The Callback

Anonymously sharing with Safe Space Stories

Like clockwork the annual postcard comes to remind me to schedule my mammogram. And every year, I do. I admit I’ve gone for this appointment annually thinking it’s more inconvenient than anything else. I’ve walked in, said my pleasantries to the receptionist and breast nurses, gotten “handled & smashed” and then returned home. 48 hours later I check my online health chart to find the results and expect to see the recommendation to return next year. Year after year, this has been the process.

That’s what I expected this year too. Postcard. Schedule. Appointment. Results. Repeat. That was the plan and what was happening…until I read the results. I half paid attention to the report on my phone as I put stamps on Christmas cards to go out. I was reading fully expecting to see the recommendation to return next year but I didn’t see that . I clearly had missed it. I put the stamps down and had to read it again. But it wasn’t there. No. The recommendation was to return for further screening due to a detected abnormality and spot detected on the mammogram. That can’t be right. This is just my annual appointment. This does not fit with my schedule. But there it was in black and white “we recommend further testing for diagnostic need….. Our office will be in touch after your doctor reviews the results further .”

No. This is not correct. This is not what I was planning. It hit me in the face both as I assumed both a mistake and also a need for slight panic. And wait for them to call me?! The entire waiting concept doesn’t work for me. I am not what one would say is patient. I had gotten the report via email on a Saturday. This left me a great deal of time to consult Dr. Google and also try to determine exactly what the scan showed. As much as I tried, I could not find what they were reporting. I found this both frustrating and scary to feel my body was betraying me.

At last, Monday morning at 8 am arrived and I was calling my doctor to schedule the next steps. Amazingly, they were able to schedule me for the following day. And thankfully no one was annoyed I called vs. waiting. Though I did hear “typically we call the patient first…”. Folks- this isn’t MY typical. This is my life. Waiting wasn’t going to happen.

Usually a “handle it on my own” type, I changed with this callback appointment. I talked with my sister, mom, boyfriend and friends about how I was feeling. I learned many had been called back themselves and had their own scary stories to report. It was comforting and also not. Would I have the same story? Was this “nothing” or was this “everything.” I was confident but nervous. I said the right things. I repeated the positive self talk often. “This is standard. Many women get call backs. I’m not freaking out. It’s nothing until it’s something. “Again, negative news didn’t work with my life schedule. And therefore it wouldn’t be. I willed the universe and prayed I was right. And for the most part, I really believed this.

I had scheduled my followup at a time when my kids would be in school as I was not going to tell them anything until I needed to. Kids worry. I was trying not to be worried. I didn’t need to handle their emotions on top of my own! But, knowing there was a chance I would need extra help with them especially if this turned out differently than expected, I told my ex-husband, my kids dad, that I had a followup appointment. To say I told him would be an understatement. I had planned to simply share it casually but instead as soon as I opened my mouth to share “Hey- I have a followup mammogram….” I basically balled my eyes out telling him I had an appointment and I hoped he would not be a single dad because I was dead and our children had lost their mom. He was kind, supportive, told me not to get ahead of myself. He looked at me a little bewildered (I’m sure a combo of the news, reality of what could be and maybe just the fact the typically “I’ve got it all handled” persona I put out was sobbing on the driveway as he dropped off kids stuff.) Not exactly the finest delivery of news, but it was delivered.

And then, I went about my life for the next 24 hours until the appointment. Life was normal. I went to the gym. I walked with a friend. I went to work. I took my kids to their sports & school. It was a normal day but at 2 o’clock as I prepared to leave for the appointment, I saw things completely differently. I drove myself-even though multiple people had asked me if I wanted them to go with me - to the cancer clinic for my screening. I’ve been to this clinic every year for my exam and I admit the C word never stood out to me. But today it was all I could see. Has the font always been that large? I walked into the cancer clinic to be screened and I noticed every single thing. I counted the cars on the way in. I noticed the number of steps to the suite. I couldn’t believe how many times the C word was printed and posted throughout the center. How did I never notice this prior?

