I put off scheduling my mammogram for about five months and finally got in last week. I received a call the next morning that they'd like me to come back for a diagnostic mammogram and possible ultrasound. In just over an hour, I'll be having a second boob-squish and finding out if there is something to worry about.
I've worked to not be freaked out and worried, but the echoes are there. The faces of the ladies I know who are no longer with us after cancer stole their lives. The faces of the ladies who have undergone surgery and other treatment and came out on the other side. The faces of my fellow women who have shared that they haven't gone in to have a mammogram yet. They are there, present in my mind, being remembered and providing a reminder that things can go from zero to shitstorm quickly. The faces that push me over the edge when I delve into the echoes is my children. When I think of how our lives, their lives, could change this week, it strikes fear into my heart.
Logically, I know everything could be fine. I know that as a reduction gal, mammos can be a challenge at times. I know that it just might be breast tissue change and everything is fine. But the echoes remain.