I was floored by an article I read on Tuesday. Federal researchers for the National Cancer Institute and the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention have found that the overall rate at which women are undergoing regular mammograms appears to be declining. Four reasons were suggested for the decline: long waiting times to get an appointment, decreasing fears regarding *** cancer, a drop in hormone use after menopause, and the usual risk v. benefit debate about the exam.
In response, I have two words: EARLY DETECTION.
On May 2, I went for my annual screening mammogram. Because my mother had *** cancer, upon the advice of my doctor, I have been getting a routine mammogram since I turned 35, five years ago. This year, I was unusually anxious both before and after the exam, but I chalked it up to the fact that I lost my mom to cancer last summer (ironically not to *** cancer but to lung cancer). After the exam, as usual, the technician informed me that I would receive either a call the next day if there was a problem or a letter in the next few days that would state the results were normal. I got the call at approximately 3:00 the following afternoon.
I was informed that the radiologist had detected a nodule in my left ***.
The person who called said that the radiologist wanted me to come in for another exam and possibly an ultrasound. She told me that it did not mean that I had cancer. It could be a cyst or a fold in the tissue that occurred during screening, but I had to come in for a follow-up. Neither the physical *** exam my gynecologist conducted six months earlier nor the self-exams I conducted in the months since revealed the nodule. I had done everything the way I had been instructed, and here I was, like hundreds of women before me, not being able to breathe.
I asked the caller to tell me again what the radiologist had found. She repeated everything. It was Thursday afternoon. I was told that the earliest date a follow-up could be scheduled was Monday morning. I scheduled the appointment, and then I called my sister-in-law and cried.
My husband came home early. For the rest of the afternoon, we watched TV, his arm around me, my arms around my daughter. I did not feel much like talking. I found out later that we were both thinking about the same thing: Who would help to raise my daughter if I was gone.
My brother called that night. My sister-in-law had told him about the result. He works in radiology and was able to get an appointment for me at his workplace for the next morning. He tried to reassure me that 9 times out of 10, an abnormality in a screening mammogram proves to be nothing serious. I could only think about the 1 time out of 10.
The next morning, already teary-eyed, I met my brother at the clinic and met the radiologist who would be reading my films. Seeing my anxiety, she too tried to reassure me that it might be nothing, but we needed to find out. So, I dressed myself in the gown and robe that are always ridiculously huge on me and steeled myself for whatever was next.
My brother was able to stay with me for what he called a spot film, basically a more localized mammogram of my left ***. He said this could be all that was needed, but there was a possibility that the doctor could order an additional ultrasound. After delivering the films to the doctor, the tech came back and said that the doctor wanted an ultrasound. My brother left the room to go and see the films himself.
As I lay on the exam table waiting for the ultrasound tech, I told myself that even if it was cancer, that did not mean I was going to die. So, I took it up as a mantra. I will not die. I will not die. I will not die.
My brother came back into the room. He told me that the nodule did not look like a cancer tumor, but the ultrasound would be more definitive. As the tech passed the ultrasound wand over the site, they both looked relieved. The tech said it looked like a cyst. She took the results to the radiologist to be read. It was a benign cyst.
The cyst measured approximately 1 cm in width. Guided to the spot, I applied some pressure, and using a circular motion, it took a couple of passes until I could distinguish it. If it had been cancer and I had not gone for my annual screening, who knows how large the mass would have gotten before I felt it during a self-exam. If I did not do regular self-exams, who knows how long the mass would have gone unchecked.
Per the radiologist, the American Cancer Society Guidelines recommend screening mammograms and physical *** examinations every year beginning at age 40 for women at normal risk. (If you believe you are at higher risk because of family history or other factors, consult with your physician as to what is best for your situation.)
Do not let fear about a mammogram, either the procedure itself or what you may discover upon its completion, deter you from getting one.
Knowledge is power.
