lot that the full enormity of being told I was going to be fine hit me, and it hit me with a force I wasn’t expecting. I can clearly recall sitting in my car, and balling my eyes out. I should say he