I have something in my boob, apparently. My new doc told me to get a mammogram, so I did, and now they're being all freaky that they can't provide me with a report until they get my baseline mammo from my old doctor and compare. Because there's a "finding." I expect that it's nothing, as if it was something serious: (a) you'd be able to feel something, which you can't, and (b) they wouldn't be sending me snail mail letters telling me to get the mammo film over to them, they'd be calling on the fellytone, and insisting on follow-up imaging STAT.
But still, the mind can't help but wander over to the particular corner of memory lane where jabbing oneself with fertility drugs is stored, and thinking...hmmmm. Ah well, all will be clear eventually I suppose.
And I don't feel that I can share with too many people because then it's like I'm making a mountain out of a molehill, and demanding attention. But my work friends have been useless, frankly. One is a radiologist's wife, immediately freaked, and had me call her husband to discuss, who of course said "well, this could be perfectly normal," which is what I knew all along - it could just be some fibrous stuff that means nothing. Another has had many cystic things in her boobs, and thinks I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. Which I'm not. I just mentioned it. Gah. So that put me off mentioning it to other people outside the family, because most of them don't know me well enough to know my level of not freaking out but still being just a teensy bit concerned at the back of my mind.
So, here I am. Not that I have an audience here any more, but it makes me feel better to put stuff out there in the ether. Sharing without really sharing, as it were. I suppose I shall call my old doc again on Monday and find out if they've sent the darn records off yet.
It doesn't help that I got the second letter reminding me that they need to see the previous mammo on the anniversary of my mom's death. At a young age. From the big C. But a different organ. But still. Gah.
