False alarm!

Needless to say, I didn't sleep much last night.  That's because this morning I had my diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound.  I got there early because I was so nervous, which didn't help the fact that they were running behind schedule.  Finally they called me back, fifteen minutes past my appointment time.  It must have been National Mammogram Day, because the little waiting area where they keep all the topless women in pink robes was jam packed.  I hate when that happens, because they all stare at me like I'm a freak.  I mean, the room is full of older women with gray hair, gaudy jewelry and wrinkles, and here I am, in my twenties, and looking about 5-7 years younger than I actually am (or so I'm frequently told by strangers).  I know they're all feeling sorry for me because they have to think I'm getting checked for cancer.

Anyway, enough scene-setting.  So they finally took me in for the mammogram, and they had to do some weird angles that they don't usually do.  Also, I learned that the compression plate thingy can come off and be replaced by other ones of all shapes and sizes.  The one I got had an additional plate on it, like a big bump, the size of one of my kids' cereal bowls.  So you can imagine how much fun that was.  Nothing like having your boob squished between a flat plastic panel and another plastic panel the size of a cereal bowl.  It left a weird roundish indent on my skin.

Then began The Waiting: Part One.  I had to go back into that room with the older women, some of whom now stared because instead of gathering my things from a locker, I sat back down, which confirmed for them that I was in fact there for several tests to rule out cancer.  Eventually I was alone, as all of them came and went from their mammograms.  Finally, the radiologist came in and said that I could get dressed and there was no need to do the ultrasound, because everything was fine.  Hooray!

Of course, the minute I change into my shirt, she's back outside of my dressing room.  She decided that she would like to do the ultrasound afterall, after seeing in my file that I'm BRCA1+.  Ah, more stress.

So she took me back and had a tech do an ultrasound.  Between two pregnancies full of complications, I've had about a billion ultrasounds so these I can handle quite well.  I actually almost fell asleep on the bed because I was so tired.  After taking some pictures, the tech got up and said, "Wait here, I want to have the radiologist look too."  Of course this leads me to freak out, because when they do that on a pregnancy ultrasound it's never been a good thing.  Commence The Waiting: Part Two.

After about ten minutes of laying on a flat pillow with my arm raised above my head and that sticky gel running down my chest and into my armpit, the radiologist finally came back.  She scanned things too and said it was all fine, and there hadn't been anything wrong, she just liked to be 10000% sure.  So I guess I should feel good that at least they're thorough.  It's a nice change for someone in the medical field, other than my breast doctor, to be concerned about my BRCA status.

I also remembered to ask about my last mammogram, the one that set all of this in motion.  She told me that there had been a small spot on there, but that its gone now and she can't find any traces of it, so it most likely was due to not having enough compression in that first mammogram.  I'm grateful to know there was never anything wrong with me.

I'm also especially grateful that I don't have to have a biopsy.