A few weeks ago I decided it was time to wake up and smell the children (the roses in my garden don’t smell, but my children most certainly do). I realised that you can’t look after others when you’re not looking after yourself, so I made an appointment to see my doctor about the lump I’d discovered on one of my breasty dumplings three months earlier.
There’s nothing quite like having your boobies thoroughly groped by another woman in front of your kids to raise awkward questions when you go to the supermarket afterwards. I dread to think what my son might have told the other children at kindergarten that afternoon.
A few days later I had my first ever mammogram. Flopping the girls out for the woman doing the mammogram, even I was amazed at how much boobage she collected from under my armpits so that she could give it all a thoroughly good squishing. If you thought your blouse brothers couldn’t get any flatter after breastfeeding, think again.
Afterwards, I had to get the chesticles out again for an ultrasound. Lying there, naked from the waist up, listening to radiographers discussing whether they were seeing a nodule or not is an experience I don’t want to repeat any time soon.
On the way home my thoughts revolved around all the worst case scenarios and I despaired at the thought that I might not be around to watch my children grow up. I became the extra loving parent who just wanted to spend as much time as I could with them, and they were so happy about it that their behaviour improved dramatically. Ah, there’s nothing quite like a major health scare to make you appreciate what you’ve got. Of course their behaviour and mine has since returned to normal, but it was nice while it lasted.
When my doctor got my results, she immediately referred me to a Mammary Specialist, and I then had to wait another three weeks for my appointment. After being kept waiting for over an hour in a waiting room filled with posters and pamphlets about cancer, I experienced complete deodorant failure. Nice!
I flopped my badoinkies out for yet another stranger, who had a good feel of them and performed another ultrasound before declaring that a biopsy was in order. Funnily enough, I didn’t enjoy that procedure. And then I got to stuff the girls back into the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder and go home to wait the results.
With a long weekend in the way of getting speedy results, I’ve been a tad grumpy. This, of course, is when both my kids decided to press every single one of my buttons and I found myself saying a very naughty word to them. I hope the Committee for the Mother of the Year Awards will forgive my one (ahem) transgression in my otherwise perfect record as a Mum. Why you laugh?
Today I finally got my preliminary results – it’s just a big old cyst. Since we’re obviously stuck with each other for a while, I’m going to call her Jemima.
I know you all had no idea what I’ve been going through for the last month, but I’d like to say a big thank you to you all, because having you all reading and liking my blog has given me lots of happy moments while I’ve been tryiing to come to terms with what might have been. To all you wonderful women out there who’ve had a worse outcome, you are in my thoughts.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to try to catch up on a month’s worth of sleep.
Thanks to Kim from Let Me Start By Saying for the great alternative words for boobs.