Because I am an employee at the hospital where my mammogram was done, I was able to walk in that day with a call from Dr. P and repeat my mammogram right away. Then I had to sit and wait while a radiologist read it and would come to tell me that it was a false alarm, that it was nothing, that suspicious spot, and that I could get on back to work. Instead, Perlotta came back with the "what are ya gonna do" look on her face. Come on girl, they want a couple more views. She took me back to the screening room and smashed my boob ten different ways to hell, and I mean, damn, they really apply the pressure. This time I did not get escorted back to the main waiting room where the innocents get to sit. I was ushered back to the "we think you're in deep shit" room. In figure skating they have the kiss and cry room---in breast imaging they have the "sit and feel your guts turn into jelly and pray that someone slaps you awake from this bad dream" room.
Twice more, Perlotta came back for me. Gurrrrlllllll----this really is just so small. I can't think that it could be anything,. And then, the third time, gurrrrrrllllll, this is so small I just don't think it could be MUCH! Then a tech told me Dr. P was going to call me, and she did. She started by saying, "Now don't freak out on me ...." She came in to see me between surgeries, probably lumpectomies and mastectomies, and said she had to do a quick breast exam on me. We went into an empty exam room and she did a full breast exam. I can't feel a thing, she said. But we need to do a breast biopsy to be sure. I really don't think this is anything---the area we are looking at is so small. I've had six breast biopsies myself, so I really think you're gonna be fine, but we need a biopsy.
I'm going with that, I thought. What she said, about having six negative biopsies herself. I'm going with that. It's probably nothing.
There were two other ladies in the deep shit room with me, both black. When they saw the doctor come and take me out, and then escort me back, they knew instinctively that I was in deep shit. They immediately spoke up to comfort me, as women are so good at doing, Girl, you're gonna be fine. Girl, have faith in the Lord, he will see you through. Whatever this is, you have the strength to get through it. I was really touched at the swiftness of their response to what must have been my visible alarm.
Two radiologists, a nurse and an ultrasound tech, all women, surrounded me in the biopsy room. These were my angels: women helping another woman deal with one of the worst things a woman can deal with.
Dr. P had told me that I could just call the office the next day and get the results, but as the day wore on, she seemed to realize that things just weren't going to turn out and so she said, Listen, just swing by my office tomorrow after you get off---the results should be back by then. It seemed to me to be too hard to explain that tomorrow was my off day, so in my mind I just decided that she wouldn't mind if I called, either. The next day I managed to convince myself that it wasn't anything and maybe I would just put off the task of calling her until Monday. But at 4:45 pm , Carey, from Dr. P's office, called and asked me if I was on my way. Oh, I said, Ummmmm, Dr. P had at first told me I could just call so I was going to just, call, I guess .....I finished weakly. "Oh, I'm sorry if there was a misunderstanding, Carey said. But Dr. P sees all her patients in person after biopsies, whatever the results are, to check the dressing and the site, ---standard protocol, you know." Oh, it must be bad, I said, it's bad, I know, because she would tell me on the phone if it was good and gladly save me a trip into the city. Oh no, Carey insisted. Really, it's protocol. umm hmmmmm I said, sure. Okay, I'll be there in an hour or so. I was dirty, hot and sweaty from my walk but there was no time for a shower. I knew I had to get to Atlanta by six. And I already knew that on this day, February 23, 2011, I was going to hear that I had breast cancer, and become a statistic.
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