Call me "fibroglandular"

I got my mammogram results back! I am OK. My breasts are fibroglandular, which is not uncommon, and anything that appears suspicious hasn't changed over the past two years.* Yes, there is something going on with my lymph nodes, but since it's consistent on both sides, I don't have to worry any more about cancer.

I will follow up with my doctor. Because just because we know what it's not doesn't mean we know what it is.

But I don't have to do it now. This week I have two medical appointments scheduled -- suspicious mole and a dental followup -- and that's enough for now.

For now, I'll just be grateful that I'm OK. And I am. Very, very grateful.

*Which is why I'm so fortunate I was able to get into this hospital, where I've been having my mammograms done for decades. The doctor was able to compare 2020 to 2019 and 2018 immediately because the files were at her fingertips.

She was kind

Today I had my long-awaited mammogram.  I told the tech about soreness between my armpit and shoulder, and asked her to please, please make sure she got clear pictures of that area.

It took me a long time to get an appointment at this hospital -- since it's the local hub for corona virus treatment, they quit doing mammograms for a while in March and recently resumed -- but I wanted to come here because they have, literally, decades of my mammograms at their fingertips. It paid off today in peace of mind.

The technician knew how frightened I was and told me that, as near as she could tell, there was nothing on this year's pictures that wasn't there last year.

Now she's not a doctor. A specialist in medical imaging will review my films and make a report. She was very clear in emphasizing that. But, she said, if she saw something obvious there,* we'd be talking about the humidity or all the ways the corona virus has effected hospital protocol ... anything but this.

I am over 60 and overweight. I never had a baby. My paternal grandmother had breast cancer. I drink caffeine. None of these things are good and I must be careful. I went through this in 2009, and now I'm going through it again.

But the tech did make me feel better. So now I will try to relax as I wait for the official word and, if necessary, next steps.

*And she's been doing this almost 20 years.

Zoom Zoom Zoom-a Zoom

Not really us, but it could be

We had a 4-hour Zoom meeting with my clients. A virtual workshop. At the beginning and end of the meeting, when we met as a group, there were 28 of us. For the gist of the meeting, we were in smaller groups of 7. So far, because of Covid19, I've worshipped via video conference, consulted my GP via video conference, critiqued movies via video conference, met with my therapist via video conference, and now brainstormed with clients via video conference. It's not optimal, but it's safe and worked better than I thought it would.

I argued to be included in this client meeting. Originally it was just supposed to be strategy and account, but thanks to my whining and the new Mr. Big's considerable muscle, representatives from the creative team were included, too. Then I started to worry. Would I do a good job? Do I have enough to contribute? Would my cat Reynaldo moon the participants?

I think I did a good job. I know I contributed. Reynaldo came up on my lap for a head rub or two, but otherwise kept a low profile.

However, the police came. Yes, I had to leave my video conference because there was a cop at my door. It amused my fellow conferees to know that officer wanted me to move my white Mercedes or it would be towed. Because I didn't mute my mic, they heard me tell the cop, "I wish I had a white Mercedes!"

So it was all fine. I'd been worried for nothing. It occurs to me that I worry all the time for nothing.

Tomorrow is my long-awaited mammogram. Let's hope it turns out that in regards to that, I've been worrying for nothing, too.

A lot of conversation

This year I spent July 4th at home blabbing, and I'm good with that. Reinforcing the connections was satisfying and, at times, surprising.

•  My session with my shrink. This was my regularly scheduled Saturday tele-session. I was surprised that she was open to having it on the holiday. After all, I know she has a young daughter and, for the many people who enjoy 90º temperatures,* the weather was nice. But with no parades scheduled, her Saturday was business as usual. And so we connected. It was an interesting session.

I reiterated my ongoing concern about my left breast. My eternally fibrocystic left breast. Whenever I feel that slight muscle ache, I get scared. And I must wait weeks for my mammogram, and then days after that for the results.

Instead of "why me?" I think "why not me?" when it comes to cancer. After all, Ed and Barb and Kathleen have all dealt with it in the last decade. Barb's husband died of it. Maybe it's just my turn. Then there's the new mole near my left eye. It's black, while just about every other mole on my body is brown. I'm going to call the dermatologist next week.

Am I overreacting?

She said that I'm taking care of myself. That I'm being responsible with my health. That's it's natural to worry, and that I should stop Googleing my symptoms.

When we came to the top of the hour, she said something that surprised me: Do I want to continue? Not with this session, with therapy in general. She thinks I've accomplished a great deal, and wonders what else I hope to get out of our therapeutic relationship.