I checked in at the front desk. I thought everybody was so nice. Are they being nicer than they need to be? What did they know that I didn’t know? Have they all seen my tests and just know something bad? My thoughts ran wild. I was escorted back to the changing room where I slipped on a robe and joined the other women sitting in the waiting room. It’s somewhat like a silent sisterhood. We all aimlessly stared ahead reading closed captions on the home-improvement show playing on the TV in the waiting room. All of us sitting there knew what the others were doing to some degree, but all of us were consumed in our own thoughts too. One woman was wearing a pink robe. I assume she was a survivor of some sort. Others were in white. All of us and white were hoping to not get a pink robe. Or did we want a pink robe because it was then we had survived? As I watched a mantle go up on the TV program and a set of windows come out, my thoughts cycled. No one in the waiting room spoke, but there was a friendly eye contact and slight supportive smile made each time one woman was called back and another would come in. Almost a feeling of “hey- I’m here too. We got this.” At least that’s what I believe we were all telling one another.

And then they called me. First was to be the diagnostic mammogram. Again, the nurse was very lovely helping me and explained each and everything that she was doing. I looked at her name tag multiple times as I was sure I was going to be seeing her again and wanted to remember her name. She moved me into multiple positions and angles for multiple shots. A twist here, bend there, flatten this, hold that, breathe and hold your breath, repeat as necessary. She explained each step and I felt comfortable with what she was doing but my mind raced. I glanced at the enlarged images she was taking- trying to make sense of them- but failing. She then told me she had what she needed and asked me to return to the waiting room while the doctor reviewed.

After about 5 minutes a new nurse came out and told me that they would like to do an ultrasound of the concerned area. She assured me this was standard often and ushered me back to a room where I was given a warm blanket. Again, she was lovely and explained everything that she was doing. She would do ultrasound of my concerning breast and my armpit. I laid there, exposed from the waist up, wrapped in a warm blanket. My mind would flinch hearing the keystrokes and ding capturing of the image. Over and over. I convinced myself each keystroke was another lump. Another issue. I imagined telling my children, friends and family I had cancer. I wondered how I would run my business & manage chemo at the same time. I mentally thought about the disability coverage I had. Would it be enough? Was there a cancer protocol? I was disappointed the gym membership I just bought would go to waste as I wouldn’t be able to workout while managing fighting for my life. No. Stop that. Self. Get a grip. I would beat this. I had just ridden Pelotonia. I would ride again as a survivor in the future. My kids wouldn’t lose me. I’d be at their weddings and be a part of their children’s lives. Or better. This was standard. Nothing to worry about. Just a little more time and I would have good news. Or would I? Every single thought crossed my mind. With each click of the keyboard and each movement of the ultrasound wand- I teetered between literal life and death thoughts.

When the ultrasound was done the tech kindly provided a warm wipe to remove all the ultrasound goo. She told me to dress and that the doctor would be in soon to discuss whatever they found after reviewing my testing. I was grateful for same day results. But, what would I do while I waited in this dark room alone- staring at the ultrasound photos just captured of my body. I tried to sense of them but again was completely lost. So I started at the wall. My mind raced. Time had never gone slower.

To avoid thinking about what the doctor was reviewing I got out my phone and started to write. I wrote what you are reading. Finding control in a moment where I feel anything but is my way to gain composure. I can do this. I don’t have a choice. I will do this.

Whatever the doctor tells me will be what he tells me. It will either change my future or it will gift me back to my present. I’m convinced both are going to happen. I cycle rapidly between them.

I realize some of the women at the center will get the same results I receive today. Others will get the opposite. I wonder what my results will be. I wonder what theirs will be. Will the lady in the pink robe receive better news? Will those in white have to learn to wear pink and all that means? Will I? Tick Tick Tick. The clock continues and my mind races.

Regardless, of what is about to be shared, today has taught me much more than I ever reflected with each annual appointment. All who have mammograms (or other procedural experiences) share the same experience of sitting, waiting, wondering with hope, prayer, fear, denial and a cyclone of thoughts. I will not forget that. Never again will I consider the annual mammogram an inconvenience. I’m not sure if ever again I will consider anything an inconvenience. Life has never seemed more precious than it has the last 90 minutes. I will remember that.