16 millimeters
This gets pretty personal, so wander on if you're looking for light-hearted jesting.
Last year I had my first mammogram, like a good girl. I was all worked up because I had felt a lump in my breast. When there's actually something known to be there, they do an ultrasound after the mammogram, to get acquainted. And on the ultrasound, this lump turned out to be an 8 millimeter, smooth, liquid-filled space that could not be more benign. Or cute. It looked like a smile:
So this year I went back for another mammogram, like a good girl, to see how the smile is doing. Hmm. Above the still-cute smile, on the ultrasound, there's a bit of a Death Star, jagged, non-homogenous:
You know, this follow-up mammogram was on my list of things to do before moving to Florida, such as going to the dentist and getting my car's air conditioning flushed. I pimped the radiologists like a typical premed: "how did you know you wanted to do radiology? what other rotations do you have this year?" and letting them ooh and ahh over my starting-med-school-over-40 deal. Because I love being popular, and it is MUCH harder over 40.
A very nice third-year resident did my ultrasound, and sort of cocked her head to the side when she saw the death star, which at this point I don't know is a death star, I'm just thinking "wow I'll know what I'm looking at in another year or so." She goes out to get the nice attending radiologist, who runs the scanner around for about 10 seconds, and then makes very direct eye contact with me. Takes my hand. Didn't even have a chance to pimp her and she's telling me to make an appointment with the cancer care coordinator.
Other than mentioning that it HURT LIKE FUCK, I won't go into the biopsy experience. Results are expected tomorrow around noon.
My life is bifurcated now into what phone calls I have to make on Friday afternoon if I do have cancer, and those that I have to make if I don't. You know, Friday, tomorrow, 7 days before I might still move to Florida?
Last year I had my first mammogram, like a good girl. I was all worked up because I had felt a lump in my breast. When there's actually something known to be there, they do an ultrasound after the mammogram, to get acquainted. And on the ultrasound, this lump turned out to be an 8 millimeter, smooth, liquid-filled space that could not be more benign. Or cute. It looked like a smile:
So this year I went back for another mammogram, like a good girl, to see how the smile is doing. Hmm. Above the still-cute smile, on the ultrasound, there's a bit of a Death Star, jagged, non-homogenous:
You know, this follow-up mammogram was on my list of things to do before moving to Florida, such as going to the dentist and getting my car's air conditioning flushed. I pimped the radiologists like a typical premed: "how did you know you wanted to do radiology? what other rotations do you have this year?" and letting them ooh and ahh over my starting-med-school-over-40 deal. Because I love being popular, and it is MUCH harder over 40.
A very nice third-year resident did my ultrasound, and sort of cocked her head to the side when she saw the death star, which at this point I don't know is a death star, I'm just thinking "wow I'll know what I'm looking at in another year or so." She goes out to get the nice attending radiologist, who runs the scanner around for about 10 seconds, and then makes very direct eye contact with me. Takes my hand. Didn't even have a chance to pimp her and she's telling me to make an appointment with the cancer care coordinator.
Other than mentioning that it HURT LIKE FUCK, I won't go into the biopsy experience. Results are expected tomorrow around noon.
My life is bifurcated now into what phone calls I have to make on Friday afternoon if I do have cancer, and those that I have to make if I don't. You know, Friday, tomorrow, 7 days before I might still move to Florida?
posted by Cy at 3:28 PM
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