"Lump" is on the top 5 list of frightening words, along with "audit," "alone," "root canal," and "rehab." A few months ago I felt a lump in my right breast, which is sizable. I'm not saying that to brag, but merely to emphasize the time involved in doing monthly self-exams when you're rockin double D's. It was very, very scary. Smallish mass sort of by my armpit. Normally I try to make a joke about something scary, but nothing came to mind. Next time I went to Planned Parenthood (since I had no health insurance at the time), I mentioned it. Sure enough, the very nice and motherly psuedo-doctor affirmed it in a tone that sounded like we had both seen the sailboat in the magic eye picture. My eyes immediately welled up, and the nice lady became even more motherly as she tried to reassure me it was probably nothing (it was that probably that rang out louder than a freight train carrying howler monkeys wearing neon). She brought out the fake boobie encased in nylon with cancerous and non-cancerous bumps in it and showed me the difference--cancer feels hard like a pebble, doesn't move around under your skin, and doesn't hurt. She imagined it was probably just fibrocystic tissue, just a benign dense mass. Nevertheless, she advised me to come back in a month to check it again.
I cried everyday for the next few days. We have great genes in my family--no cancer, no heart disease, no diabetes. Just alcoholism and manic depression, but who doesn't have that? I was constantly terrified that cancer was forming inside me, that my nieces and nephews would have to go to their aunt's funeral in their teens, that my parents would lose a child. That I'd have to go through chemo, lose my hair, lose my friends and boyfriend--they wouldn't want to stick around and watch me suffer. That it was my fault, for smoking and drinking when I knew I shouldn't. I told a few close friends, not my family. I thought I might die, or lose my breasts (which are fantastic). Luckily I got a job through UT a few weeks later that provided insurance so I took the opportunity to visit UT Health Services, where the whole ordeal was repeated: disrobing, probing, and crying. UTHS's lady was uber-nice as well, and explained that fibrocystic tissue (which is what it still appeared to be) can form from too much caffeine, and to cut it out completely while still doing regular exams. She went on to say, "You should soap yourself up in the shower with your hands so you get a feel for what your breasts feel like." To which I wanted to reply, "what is this, a porno? I know what my breasts feel like, lady, quit hitting on me." The jokester in me had started to return. To further allay my fears, she suggested I get an ultrasound and hooked me up with a radiologist. By this time, the fear was subsiding somewhat, but I was also a little sad--I had figured when I was 28 and getting an ultrasound, it'd be on my pregnant belly, not my possibly sick breast. I blinked back tears (much as I'm doing now) as the radiologist squirted warm liquid goo on me and tried to make small talk with me about tattoos and ultrasounds and cancer. I just stared at the ceiling and trying to breath, tears squeezing out the corners of my eyes. Results came back--everything seems ok. Keep cutting out the caffeine.
My point in telling you this extremely personal information is to express what fear can do to you. I pushed people away, picked fights with my boyfriend, and literally paralyzed myself with a hypothetic fear. After cutting out caffeine and switching birth controls, the mass went away, and my fear (for the most part) did too. Then I felt like a fucking coward, considering what other women have actually endured. How they lived through a real thing, a horrible thing. How they live with an actual fear, and carry on anyway--head high.
So ladies, don't ignore your shit, don't think it can't happen to you, and don't drink Starbucks doubleshots nonstop everyday. They're too expensive and corporate anyway. But most of all, don't be scared.
