Well shit, I have cancer.

Yep.

I found out over a month ago now. But, shit’s getting real now.

I had my routine, annual mammogram on November 20, the day before we were scheduled to fly to Florida for my daughter’s softball tournament, followed by family vacation in Ft. Myers. I was worried I’d be rushing around to wrap things up at work before being on vacation for a week and get everyone packed for our trip (because of course, that’s what moms do) and thought multiple times about rescheduling my appointment.

At last year’s mammogram, and by the way – get annual mammograms – I can’t stress this enough, it was determined that I should schedule an ultrasound along with the standard mammogram, due to dense breast tissue and family history. My maternal grandma had breast cancer when I was really little. We’re talking 1980s. I knew at my first mammogram, two years ago, that I had dense breast tissue, but I didn’t really know what that meant or why it mattered.

My imaging place is quite pleasant, considering. Everyone is always super nice and soft spoken. I remind myself that they speak to you this way because they know everyone is super nervous and uncomfortable for what they’re there for. A nurse took me back, where I headed to the restroom to wash off my deodorant, lotion and parfume, a standard practice, before going to my private wait room. My little curtained sitting area was cutely named “The Galapagos”, with framed photos of the dream destination hung up in a space the size of a coat closet.

When it was my turn for the mammogram, I answered the routine screening questions.

No lumps. No pain. No dimples. No oozing. No discoloration. All good.

After my annual boob squeeze was over, I went back to my little room to await part two, the ultrasound. A different imaging technician escorted me to the ultrasound area, we navigated through a group of five or six older women, friends, who came to get mammograms together. At first I thought that was weird, but to each their own. At least these ladies seemed to be having a fun time together. I thought, maybe they lunched together before this, or plan to go for drinks after. You know, make a day of it. Boobs & booze!

The ultrasound was not what I expected. I’ve had plenty of them, having had three kids, but this was different. As I lay on a table, with a bit of warm lotion on my chest, a flat panel went on my chest and was positioned at different angles while applying pressure. It was uncomfortable, as any mammogram is, but no handheld device. No clear jelly stuff. Apparently that machine is more targeted for diagnostics.

I was a little surprised to have the first imaging technician come back to greet me again. She said the doctor wanted more clear images in my right breast, that it happens often for women with dense breast tissue. So I stepped up to the machine for additional squishing, and back to “Galapagos” to wait again.

The tech and I made our way back to “the Galapagos”, walking through the ladies friend group, where I returned to sit and wait in my exam poncho, for the doctor to review my images.

After some time, the ultrasound tech was back. Same breast, more images. But this time, we’d go to a different ultrasound room. And there I was greeted by the ultrasound machine I was familiar with. A bit of slight concern dipped in my heart, but I traded it in for the hope of clarity in the images so that I could get back home and wrap up some work items.

I felt the old friend of the warm jelly on my right breast, as I lay on the table with a wedge in my back and my right arm resting above my head. The tech was a great conversationalist, though I can’t even recall what we talked about. She was kind and calm. She reassured me that the doctor needed clearer images on a specific spot due to the dense tissue. When she was done, the tech told me I could finally put my shirt and bra back on, then stepped out to let the doctor know we were finished.

That’s when I looked.

I glanced at the ultrasound screen, unsure of what I even expected to see. And there it was. A black dot. A lump. It was obvious that it wasn’t supposed to be there.

It seems like an hour went by in that room. I finally realized what all this back and forth meant. It’s not good news. This isn’t a regular, routine mammogram anymore. I texted my husband, Zach.

“I’m kinda freaked out.“

“How long have you been there?”

“1 hr 45”

The tech popped back in to apologize and let me know the doctor was behind because of a group of ladies that came in together, so reviewing their images at once would take a moment. The friend group.

The doctor came in, apologetic. Explaining about the group of ladies, who come in together every year for their mammograms.

“You have a concerning lesion.”

“Yeah, I assumed so. I see it on the screen.”

She explained that the machine image looks bigger than it is. In reality, the lump is only 7mm. Less than a centimeter, which is good. It was caught early. We talked about next steps. A biopsy would be needed to confirm it, but she was certain, based on experience of seeing it, that this is cancer.

This was the moment I realized why that group of ladies comes together for their mammograms every year. Nothing quite prepares you for the day you find out you have cancer, at a routine mammogram, when you have experienced zero symptoms.

I didn’t drive to the appointment imagining that this was a diagnostic appointment. I went alone. But that also meant I have to hear this news alone. And now I have to drive home alone. In that moment I wished I was in the friend group with those older ladies. Then I wouldn’t be alone.

The doctor left the room and I continued to sit, hanging over the side of the bed, shocked. The ultrasound tech recognized, as I’m sure she’s seen it many times before. She asked if I needed a hug. If you know me, I work hard to keep a tough exterior. I hate showing emotions. But I said “yes”.

And I cried in a stranger’s arms.