Breast cancer
My body has been trying to kill me since the day I was born—or even before, according to my mother. To this day, she has nightmares that she’s pregnant with a dead fetus (apparently, I rarely kicked). When I was eight years old, my rheumatologist told my parents that I’m like a “fragile flower,” a phrase I now repeat whenever I don’t feel like cleaning the house. The night my son was born could’ve been a scene from a daytime television drama: I woke up surrounded by a team of nurses wheeling me to the OR, informing me I’m about to have an emergency cesaraen. (They’d been monitoring my blood every twenty minutes around the clock due to severe preeclamsia.) My second pregnancy resulted in the HELLP syndrome, and my third pregnancy was fine, but afterwards I nearly died due to an impacted colon. (In case you’re eating while you read this, I’ll spare you the details.)
Last week, I went in for a routine mammogram. I knew it wasn’t a good sign when the radiologist put a hand on my back as she escorted me to the consultation room. In a gentle tone, she explained that my mammogram showed calcifications in three different areas of my breast that had not been there previously, and because my fibrocystic tissue is so dense, only a pathologist would be able to determine whether they’re benign or malignant. The appointment for the biopsy was scheduled for the following morning. I went home and planned my funeral—the DJ will play The Moral of the Story by Ashe and the hired ballerinas will twirl me in my coffin. There is a high probability that my rabbi won’t approve.
Anywho… My fibrocystic tissue ended up being so dense that what is normally a twenty-minute procedure lasted three hours. A total of nine samples were taken, and as I write this, my breast looks like it got into a bar fight and lost.
My mother’s mother had breast cancer and she lived to be ninety-one. She only had one breast, but that’s okay. And the good news is that if I do end up needing chemotherapy and radiation, I already own wigs. And I’m used to having constant nausea and vomiting because I did that throughtout my pregnancies. Also, people will feel bad for me and when people feel bad for someone, they usually give gifts. Here are some gift ideas for you, dearest reader: #Books #Makeup #GermanShepherd
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Love, Heidi
