Some things should NEVER be a surprise
Don't get me wrong. I LOVE surprises. Birthday presents? Don't tell me, I want to be surprised. Friend in town for a few hours and wants to pop by? Super! (Just forgive the outrageous mess that is my humble (very humble) home) Diamond earrings just because it's Thursday? Fan-freaking-tastic. (also, a not-so-subtle hint to certain husbands...). But some things, well, there are certain things I like to have some advanced notice about.
Last Tuesday, the day finally arrived in which I was able to keep my appointment at the surgery clinic for the biopsy consultation. After the ridiculously inconclusive mammogram last month, I was glad to finally get the ball rolling (as it were) toward some answers about this lump I've been walking around with since January.
When I made the appointment, the lady told me at least three times that this appointment was "only a consultation. You understand that, right, Mrs. Lasttname? This is just a consultation for the biopsy." Are we all clear? It was only for a consultation. *ahem*
So I get there, check in, the nurse takes my vitals and gives me the gown with the obvious (to me anyway) instructions to tie it in the front. So I change and go back to reading my book. Soon, in comes the surgeon. Who happens to be the same guy who performed the surgery when I had the ectopic pregnancy four years ago. I wasn't a big fan of his then. Of course, I wasn't very pleased with anyone at that hospital that day.
This day, however, he was lovely. Very nice, very informative, very patient (heh), willing to answer all my questions. He asked my age, how many children I have, how many times I've been pregnant (depends on your POV: either four or five), and how long I breastfed my children total. (59 months!! That is almost three years! Holy crap!) And then? He was actually able to feel the lump! Which is more than I can say for the other two doctors I have seen for this. Then he marked the spot with a Sharpie. He got his ultrasound machine and tried to find said lump. He wasn't able to see it on the ultrasound either. But! He was very good to show me what I was seeing: the fatty tissue, the mammary glands (now depleted from 59 months!! of nourishing children) the breast tissue. But he couldn't see the lump which he assured me was a good thing. But, since he did indeed feel that lump, he thought that it would be a good idea to go ahead and do a fine needle biopsy.
NOW.
Wha?! Huh?! The hell?! But...but...but...the lady! She said that this was just the consultation!!!! If I had know that you were going to stick a needle in my boob, I would have taken some Xanax first! NO FAIR!!!! On the other hand, this meant that I would have answers sooner rather than later, so, okay, fine.
(May I just say that they really need to reconsider the name of this procedure. "Fine needle biopsy?" There was nothing fine about that needle. In fact, I believe that "Big Ass Needle Biopsy" would be a more accurate name for it. Yes, it might scare a few people, but at least you have a more realistic expectation as to what is to come.)
So, Dr. D gives me a little shot of lidocaine (with an actual fine needle) in "the area." I am feeling confident that I can deal with this. He starts to put the not-exactly-fine needle in the breast tissue and I am thinking, "Well, this isn't so bad. Not nearly as bad as the thyroid biopsy. I don't know what I was so freaked out ab- - - HOLY MOTHER OF.......THAT HURTS! What kind of sadist is this man? Shitshitshitshitshit! How long is this going to take?"
Meanwhile Dr. D is telling me that he has to get samples from all angles of the lump, blah blah blah....meanwhile he jerks that big ass needle all over the place and I am trying not to come up off the table and nail him in the jaw. Finally, he takes the needle out and goes over to where the slides are laid out and says, "Let's see if we got enough for a sample."
Um, you better hope you got enough because I can assure you, Dr. DeSade, that you won't be sticking that thing in me again. Besides, there isn't that much there to begin with!
Luckily, he decided that there was enough. As he is finishing up the slides, he assures me again that he really doesn't think that I have anything to worry about. He tells me to come back in one week for a follow up and to get my results. *sigh*
When I started to get up, I got all hot and dizzy and nauseated. I really thought I was going to pass out. I managed to get my clothes on and bent over the trash can in anticipation of the puke that never happened. Thank goodness. But I kept thinking that if I could have just taken a Xanax before, I wouldn't be going through this.
There were, technically, no appointments available this week. Lucky for me, the nurse could sense my anxiety over this and said that she would "create an appointment." I like her. So, I was scheduled for this Tuesday at 10:45. Be on time!
More tomorrow....or Friday. I promise!
