Twist and shout
I was up bright and early to head to the city this morning. Since it took two hours to get into San Francisco last Saturday, Kathy and I made sure to get out the door by 6 am. We needed the time, too. I tell you, I couldn't do that commute everyday.
My mammogram was at the UCSF Diagnostic Imaging Center, across the hall from the Breast Care Center. After I filled out a legal-sized questionnaire, a technician took me in back. There's waiting area with chair, lockers at one end and several changing rooms off to one side. The tech explained that I change into a gown, put my clothes and things in a locker, then wait in a chair until I'm called.Then they'll take me back for the mammogram and afterwards have me wait again in the changing room area, while they check the films. Simple enough.
There were five or six women waiting, reading magazines, furiously finishing off their questionnaire, or staring anxiously at the wall. It was very quiet. Soon enough, the tech called me in back.
Now, this wasn't my first mammogram; I had one 11 years ago when I found the last lump. Somehow, though, this one seemed more aggressive, with a lot more contorting. It also took a while because the tech had to use more plates seein' as how I'm…a-hem…bountiful. Yeah, sometimes I'd prefer not to be full-figured.
I waited while they developed the films, then they asked me to come back for more magnifications on my other (presumably non-cancerous) breast. I tend not to worry about that kind of thing because, for all I know, they just had me positioned in a way that didn't give them full view.
After that, they summoned a radiologist who needed to do an ultrasound on me. (Uh, the way I wrote that sounded a little Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Hmmm.) The ultrasound was done in another room, a dark room with subtle glowing lights. The radiologist, about the same age as me, was very funny. I think all of these doctors are used to dealing with very somber patients. I'd rather we all had a good time, or as good as we can have. It was tricky for her to find the tumor (actually it's tricky for anyone but me to find it) so when she did, she took some measurements and made notes about the location.
From what we can see on the ultrasound, the tumor is 1.3 x 1.1 x 1.0 centimeters. Ultrasounds aren't always accurate, so that's a more-or-less measurement. But it does suggest something to me about the stage. If my lymph nodes turn out to be clear of any cancer cells, this would mean that I have stage I cancer (on a scale of I to IV) which is pretty good. Cancer stage is calculated by taking into account the size of the tumor and whether or not the tumor has spread beyond the primary site. (At www.breastcancer.org, you can find a complete description of breast cancer staging, if you're curious.)
Seeing the ultrasound was interesting because previously I've only seen an ultrasound for that fibroedenoma I had. A fibroedenoma often looks egg-shaped, like a brand new ovoid of Silly Putty. Cancer usually looks more irregular. This tumor had little parts reaching out, kind of like the shape of a person in a garbage bag reaching out, clumsily trying to infiltrate more area. It's all very curious, looking at cancer that is inside you.
After the ultrasound, we headed back home to fill out some paperwork. In a Margie-and-Norm inspired bit of timing, Kathy's employer just changed her medical insurance plan and extended coverage to domestic partners. Open enrollment, lucky me, is this week. As a self-employed person, the only medical insurance available to me was pretty much bottom of the barrel. They've been removing benefits and jacking up the costs ever since I signed up five years ago. At this point, I am slated to pay for 40% of my treatment, along with surcharges like $400 per surgery. Kathy's insurance offers much better coverage. Being added to her plan is likely to save us thousands this year, easily. Which just goes to show, even when things seem to really be going wrong, good things do happen!
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