In late December, I had my annual mammogram. No big deal, just one of those things that being a woman in her 40s needs to do. Except this time I got a call back a few days later – they wanted me to come back in for additional pictures. I tried not to freak out, and went back in for the follow-up mammogram and ultrasound.

When the radiologist started telling me about her thoughts on the ultrasound, I told her to just be straightforward because I deal better with facts. She said she was concerned that it looked like cancer.

Well. I said I wanted straightforward.

Actually I appreciate her being straight up and not tap dancing around it. The question was then “Okay, now what?” Next step was a needle biopsy to get a sample and see what I was dealing with. The mass was 7mm – the size of a pencil eraser – so at least it was found early. The biopsy was not exactly a fun experience, but I went in, got it done, and tried not to panic for the next several days.

The news came back – no sign of malignancy, just fibrocystic changes. Hallelujah! Except then the radiologist suggested a surgical consult anyway. Since the mass was so small, there was concern that either she didn’t get a sample with the needle, or the pathologist didn’t see the cells when they did the specimen analysis. After talking with my doctor, we decided to do a surgical excision anyway. Better to take it out and get a definitive analysis than to play “what if”.

I’d never had surgery before – like, full-on “intubated and under anesthesia” surgery. I can’t say I recommend it. Everyone at the hospital was wonderful and I felt about as at ease as possible, but coming out of anesthesia sucks. I don’t like feeling that discombobulated and out of control, and the gaps in time as the drugs cleared out of my system were really disconcerting.

One piece of humor in the process, though. I had to get a hookwire placed in my breast to mark the area for removal (another not exactly fun experience). When my surgeon came in to talk to me before the procedure, she did the standard “In your own words, tell me what you’re having done and where we’re operating” dialogue to make sure we were all on the same page. When she went to mark the left side of my chest as the side she was operating on, I pointed out “It’s the one with the wire sticking out of it.”

So at least there was some humor to be had.

Now there’s yet another waiting game until next Tuesday while they do pathology on the tissue, and then I find out where I go from here.