It was an experience in being mindfully vulnerable. I was thinking about how most of women's healthcare requires us to be in these positions of complete exposure. Even having a baby, which is the most powerful act I can imagine, requires us to do it completely exposed and vulnerable.
Man, we ROCK.
Seriously. We are so strong.
So, anyway, the biopsies were unpleasant and the table they use ("It's just like getting your oil changed," said the nurse) is not designed for comfort. But the staff was so amazing and caring and really thorough, and they kept me completely informed every step of the way and even brought me socks when I started shivering.
I have a really high pain tolerance which comes in handy sometimes and yesterday was one of them. Usually, I think it's a bit of a handicap because, by the time I feel pain, I've typically done a lot of damage. But this procedure wasn't painful for me. Not my favorite thing, but really not that terrible at the time. I got to chat a little with the people working on me.
Still, it's kind of like having your breast slammed in a car door--twice in my case. The bruises are truly spectacular. (I'll spare y'all.) I was in a lot of pain by nightfall, and I couldn't get the darn incisions to stop bleeding --especially when the bag of ice I was using leaked and soaked all the gauze and steristrips. Finally, I was so miserable that I just went to bed and actually slept pretty well and I woke up in the morning pain-free and with the unmistakable conviction that everything is going to be okay.
And really, we live in the most amazing times. Even just a few years ago, they wouldn't have been able to see those spots on the mammogram. The diagnostic equipment is stunningly sensitive. The doctor put some titanium markers in my breast as a little hello to future mammographers, and to make it easier to keep track of those spots.
I should hear soon. I could hear as early as today but it's more likely by the end of the week. I'm just going on the assumption that all is good until I hear otherwise. I mean, that's as easy as thinking the worst, right? But even worst case scenario, this is not life threatening. Just annoying.
Which, you know, could be the title of my autobiography: Not Life Threatening, Just Annoying.