One week later, biopsy day arrived. I was advised to take the entire day off work, as it’s a phased process. Brian, my Rock Star Husband, took the day off to come with me. When he first suggested joining me, I had protested. I didn’t want him losing any pay over an appointment I could easily traverse myself. But, being the dutiful, loving, and worried soul he is, he insisted. Truth be told, I was relieved he was there. I was more nervous than I was letting on. Nervous about this alien procedure, and nervous of the potential outcome.

First order of business, we met with my Surgeon for a preliminary physical exam and to go over what to expect during and after the biopsy. I was already aquatinted with the Surgeon, as I had dealt with him in the past with some Crohn’s related issues. He’s a very friendly guy, humorous with a disarming manner. We ran though my medical and family history (which I found annoying as all of that information was on record…but, so be it). Upon my physical examination, Lumpty Dumpty make its presence known: large and in charge. But, the mass on the axillary lymph node was undetectable by touch. Just as my Gynecologist mentioned at my initial examination: my Surgeon suggested that my lump seemed innocuous due to the lack of any other outward tell-tale signs of cancer, and that my age and overall health was not typically conducive to cancer. But, due to my family history it was still a cause of concern. This gave me a sense of relief knowing that the odds of this being cancer were low. The surgeon told me that the biopsy results typically take about 3 business days to come back. He said that if I had negative results, the nurse would call to give me an “all clear”. If the results came back with ill-fated news, the Surgeon would call me himself. The Surgeon quipped: “As much as I’ve enjoyed chatting with you, for your sake, I hope we never speak again.”

Second order of business, head over to Radiology to prepare for the biopsies. In a private waiting room, the nurse gave me a battery of standard obligatory information, had me sign content forms, instructed me to disrobe from the waist up, and gave me a gown perfectly designed to give me husband a peep show before I departed. The surgical room was cold, but I didn’t mind. The shitty music being pumped into the room was making my blood boil, so the chill in the air was a nice antidote. The nurse propped me on my side with some pillows, began a preliminary ultrasound, and engaged me with some small talk. During a break in conversation, the current shitty musical entree hit my ears: some generic pop princess vomit song. My look on my face must have been easy to read, because the nurse said: “I can change the music if you want. What kind of music do you like?” I get to choose the tunes! This might not be so bad after all! As tempted as I was to request thrash metal, I decided to go with something more appealing to the masses, so I told her: “I’m a Rock & Roll girl, so how about some good old classic rock!”. And, with that, “Have You Ever Seen the Rain” by, Creedence Clearwater Revival filled the room. Yes, much better! I will take it! The nurse said: “Oh, the Doctor is going to love this station! Good choice!”. The Doc entered the room and said: “Well, good to see you again, Erin! Although I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.” I did not recognize the Doctor, as he was wearing a surgical mask. But, considering I’ve been a frequent flyer at Mayo for the past 6 years due to my Crohn’s Disease, I was not surprised that the Doctor knew me. The Doctor gave be a detailed run down on expect during the procedure, even demonstrating the loud popping sound that the device makes so I would not be startled. This was an ultrasound guided biopsy, so the wand came out again. It took awhile for the Doctor to locate efficient paths to collect samples, as my breast and armpit area are very vascular. He told me that there was a high probability that he would hit veins, as there was really no way to avoid them. That’s fine, just get it over with already! Once I was thoroughly numbed up, I watched on the ultrasound monitor is the biopsy tube entered Lumpty Dumpty. It was bizarre and fascinating! There were about 6 hard jabs accompanied my 6 loud pops, and the breast samples were complete. Not so bad! The lymph node biopsy was not as smooth. I did not numb up very well, so I felt that one. Not so much pain that I couldn’t tolerate it…but enough pain to be grateful he only jabbed twice. Any more jabs, and he may have had an involuntary elbow jab straight at his face. And, with that, I received about 10 minutes of pressure to my breast to stop the bleeding. Once I was bandaged up, I went back for another game of Titty Twister. A post-biopsy mammogram was required in order to record images of these tiny metal tags implanted in the biopsy sites. These tags are permanent, and are used as a record of past biopsies done. These post-biopsy mammograms are low-pressure, just enough to get a snapshot of the metal marker. But, there was still enough pressure to make it very uncomfortable on a tumorous boob with a fresh incision. As soon as mammogram was complete, I felt a gush of fluid run down my right side. My initial thought was that gel had oozed from my icepack as a result of the mammogram. I pulled my gown open to see what sort of mess I had on my hands…and low & behold, it was blood. And, it was gushing. It had pooled onto my favorite pair of Levi’s jeans, which pissed me off. Once the staff got the the bleeding under control enough to move me, they walked me back into the biopsy surgical room for another ultrasound. They had to make sure I was structurally sound and not developing a hematoma. The nurse applied pressure for 30 more minutes before the Doctor declared that I was stable enough to go home. By this point, Brian and I had been at the hospital for a good 5 hours and were famished. So, we took my bloody Levi’s and squirting tit into Kelly’s Pub (one of our favorite local restaurants) and had ourselves a fantastic meal, and tried to decompress the day. For the evening, try to forget that in about 3 days I will learn my fate.

