I have a small, pebble sized lump in my right breast, that was confirmed yesterday at my way-overdue annual exam.
And I am nervous.
I've known about this lump for a few months, having found it during one of my monthly breast exams. But with my background of breast reductions seventeen years ago, I never gave it much thought. Scar tissue was what I chalked it up to be. Maybe a cyst. Nothing more.
The reality though is that I'm at "that age." That mystical number that suddenly has you microscopically examining every nook and cranny of your body ... all while envisioning your mortality ... and contemplating Botox and Restylane to help you look the age you feel.
Unlike my past medical history, where I never mentioned anything until after I got the confirmation that all was okay, I want to talk about this.
Despite feeling, (and dare I say knowing), that in my heart of hearts all is going to be just fine. That it's probably nothing. I got spooked when the nurse told me within mere seconds of my exam, that she absolutely felt where and what I was talking about. It surely doesn't negate my anxiety of waiting to get my mammogram. It certainly won't stop the "what-if" fairy from making a daily pit-stop in my head.
So until I have my mammogram, (incidentally scheduled on Matt's birthday), when finally I take the films from my previous one and have them compared to this new one, I'll be breathing a little heavier. For patience is NOT my long suit ...
I'll also be reminding you to check your boobs. Because despite how youthful we all feel and look. I'm just 38 years young.
And I found a lump.