My Boob

Yesterday was my 54rd birthday. Holy shit, I'm 54.

In pure me style, I scheduled myself a breast biopsy ... on my birthday. Of course. Like you do. 

Why? Well. In February, I had a mammogram, there was calcification. They asked me to come back in 60 days, but I wasn't wanting to go into any medical facility during the whole (gestures at everything) pandemic year. 

I finally went back in early November, and there was more calcification. They used terms like "dense" and "thready" and they said they wanted to do a breast biopsy. 

I agreed and made the appointment. They wanted to do it that week, but it's a weird time at work, and asking for time off on short notice isn't kind to the team. I had already planned on taking off my birthday and the day after (my "early birthday") so I decided I'd schedule the appointment for 11/20. 

Unfortunately, they only do them on Tuesdays and Thursdays so it would have to be 11/19, Thursday, my actual birthday. How lovely. Really, it was no big deal to do so. We were not planning anything fun, a trip or anything. The latest rise in COVID-19 cases spoke of us staying put and not going anywhere. Doug did not take any time off, so I figured I may as well just do it. Get it over with. RCJ said I should show up with a sash and a tiara on. It's my birthday. I'm the princess. 

When I checked myself in for the procedure, the girl at the desk said "Can you confirm your name and birthdate, oh wait whaaaaat?!" It was actually delightful.  She was of course reading my birthdate was that day. I laughed and confirmed. 

"Why would you do this to yourself on your birthday? On this blessed day!" 

"I already had a day off, and, I figured it's my birthday so God will be kind to me. Or, if 2020 is going to be peak 2020 and things don't go kindly, I'll have a hell of a story to share." 

I then made her sing happy birthday to me. Which she did.

When I was brought into the procedure room, the doctor, nurse, and radiology tech all noted my birthday. I asked them to sing to me. I then told them they were the masked singer(s) and they thought it was a riot. 

So far, so fun. 

The process was easy enough. They talked me through everything they were doing while I was flat on my belly on a table where my tiny, pathetic, little left breast hung down and they could do their thing. 

"There's going to be a little pressure" says the doctor. I broke into "Under Pressure" by Bowie and Queen, and they cracked up. 

"You should have a sound system in here and people can submit a playlist before they come in to get probed. I could make a really good one." They thought that was a great idea. "We used to have music playing in here, and we should go back to that. It's a good idea!"

Lidocaine, me swearing and apologizing, needle insertion, pushing, picture taking noises, them soft talking, needle moving, more talking. About a half hour later, they were done. My neck and shoulders hurt more than my breast. The nurse spent some time rubbing my neck before I got up off the table. I thanked her and told her that I used to treat myself to a massage at my friend Sue's therapy spa for my birthday (which made me miss Sue and the spa). She said that she was happy to fill that gap. Not the same but the kindness was palpable.

They gave me discharge instructions. Explained that I would be really sore later. Not right away, but later. They weren't kidding. They encouraged me to wear a sports bra to bed. I laughed and said I didn't even really know where any of my regular bras were, I hadn't worn them since March. And for sure I didn't have a sports bra in my possession. I wore a tank top to bed, it was the closest thing I had.

In the middle of the night, after Geoff had finished watching TV and gone to bed, I woke up and everything really hurt. More Tylenol and an ice pack. Doug had gone into the other bedroom at some point, so he wasn't there to hear me complaining and tossing about. 

I fell back asleep around 6am, wishing I had some sleeping pills or something that would have gotten me through the night. I told RCJ this morning that it hurt all the way to my spine, like.... how deep did you folks gotta dig to get a little something something. Ack. 

Doug and I were going to go to Williamsburg tomorrow, spend a night at a nice hotel. But I'm feeling with the uptick in COVID-19 nonsense that I'm not at all interested in being somewhere other than my house, as much as I do really wish I was staying somewhere and enjoying time away. It isn't worth it.

There is a lot of "Covid Thanksgiving instead of Funeral Christmas" stuff floating around on the internet, and I'm all in agreement. Stay home. Be safe. See how things are doing in 4 weeks. Then figure something out. 

And then, go somewhere. Later.

So, while I didn't get to have a nice few days at a hotel, travel somewhere, do something, thinking of our past when we'd go somewhere like Montreal for my birthday, I'm happy to be home and safe. 

Will know more about my boob on Monday I think. And am hoping for that birthday nothingburger, and not the "boy do I have a story to tell about turning 54."

Here's to the nothingburger.