After spending 6 weeks bonding with Lumpty Dumpty, the time had come: diagnostic mammogram & ultrasound. This mammogram was essentially the same as previous ones I’ve had: stepping into a medieval Titty Twister torture device. Painful as fuck…the sort of pain that makes you want to cut off your own tit to escape. Although, this particular mammogram was quite a bit more painful on the right breast, with the presence of Lumpty Dumpty. For the first time, I actually cried during a mammogram. I tried like hell to swallow my emotion, but the lump gave me so much pain that my tears were involuntary. The Tech ended up cutting the session short to spare me…or maybe to spare herself from having to deal with me.
The subsequent ultrasound was much kinder & gentler. It was very similar to the ultrasound I received when I was pregnant with my Son, with one big difference: Lumpty Dumpty didn’t have an independent heartbeat. It was determined upon the ultrasound imaging that I had a considerable mass in my right breast, and a mass on an axillary lymph node on the same side. I was immediately scheduled for biopsies for the following week. Before I was dismissed from the ultrasound room, I was given a run-down of what to expect for the biopsies, and the nurses tone turned serious. In spite of my best efforts, I started to get nervous. Could this actually be a thing? Shit! I wanted to just get these biopsies over with, get answers now…but, I had to wait an entire week.

The appointment with my gynecologist went off without a hitch. She examined my breasts and immediately detected an abnormality on my right side. Lumpty Dumpty was affirmed. She noted that I did not present any other tell-tale signs of cancer: no skin puckering, no discoloration, not nipple discharge. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t much of a concern. But, due to my family history, she decided it was worth a closer look. So, she put in an order for a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound. I was no stranger to mammograms, having received them annually for the past few years. But, she informed me that this one would be a bit different being of a diagnostic nature. She explained that I was in a good position for effective diagnostics because of my previous mammograms: they had a baseline to make comparisons. I left the gyno’s office feeling fairly confidant that my lump was nothing to stress over, that it was likely nothing more than a cyst. After all, I’m only 46 years old, and aside from the lump, by breasts appear to be perfectly healthy. I went directly to the Scheduling desk only to find that it would be a good 6 weeks before they could squeeze me in for that mammogram (pun intended).

My journey begins a few months ago, when I first noticed an abnormality in my right breast: upper right quadrant, just above the nipple. A painless, innocuous swelling. I assumed I had injured myself, perhaps I had inadvertently bumped into the handlebar grip of my motorcycle while gearing up for my work commute? The size and location of the swelling seemed constant with such a scenario. I thought nothing of it and carried on with my day, quickly forgetting all about it.

Approximately a month later, as I was getting ready for work I felt a throbbing in the exact same area. I reached for my breast and there it was: that same swelling I had noticed a month before, only this time there was pain. A feeling of dread came over me: my mother’s curse has followed me. My own Mom succumbed to breast cancer 11 years earlier. She was 56 years old when she died. It was a heartbreaking ordeal. I don’t know what stage it was when her cancer was diagnosed, but it had quickly spread to her bones and her brain. She was dead within 2 years. The cancer essentially ate away her brain, to the point that she was unable to form coherent words, or control her own bodily functions. It was a prolonged, undignified, painful death. I don’t fear much of anything, I have no phobias to speak of. I can ride my motorcycle 100 miles per hour and be cool as a cucumber. BUT, if there is anything I do fear, it’s going out the way my Mom did. I would rather shoot myself in the head than die like that. My mind cranked on this thought for a few minutes, until switching gears. I sorted through other possibilities, one of which being Crohn’s Disease. I was diagnosed with Crohn’s 6 years prior. It’s an inflammatory autoimmune disease that primarily affects the digestive tract, but also manifests itself elsewhere. Inflammation can also affect the skin, eyes, joints, heart, and lungs…all of which I have experienced. One week my eyes will be affected, the next week it’s my lungs (pleurisy), the week after that it’s my lady-parts…and so on & so forth. One time inflammation settled in my heart, causing a bout of pericarditis. I spent about a week in the cardiac ward at St Mary’s in Rochester for that one. Inflammation travels around my body like a death metal band on world tour. Now, knowing how inflammation circulates throughout my body, I decided that this throbbing lump in my breast was more than likely inflammation due to Crohn’s. I resolved to keep an eye on it, and if it didn’t go away in a timely manner, I would get it checked out. It only took a few hours for the throbbing to disappear, and I quickly forgot all about it.

Another month went by before I remembered my lumpy friend. I had just stepped out of the shower, wrapping my towel around my body. As I tucked the corner of the towel under my right arm, my hand grazed along my breast and I felt it again: that same lump. It was no longer throbbing, it was completely pain-free…but the size and firmness was more noticeable than before. I looked at myself in the mirror, and nothing looked out of the ordinary. My breasts were symmetrical, no skin changes, no discoloration. I thought to myself: this is probably nothing more than a cyst, but damn…I need to get this checked out. That very morning I set up an appointment with my gynecologist for the following week.