Tuesday, November 06, 2007


I've been debating on whether to divulge this information to the public. And I've decided to only because I think it's important for women to know about. This is not a ploy for sympathy by any means. And I haven't even gotten any retail therapy out of it—ahem, mother.

A few months ago, I found a lump in my boob while in the shower. I had just had my annual exam the previous month and the biatch didn't find anything suspect. I kept putting off going to the doctor, but with the constant bombardment of BCA month stuff, I finally bit the bullet. It's a nasty old thing—mushy, moves around and right where the underwire of my bra hits. Instinctively I didn't think it was a big deal—it's not hard or round or stagnant. Whatever. Long story short, 2 klonopins and a best friend and godson in tow, I saw the doc. He did an ultrasound, found the "mass"—isn't that a comforting term?—and thought it looked okay. You know the doctors and malpractice, they really won't tell you anything definitive.

Yesterday I had to go for a diagnostic mammogram in the Mt. Sinai Cancer Center; I was not comforted by the fact that I was by far the youngest person in the entire building. I had a series of mammograms done; like six total I think. This time it was Xanax—I have major white coat syndrome and find it impossible to go to a doc sober without having a panic attack. So the radiologists read the thingys, and they say the same fucking thing as the first doctor. "Well, you definitely have a mass on your breast." No fucking shit, biatch, I can feel the damn thing. However, apparently ultrasounds and mammos must be done; the mammography was to rule out any other suspicious spots. There were no others.

Now the next step is a biopsy, wherein I will have the doc remove the cyst or whatever the fuck it is. They won't truly know whether it's CANCER until after the biopsy. But, shit, if I'm going under and there's a long recovery time, these girls are getting lifted too.

Here's the thing ladies, I have NO history of BC in my family. I am 32 years old. That BS you always hear about starting mammos at 40? Not true. You should have your first one at 35 and then yearly ones at 40. I don't think everyone knows that.

The main result of all of this is that I am not sleeping well and popping benzos like Tylenol. Oh, and I've also made my things to do before I die list. This a.m. I looked in the mirror and I have the most hideous, darkest bruise I have ever had on the side of my rib cage where they jammed my left tit into the damn machine.

When I was in the first doctor's office with Dana, completely fucked up, I made her do the medical Q&A while I interrupted the cute, single, Jewish doctor with vanity questions.

"If it's what I think it is, you can just leave it in there forever."

"Doc, I'm single. The last thing I want is some guy feeling me up and feeling that."

"You're going in for a biopsy, you're taking this nasty thing out. And can you do a lift while you're at it?

Anywho, please forward this post to all your 30-ish friends and tell them to start getting mammos at 35; earlier if they have cancer in the family.

I will keep everyone posted. And seriously, don't feel sorry for me. I've done more in my 32 years than most people have in a lifetime.