I wasn't expecting this. It's only been four months. I still feel like a hot mess.

But I did like that she broached this. There's a myth out there that shrinks try to "hook" their patients, make us dependent to make more money off of us. Clearly, that's not the case with this doctor.

Then I celebrated the 4th by eating a steak and watching Abe Lincoln in Illinois. Then ...

•  My oldest friend called. She lives with her cousin in the California mountains, and was trapped in her room. Her cousin's in-laws had come over, en masse, for barbecue. While they proudly put on MAGA hats, they won't wear masks or social distance. They feel masks signal disdain for their President. Never mind that California is suffering an alarming uptick in corona virus cases and that my oldest friend has heart disease and diabetes and is currently battling a tenacious bladder infection that's resulted in an elevated white blood count. These in-laws know about her conditions. They just believe in Donald Trump more than science (or good manners).

My friend didn't want to put her cousin in the position of choosing between blood family and in-laws,† so she announced she had to call me -- her friend since Kindergarten! -- because I suddenly needed to talk. It was a lie on the surface, I hadn't reached out to her at all. But it was wonderful to catch up.

Must of what we talked about was silly: bad TV shows we both revel in, Joe Namath's Medicare commercials, and Beatle trivia, Some of it was comforting: we compared notes on our medical maladies and she reiterated that she didn't think I had breast cancer. ("I would know," she said, referring to how close we've always been.) We compared notes on family. We've always been able to make one another laugh, so it was a happy, healing way to spend our time.

I had a margarita and was about to watch Hamilton. Then ...

•  I exchanged texts with John. The Birthday Boy had been a little melancholy about turning 65 during a pandemic. Usually he has several celebrations, with his vast circle of friends, often at Chicago's fairs and festivals. But this year, there were no events and many of his circle were afraid to go out.

Well, Friday night (his actual birthday), the bar he frequents celebrated him. They tied balloons to an isolated table for two, labeling it "John's Corona Corner." When he arrived -- as they knew he inevitably would -- they played Diana Ross at full blast and presented him with a sheet cake adorned by a photo of Miss Ross herself.

He was so proud! I'm glad he was able to spend his July 4th with good memories of July 3rd.

I fell asleep happy last night.

*I am not among you.

†Her cousin's husband, the man related to these cretins, is suffering from dementia and has no opinions on the pandemic, Donald Trump or the 4th of July.

Not unexpected

My remaining blood test results have arrived. They're not great, but they're not dire.

My cholesterol is under control. Of course it is. I take medication every morning.

I'm pre-diabetic. That's not a surprise, either. I first learned that in October. I was going to move more and eat better, but that was before the corona virus changed all our lives. I've been hideously sedentary since mid-March.

Disrupted sleep can have an impact on both my cholesterol and blood sugar. I have a sleep study scheduled for late July. I look forward to hearing the results and getting on this.

Most of all, I'm looking forward to the mammogram in late July. I won't really be able to relax until I hear that result.

Cherries in the Snow

New pedi today! I tried a different color: Revlon #270, Cherries in the Snow. It's deeper and more vibrant than the pink I've previously worn. Reynaldo did not accompany me to the salon, preferring to wear his nails natural this summer.

It's nice to return cautiously to normal. I had to phone the salon from outside when I arrived, because they want to ensure they never have more people inside than can safely social distance. There were no magazines in the waiting area, and the days of being offered water or a soft drink while I wait are over for now. The receptionist took my temperature before I went back to the nail station. Both Jenna, my favorite tech, and I wore masks throughout the entire procedure.

I get such a kick out of Jenna. She and I are very different -- I'm an old white spinster and she's a young black mom. But we have much in common. She wears a Lucy "Vitameatavegimin" pin on her smock. She's a sports fan.* She loves reading about the Royals, too. I was happy to see her and enjoyed the time I spent in her chair.

After my pedi, I had my telesession with my therapist. I confessed to her that I'm scared about my health. I'm tired all the time, and I'm experiencing intermediate soreness near (but not in) my left armpit. Being me, I researched my symptoms online and have convinced myself that I have breast cancer, or lymphoma, or lupus.

I have a mammogram scheduled for late July. It was the first appointment I could get at my preferred location. I like going to that mammography center because they have, literally, decades of my films to inform their analysis. But they're in the area hospital that has the most ventilators, so because of Covid19 they suspended mammograms until just recently. And so I wait, certain that I'll soon be told I'll die alone. Because that's how my mind spins when I'm scared.

