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By STEPHANIE LAW
Staff Writer Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Editor’s Note: Second in a series of columns about one woman’s journey through the often-scary world of breast cancer diagnosis and treatment.

Breast cancer. Two of the scariest words a woman can hear. I'll admit they rank a little below "nuclear war" and "car bomb" on the fright scale, but certainly higher than "global warming."

A month ago, I was feeling pretty good about myself. At that point, I had been smoke-free for 30 days and I actually haven't gained too much weight. Then I went in for my routine mammogram, and things have been going downhill ever since. I went from "something" in my X-rays the radiologist didn't like to "cancer" in the blink of an eye. OK, it actually took a couple weeks and some uncomfortable tests.

One of the worst — and earliest — tests is something called a stereotactic biopsy, which uses a special computer to guide a needle to the suspicious spot seen on the mammogram. It's not the needle part that's bad — it's the table you have to lie on face down and the position in which you find yourself.

That table just had to be designed by a man; a woman would have figured out a more dignified and comfortable way to accomplish the same purpose. Not only does the table have a hole in the center that part of you has to hang down through, but the hardness factor is somewhere between concrete and marble.

The technician's first attempt at locating the bad spot wasn't successful, so I had to get up on my hands and knees (ever mindful of falling through that hole) and turn around and face the other direction. The technician said she was glad I was "young and agile."

Well, I'm not on the young side of 50 and I'm about as agile as a front-end loader, but apparently some of the women who endure this particular indignity are a lot older and more infirm than I am.

How about adding some padding and a lazy Susan to that table?

The biopsy involves giving the sensitive area a shot of Novocain, then taking a big needle and aspirating (sucking out) some of those suspicious cells. They're sent to the laboratory and analyzed. A few days later, I was listening to a surgeon tell me they found a "pre-cancerous cell cluster." That means the cancer cells are still asleep and haven't spread or done any major damage yet. But, since they could wake up at any time, they had to come out.

It would be a lumpectomy, the surgeon said, done in day surgery and I'd go home after I woke up and could "drink and pee." It didn't work out quite that way.

Oh, by the way, this problem of mine has been detected way before any "lump" could be felt or even seen on the mammogram. The only clue on the X-ray was a suspicious group of calcification cells arranged in a particular pattern that might indicate a problem.

If you've been putting off your mammogram because everything feels OK, don't. Schedule it now and keep on that yearly cycle — along with the self-exams (or get a friend to help — it's more fun that way).

My journey is just beginning. Luckily, I have many friends and relatives who have volunteered to help out any way they can, whenever I need them. For now, just knowing they're there is enough. Later, though, I'm going to need some help — and really big hugs.

Stephanie Law is a copy editor at the newspaper and lives in Sabattus. Tomorrow: Day surgery turns into an overnight stay at the hospital.

Contact Stephanie Law by e-mailing: doverfox51@midmaine.com

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