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So at some point there are certain rites of passage women must go through that they dread. Mammogram is one of them. The pain of having the second most sensitive part of my body squeezed between two plates under sixty pounds of pressure became an afterthought when the technician came in and said the doctor needed one more picture.

When the word nodule slipped out of her mouth a million thoughts ran through my head. Suprisingly the thought of dying was not one of them. My first thought was whether or not my mom could come up and stay with the kids while I handled this. So now I sit here after having two more pictures taken wondering what she saw. What comes next? More tests? The technician returned handed me a piece of paper. The paper had a box checked and next to the box it read:

"Probably benign. (No evidence of cancer but further work-up needed.)"

She then explained to me that the doctor saw a dot. A dot? What does that mean?

"Well, she's pretty sure it is just a lymph node, but she wants you to come back in six months to make sure it hasn't changed."

What?? Six months?? I'm supposed to just continue on like nothing happened for six months to see if a dot grew? That's what I wanted to say. I actually thanked her for her time and left.

I told Orson when I was on my way here, that if men had to have their testicles squeezed between two plates under sixty pounds of pressure, there would be a better and less uncomfortable way to screen for breast cancer.

But really, if men had to go through this, we would probably have a cure.

For the record, I am not overly concerned about the outcome of this. My family does not have a history of breast cancer. But something about this visit did bother me.

When the technician was doing my paperwork, she said

"You are a little young for a mammogram, are you sure your insurance will cover it?"

I said "well it is just a baseline, I thought the baseline age was thirty-five?" "No, it's forty." She replied quickly. "Well we'll put it through and see what they say."

Now, some of you remember last year when the American Medical Association came out with new research saying women didn't need their first mammogram until age forty. Well for arguments sake, let us just say that my dot isn't a lymph node at all, but it is a malignant tumor. After five years without treatment I am quite sure my little dot would have turned into a mass. What would my chances be? Certainly not as good as they are with my dot being discovered now.

I am tired of everyone, government, insurance companies and drug companies deciding when, how and what kind of medical treatment we should be receiving. But then that's another blog all together isn't it? See you in the surf peeps.

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