My therapist reminded me that the fatigue has been a problem for a long, long time and that I have a sleep study scheduled (ironically for the night before the mammogram). It's more likely that the tiredness is a result of sleep apnea, nothing more serious.

And if my soreness is a result of swollen lymph nodes, it could be caused by my body trying to fight off an infection. After all, I don't have a lump.

She also reminded me that my doctor gave me a script for bloodwork, I'm getting the mammogram, I'm doing the sleep study. I'm taking care of myself. I'm being smart. I should just calm down.

I'll try, Doc, I'll try.

*But not a Michael Jordan fan. We talked a lot about ESPN's The Last Dance.

Me = Fine

I called my doctor's office first thing this morning. The receptionist promised me, rather aloofly, I felt, that I'd hear from her before 3:00. "Tell her I'll be sitting by the phone," I said. "She'll call you back between patients," was the reply. "Thanks," said I, waiting until after I'd hung up to add, "Bitch."

My doctor called me back within 10 minutes. "Oh, Gal, I'm so sorry!" she said, and at first I thought she was telling me my mammogram revealed something severe and dire.

It wasn't that, at all. "You're fine, you're just fine," was her next sentence. "When I saw you were my first call this morning, I checked your file and I think I know what happened."

She explained that her nurse yesterday was not her regular nurse. Elena didn't check to see that I gave my consent for voice mail messages to be left at my home number. My doctor apologized profusely for scaring me over nothing.

I was so relieved, I wasn't even angry. And really, when you think about it, Elena the Nurse was really just trying to respect my privacy. It was an honest and well-intentioned mistake. One that scared the living shit out of me and cost me a night's sleep, but a mistake nevertheless.

I am so grateful, I forgive everyone everything ... except Yoko Ono. I'm still pissed at Yoko.

I worked from home

I slept about 15 minutes Monday night. I was too scared about my mammogram to relax and surrender to sleep. As I was preparing for work Tuesday, the thought of going in with this hanging over me ... and dealing with my coworker's continual hand-wringing about her father and my boss' agita about his son ... and it just didn't seem fair or right. So I left a voicemail, explaining that I had to coordinate some tests and didn't feel like doing it out in the open so I'd be working from home.

I did. I checked my office email off and on all day. I got a new assignment, agreed to a Thursday afternoon presentation, and wrote the manuscript. I also took a long nap and went to Walgreen's, where I used my AARP discount and saved 20%.

I have to go in tomorrow. I just do, because it's my job and it's a job I want to keep. But I get so weighed down by my coworker's non-stop obsession with her father's new relationship -- which is, I admit, wildly inappropriate so soon after her mother's death. And I get so weighed down by my boss' dramatic relationship with his adult son -- which is, I admit, important and sad and perhaps unsolvable. I am not diminishing their pain.

Their pain is inescapable in the open seating atmosphere. It weighs on me. It's not fair, and today I needed to concentrate on me.

I Miss My Mommy

I'm having a hard, sleepless night. When I got home from work tonight, I saw I had a message. From my doctor's office. Her nurse wanted to discuss my Saturday morning mammogram with me.

I haven't ever received a call like this. Previously, in 2009, I received a letter recommending additional screening because of "abnormalities," and that completely freaked me out. Turned out then I had "microcalcifications," which are nothing to worry about. But in 2009, I was still in my 50s. I'm now 60. As we age, we are at a higher risk of breast cancer.

I called my oldest friend. Not only because she's my oldest friend, but because she spent more than two decades working with doctors and knows about this stuff. She never picked up. She never called back. I know she's dealing with her own formidable issues, but I also know she looks at her phone because she always wants her kids to be able to reach her. So she looked at it, saw it was me, and decided to screen me out. That hurts.

Then I called my friend Henry. He did text me, hours later, to see if I was OK. He had been in the theater and had turned his phone off. I just wanted him to comfort me a little, to distract me. There was no reason to call him back that late.

That's why I miss my mom. She always picked up and she loved to talk on the phone. She would have talked me through this.

Oh well, tomorrow morning I call the doctor's office, and we'll see what happens from there. Pray for me.

I have to admit it's getting better

I've been getting my mammogram at the same hospital for more than a decade. I like the consistency of having the same facility take, warehouse and analyze my films. This location is a neighborhood satellite of one of Chicago's most established hospitals. One of the benefits of living  in a world-class city is world-class hospitals.

Last year, the service, specifically the woman in admissions for the mammography department, was off-the-chart rude. It left me even more tense and uncomfortable for my cancer screening, a situation that's inherently nerve wracking. I was not looking forward to returning this year. I realize that the skill of the technician and quality of the radiologist who reviews this year's mammograms and compares it to last year's are way more important than the attitude of the woman behind the counter, so it would be childish to change facilities.