Don't get me wrong. I LOVE surprises. Birthday presents? Don't tell me, I want to be surprised. Friend in town for a few hours and wants to pop by? Super! (Just forgive the outrageous mess that is my humble (very humble) home) Diamond earrings just because it's Thursday? Fan-freaking-tastic. (also, a not-so-subtle hint to certain husbands...). But some things, well, there are certain things I like to have some advanced notice about.
Last Tuesday, the day finally arrived in which I was able to keep my appointment at the surgery clinic for the biopsy consultation. After the ridiculously inconclusive mammogram last month, I was glad to finally get the ball rolling (as it were) toward some answers about this lump I've been walking around with since January.
When I made the appointment, the lady told me at least three times that this appointment was "only a consultation. You understand that, right, Mrs. Lasttname? This is just a consultation for the biopsy." Are we all clear? It was only for a consultation. *ahem*
So I get there, check in, the nurse takes my vitals and gives me the gown with the obvious (to me anyway) instructions to tie it in the front. So I change and go back to reading my book. Soon, in comes the surgeon. Who happens to be the same guy who performed the surgery when I had the ectopic pregnancy four years ago. I wasn't a big fan of his then. Of course, I wasn't very pleased with anyone at that hospital that day.
This day, however, he was lovely. Very nice, very informative, very patient (heh), willing to answer all my questions. He asked my age, how many children I have, how many times I've been pregnant (depends on your POV: either four or five), and how long I breastfed my children total. (59 months!! That is almost three years! Holy crap!) And then? He was actually able to feel the lump! Which is more than I can say for the other two doctors I have seen for this. Then he marked the spot with a Sharpie. He got his ultrasound machine and tried to find said lump. He wasn't able to see it on the ultrasound either. But! He was very good to show me what I was seeing: the fatty tissue, the mammary glands (now depleted from 59 months!! of nourishing children) the breast tissue. But he couldn't see the lump which he assured me was a good thing. But, since he did indeed feel that lump, he thought that it would be a good idea to go ahead and do a fine needle biopsy.
NOW.
Wha?! Huh?! The hell?! But...but...but...the lady! She said that this was just the consultation!!!! If I had know that you were going to stick a needle in my boob, I would have taken some Xanax first! NO FAIR!!!! On the other hand, this meant that I would have answers sooner rather than later, so, okay, fine.
(May I just say that they really need to reconsider the name of this procedure. "Fine needle biopsy?" There was nothing fine about that needle. In fact, I believe that "Big Ass Needle Biopsy" would be a more accurate name for it. Yes, it might scare a few people, but at least you have a more realistic expectation as to what is to come.)
So, Dr. D gives me a little shot of lidocaine (with an actual fine needle) in "the area." I am feeling confident that I can deal with this. He starts to put the not-exactly-fine needle in the breast tissue and I am thinking, "Well, this isn't so bad. Not nearly as bad as the thyroid biopsy. I don't know what I was so freaked out ab- - - HOLY MOTHER OF.......THAT HURTS! What kind of sadist is this man? Shitshitshitshitshit! How long is this going to take?"
Meanwhile Dr. D is telling me that he has to get samples from all angles of the lump, blah blah blah....meanwhile he jerks that big ass needle all over the place and I am trying not to come up off the table and nail him in the jaw. Finally, he takes the needle out and goes over to where the slides are laid out and says, "Let's see if we got enough for a sample."
Um, you better hope you got enough because I can assure you, Dr. DeSade, that you won't be sticking that thing in me again. Besides, there isn't that much there to begin with!
Luckily, he decided that there was enough. As he is finishing up the slides, he assures me again that he really doesn't think that I have anything to worry about. He tells me to come back in one week for a follow up and to get my results. *sigh*
When I started to get up, I got all hot and dizzy and nauseated. I really thought I was going to pass out. I managed to get my clothes on and bent over the trash can in anticipation of the puke that never happened. Thank goodness. But I kept thinking that if I could have just taken a Xanax before, I wouldn't be going through this.
There were, technically, no appointments available this week. Lucky for me, the nurse could sense my anxiety over this and said that she would "create an appointment." I like her. So, I was scheduled for this Tuesday at 10:45. Be on time!
More tomorrow....or Friday. I promise!
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