Thankfulness is at center of cancer issue

In this week dedicated to giving thanks, I have a lot to be thankful for.
I am thankful that my mother had breast cancer more than 15 years ago. Because of her, I schedule regular mammograms. Mine was on Sept. 11 this year. It was a beautiful day. The skies were blue and the temperature was perfect.
Advances in technology meant the procedure didn’t hurt, it was merely uncomfortable for a few seconds. After one set of pictures, I was on my way home.
A couple of days later we found out a lady we had known for many years had died of what had begun as breast cancer. The day of her funeral, our phone rang. It was the mammogram people. They wanted to do an enhanced mammogram. They had spotted a cluster of microcalcifications. Or maybe they were doing a calendar featuring mammograms and wanted to feature one of mine. My mind went blank when I got the call so I’m not really sure what they said.
I was concerned but not in a panic, other than the mind dead thing. After all, I’ve had to submit to extra mammograms before and it always turned out to be nothing. Still ...
The test was scheduled and it was another beautiful day. Terri, the lady doing the test, explained that they would do a magnified view of the area in question. I noticed an image on her computer screen with four areas circled.
She clamped me into the machine and gave the knob an extra twist before she scurried away to take the picture. I was eternally grateful that it took less than 10 seconds before I was released. Many, many pictures later I was led to a waiting room.
Terri came in and said they needed to do an ultrasound.
Great.
I told myself that ultrasounds don’t hurt and followed her into another room. I was smeared with gel and the tech shoved the transducer, which looks a lot like a computer mouse, back and forth over the gel.
Finally, I was told I could get dressed while the radiologist reviewed the results. Three areas were described as nodules and pronounced benign. The cluster of microcalcifications was still worrisome. They wanted to set me up with something called a stereotactic biopsy.
At this point I called a time out. It was all going much too fast. Terri and another nurse pulled me aside and strongly urged me to have the biopsy. Hovering behind her was a dark figure in a robe, carrying a scythe. OK, that last part may not be completely accurate but that’s what it felt like as she talked and I felt smaller and smaller until I thought I was going to melt into the floor.
I discussed it with my husband and said I wanted to check with our family doctor before I did anything else. We both worried I was putting myself in harm’s way by waiting.
Of course, the family doctor said go ahead with the test. They scheduled it and sent me home. A day or so before the biopsy was to be done, I received a phone call. That’s when I found out they didn’t take my insurance. After some juggling, the procedure was rescheduled in Fort Wayne.
All this time I was faced with breast cancer ads, breast cancer stories, breast cancer everywhere. I have never hated breast cancer month so much in my life.
The stereotactic biopsy came back positive for cancer. Ductal carcinoma in situ. Confined to the milk ducts and not invasive — yet.
I pictured Cells Gone Wild as they multiplied willy-nilly inside me. One nurse told me that nothing I did caused it, sometimes cells mutate for unknown reasons. This led to an image of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shrunk down to fit inside a milk duct so they can fight off the Cells Gone Wild.
The surgeon decided he needed extra reassurance that the nodules really were benign and ordered an ultrasound-guided biopsy. As it turned out, the radiologist wasn’t comfortable doing the biopsy because of the size and location of the lesions.
The next day I met New York Lisa who had a bizarre, but welcome, sense of humor. She did another mammogram before playing Battleship to locate the lesions. My breast was numbed and needles were inserted to mark the locations. Then she taped plastic drinking cups over the needles and covered me up. I wasn’t sure if I resembled Madonna or an alien.
The surgeon did his thing and removed the Cells Gone Wild. Now I am waiting to see if I am cleared to start radiation.
If my mom hadn’t survived breast cancer years ago, I might not be here to write these words. For that, I am filled with gratitude this Thanksgiving.