I'm happy to report that the staff has changed and yesterday I experienced nothing by professionalism. I left a love note in the comments box.

Now all I have to do is wait for the results. I have no reason to expect bad news, but, as Tom Petty used to say, "The waiting is the hardest part."

The World Has Lost Its Manners

I know I'm overreacting, but this is how I feel about a Saturday that went like this:

 •  I'm in the crosswalk when "Don't Walk" begins to flash. A couple is eager to glide into a right turn but damn, there's my human body in their way. So they actually have to slow down. And the woman rolls down her window -- it was 28º -- to yell at me, "Don't walk when it says 'Don't Walk!'" Really? The light's still green but I'm supposed to turn around and run back to the curb? And that's worth shouting at a complete stranger?

•  The front desk woman at the hospital scolded me. Had my annual mammogram yesterday. Naturally I was nervous. Who isn't at least a little uncomfortable when preparing for a cancer screen. I arrived early so I could fill out the paperwork. The woman at the desk looked at me like I was in-fucking-sane. "When I made the appointment, I was told to come in early," I explained. Her response was a clipboard of forms, telling me the top one was mine to keep. She was getting her purse when I approached the desk and asked if her she didn't need me to witness me signing it where is said "witnessed by."

"I'll sign it later," she said, heading for the door. "When you're done, just leave your forms face down on the desk."

She was mad that I was early because she wanted to go to lunch!

I was completely alone in the clinic. So there was no to ask when I got to question about my mammogram. I just wrote "See doctor's order attached" and went behind her desk to get a paperclip.

Just then she returned with a Subway bag and a bad attitude. "What are you doing there? That's against the law. There's personal patient information back here!"

"I wanted a paperclip or stapler. You weren't here."

"Going back there is against the law."

I didn't mention that she wasn't all that concerned about my privacy when she told me just leave my forms "face down on the desk." I did say that I kept getting snapped at "for trying to do what you tell me to do."

I've been getting my exams done there for years and they do a good job, so I don't want to change providers because of this. However, I am toying with sending a letter to the facility. Sure she was rude, but more than that, I'm sure the lawbreaker was the hospital worker who left a patient alone in the office with all that personal patient information.

Ah, but at least I had movie group. My movie Meet-Up is always a communal good time, right? And last night it was, until the end. I was wearing my CUBS fleece because the theater is always a little chilly. After the discussion, when we were all filing out, a woman I really didn't know complimented my shirt.

"I'm gonna keep wearing Cub gear as long as I can to keep the party going," I said.

"You enjoy it," she said, continuing the conversation, even though her husband seemed in a hurry to leave. "You keep having fun. You deserve it after 108 years."

"Especially because you'll have to wait another 108 years," her husband sneered.

"Or eight months," I snapped. His wife shrugged, embarrassed.

Really, Mr. Man? You're impatient so you have to rip on my guys and ruin my happy MeetUp buzz?

Oh yeah, and someone was snarky about the Saturday 9 questions.  Sorry I'm not a writer of the caliber you require for your Saturday morning questions, lady. Get over yourself.

Here's why I enjoy my annual mammogram

Because I'm elated when my doctor's office calls and tells me everything is just fine. And that's just what happened today. (Thank God.)

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: Straight Up (1988)

1) In this song, Paula sings about being in a dream. Did you dream last night? Not that I recall.

2) When Paula enrolled at California State University, she planned on studying broadcasting and becoming a reporter.  Think about your career aspirations when you were 19. Did you follow through and stay on track or, like Paula, did you veer off and find success elsewhere? When I was 19 I was a secretary at a major retailer. My goal was to make enough money to both pay my rent and go away on vacation. I lucked into the opportunity to become an advertising writer.
 

3) For a while she was a "Laker Girl" and performed at L.A. Laker games. Do you have a favorite NBA team? No. Because the Cubs don't play basketball, and I only have room in my heart for one team/one sport.


4) Paula was once married to Brad Beckerman of Stillhouse Spirits, a company that specializes in whiskey. What's your favorite alcoholic beverage? Vodka. It is my friend.

5) Paula has been dancing since age 8 and, as you can see from the video, Paula moves very well in heels. Tell us about your most comfy shoes. K-Swiss athletic shoes.

6) Paula admits it was her passion for jewelry and that inspired her to design her own line for QVC and Avon. What is your favorite thing to go shopping for? Books or sunglasses. Perhaps the edge goes to sunglasses because I get to try them on, which is part of the fun of shopping.

