89. Needle Happy

Friday, I turned up at the breast clinic. I have no particular aversion to the place, despite it being where I found out I’d got cancer. The only place I HATE going is the chemo hospital. I was taken in to see Mr. S. VERRRRRYYYY good looking man. Sexy accent too. He asked why I was still worried. I explained and he felt the lump. He didn’t seem too happy either but I was getting past being bothered about NHS staff being pissy with me. This is MY life and I’m not risking it because I don’t fall into an ‘at risk’ group, in their opinion. He sent me off for an ultrasound. I was happy with this, knowing that it would show up more than a mammogram.

The ultrasound radiographer was a man on this occasion. This shocked me but I wasn’t about to let false modesty affect my peace of mind. He WAS very thorough but I wasn’t 100% confident he knew what he was doing. He scanned the area of my scar and identified there was still a small seroma. I asked him to scan the lump. He did and said it wasn’t cancerous. He also completely scanned the rest of my boob, including my armpit. I also asked him to scan my right boob where I’d felt some lumpier than usual tissue. He obliged and saw nothing. I’m not sure why, but he went away and got another radiographer to look at the scan with him to double check that the lump I felt was nothing dangerous. He returned with her and they looked at it together. She said it was nothing dangerous as well. She also said that it would be extremely unusual for a recurrence so soon after my original cancer. While I appreciated her second opinion I wasn’t happy with her attitude. She made me feel as if she thought I was wasting NHS time and resources. She was abrupt and bordering on being unpleasant. Not really what you need if you’re scared you’ve got a fatal disease.

Back in the breast clinic, Mr. S took me into a normal consulting room instead of the dead relatives room, a good indication that the results were still good. He came in and said pretty much what the radiographer had said. THEN he asked me if I’d like him to biopsy it. The upshot of this question, really was, ‘Miss Elvin, would you like me to stick NEEDLES into your breast.’ Me. The wimp that hated injections and the dentist. From a bit of a distance, I heard my own voice (bloody traitor) saying, ‘Yes please!’

I got my tits out. Laid on the bed and asked the nurse to hold my hand. They joked with each other about his attitude, whether it was an attempt to put me at ease or because it was 4pm on the last working day before Christmas I have no idea. It actually didn’t hurt too much. I was sent away to wait for the results. For some perverse reason, I went back to the coffee shop R and I went to after the devastating news in July.

40 mins later I went back and waited in the clinic. I was called in after a long wait and got the fabulous news that the lump was ‘fatty necrosis’ aka dead fat. Think there might be a message in there somewhere.