#mammogram

Ma'am-o-gram, get it? eh? eh?

I'll, uh... I'll let myself out.

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I had a scare at the beginning of December. It was one of those moments where time does that horrible stretching thing, where days slow down and your brain quietly starts rehearsing worst-case futures you never asked to imagine. Suddenly every plan feels provisional. Every later feels fragile.

I didn’t tell many people. Not because I didn’t need support, but because saying it out loud made it feel drastically, terrifyingly more real. Because once the words exist, they can’t be put back. So I kept the circle very small.

For nearly a month, I lived in that strange, suspended limbo where you don’t know if you do or do not have cancer. Where every phone notification makes your stomach drop. Where your mind keeps circling the same question, over and over, with no answer yet. And when cancer is something that already lives in your history, when it’s something that took your mother when she was younger than you are now, that limbo hits differently. It brings ghosts with it.

I got my lymph node and breast tissue core biopsy results back on December 31.

Entering 2026 cancer-free, and thank fuck.

The relief wasn’t quiet or graceful. It was immediate and physical. I sobbed, my partner sobbed. The kind of full-body, shaking, cathartic crying that feels like your nervous system finally unclenching after weeks of holding its breath. It wasn’t just relief; it was grief releasing its grip, fear finally allowed to drain out, all at once. I didn’t realize how tightly I’d been wound until I was suddenly allowed to fall apart.

That moment, that release is something I won’t forget.

I also want to talk about the biopsy part, because I had no reference for what that would be like and it scared the absolute hell out of me. The unknown usually always does with me.

If you ever find yourself there: the lidocaine is genuinely the worst part. That sting/burn is uncomfortable, and it hurt, especially in my armpit, not gonna sugarcoat it, but it’s brief. After that, it was mostly pressure and weird sensations, not pain. Strange, yes. Scary because of what it means, yes. But physically? Manageable. The staff talked me through everything, step by step, and that helped more than I expected.

I wish someone had told me that beforehand.

And something else I didn’t fully realize until I was in it: having the right care team matters. A lot.

Mine held my hand without asking. Brought me a blanket when I started shivering. Cracked jokes to break the tension. Told me I was brave, but not in a patronizing way, in a you’re doing something hard and we see you way. That kindness mattered. That humanity mattered. It made one of the potentially scariest moments of my life feel less lonely and less overwhelming.

You deserve that kind of care. You deserve providers with good bedside manner, patience, warmth, and compassion, especially when you’re scared and vulnerable and trying to keep it together.

I know medical stuff is scary. I know appointments get postponed because life is busy or anxiety is loud or you don’t want to borrow trouble from a future that might never happen. I get it. Truly. I know medical debt is real and affording screenings and medical appointments is often the biggest barrier.

But early detection matters. It gives you options. It gives you time. Sometimes, like in my case, it gives you peace of mind instead of a nightmare. And it helps set baselines for future care.

I have three little markers, smaller than a grain of rice, in my left breast and lymph node now, to track growth (if any) for the rest of my life. I have a team dedicated to making sure that any cancer is detected at stage zero for my best chances. Which means everything. More than I really have enough words for (although this is a lot already). But it matters, I'm a high-risk patient. I have a 41% lifetime risk of getting breast cancer, so anything and everything we can do to keep that down, to stay on top of my mammograms and ultrasounds is critical.

So please, if you’re able: get checked. Encourage your friends to get checked. Be annoying about it if you have to.

You want a colonoscopy at 27? That's much too young! Wait until you're 45! Oh the patient died at 31 because we denied them access to preventative care? Well how were we supposed to know the patient was going to have colon cancer! Such an anomaly! Much too young for us to have known!

I've been repeating "I can do hard things" on repeat this morning.

It's mammogram time. It's been a frustrating couple of days. I got an automated call and text about it including a reminder to bring the written work order from my provider. I had my paperwork from my doctor's visit handy and did not locate an order. I also looked at my email and in the patient portal. No order. So, I called the breast imaging center and asked if they had gotten a fax order. Nope. They let me know that if I don't have an order that's either faxed or in my hand when I come in, they won't be able to do the procedure.

So yesterday afternoon, I left a message with my doctor's office asking about the order. This morning, I couldn't get through to them so I called the breast imaging center back. I got a very helpful person who let me know that they had actually called my doctor's office a couple of times already this morning because they didn't have an order. Great. After a couple of calls of not being able to get a hold of anyone and my doctor's office, I called the imaging center back. I got a different person that let me know that they still haven't received the order and that they can try to call to see if they can get somebody on the line. They were successful and were able to get a verbal okay with the assurance that the order was going to be faxed as well.

I had asked the first very helpful person how they were able to schedule me without the order. Apparently providers can call in with what they want a patient scheduled for but are not required to have the order at that time. But, an actual order is needed in order to get any type of scan.

Healthcare is so different in every state I've lived in. Ugh.

Today I've just been low-key stressed. I don't know how much is driving anxiety vs needing a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound because I have cyst symptoms again.