7) She advises young girls to "keep the faith and don't lose your gut instinct." How about you? Are you more logical or instinctive? Gut

8) In May, Paula traveled to Austria for The Life Ball, a fundraiser to help those afflicted with HIV/AIDS. When is the last time you left the country? I went to Toronto about 15 years ago. I don't really have any desire to leave the US of A. There are too many places here I want to see again (Boston, New York, Williamsburg, DC, Atlanta, Memphis, Hot Springs).

9) Paula Abdul is a spokeswoman for Avon's "Go Check Yourself"

campaign for breast health awareness. October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Do you know anyone who has been touched by this disease? My favorite grandma was a breast cancer victim, my friend Kathleen is a proud breast cancer survivor. I suffered through waiting for the results of a suspicious mammogram. I love how supportive women are of one another on this subject. I know it's trite but it's true -- sisterhood is powerful!

The kindness of strangers

I had my annual mammogram last Saturday. The technician told me the results would be faxed to my doctors (my gyne and GP are in practice together now) and would be in their hands Monday.

Today is Thursday. I still haven't heard from my doctors. I started to get scared.

So just now I called over there. One of my doctors just came in today for the first time this week and hadn't had a chance to review any of his paperwork, the other one has been booked solid.

The woman I spoke to, who works for the doctors, looked up my mammogram, just to make sure that the report had been received. She could sense the nervousness in my voice and, basically, told me not to worry.

She made it clear that she's not qualified to give me the official word, that she doesn't read these reports as a living, etc., etc. But she also told me there was "nothing out of the ordinary."

It was a compassionate thing for her to do. I thanked her profusely. After all, I won't be around next week and it would be terrible to have the specter of breast cancer clouding my Christmas.

It's that time of year

Yesterday I had my annual mammogram. Usually I'm nervous about this, as breast cancer is something I believe all women fear to some degree. Only this year I wasn't scared at all.

I hope that means that next week I get good news that includes the word, "benign."

Hakuna Matata

Got the good word from the hospital yesterday. My annual mammogram showed "no abnormalities." Yea!

"No abnormalities"

So said the letter I received from the hospital after Saturday's mammogram was reviewed. No matter what else is going on in my life, I should appreciate what a big deal that is.

I must remember to stop and smell the roses!

I got mine this morning

I had my annual mammogram first thing this morning. While it's never fun to have your boobs squished between two plates, it is smart and being smart feels good.

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. If you haven't had your boobs squished between plates yet this year, make an appointment and get it done!

Trifecta

This week's challenge: Using between 3 and 333 words, write a response including the third definition of the word:
thun·der noun \ˈthən-dər\

3: bang, rumble

She used her time in the elevator to look through the day’s mail. The latest Drs. Foster and Smith catalog, a flyer and business card from an unnaturally gleeful real estate agent, and a letter from the hospital. She was confident she knew what it was – that same “all clear” form letter they send every year after her mammogram.

After reviewing the mammogram you had on 4/3/12, our radiologist requested that you return for additional studies for a complete evaluation. Most such findings are benign (not cancerous). A report of your mammography results was sent to your physician, whom you should call to discuss this matter further.

The thunder in her ears left her unable to hear the little “ding!” when the car arrived at her floor. It wasn’t until the doors opened and she looked into the friendly face of a neighbor waiting to board that she realized she was almost home.

And almost to her laptop. Her doctor wouldn’t be in until morning so there was nothing to do this evening except obsess and worry and troll the web.

WebMD: “80% of all breast lumps are benign …”

MayoClinic.com: “As many as 4 out of 5 breast lumps biopsied are noncancerous …”

The American Cancer Society: “Thanks to improvements in treatment and early detection, millions of women are surviving breast cancer …”

She awoke the next morning still on her sofa, still fully clothed, with the hospital’s website still on her laptop: “The Breast Care Center has a digital mammography unit for state-of-the-art diagnosis …”

Oh, God, it wasn’t a nightmare. This was real. While showering she noticed a bruise on her left breast where she had been poking it, trying to feel for herself this abnormality that was tormenting her.

The next ten days were among the longest in her life. But ultimately, the news was good. The next letter she received from the hospital began: We are pleased to inform you …

"We are pleased to inform you ..."

When I saw the envelope from the doctor's office, I didn't rip it open immediately because I assumed it was another bill related to my surgery. WRONG-O! It was my mammogram results, and it was good news.

I am reminded again of my blessings, and I am grateful.