The Lump

Finally! Life was going okay. Nothing too amazing or awful. You know, the kids were healthy and happy. The cars were all in working condition. No extra, unpaid bills lying around the house. My husband, Wayne, just got a new job. Both my sons’ high-school varsity football team and college football team have been playing well. No major arguments at home-between the boys and I or my hubby and me. My anxiety that came with my oldest son moving away to college had finally subsided. It was okay. Normal. I have come to learn that life is still good when it is simplified and uneventful. 

It was normal until that one Thursday night. Wayne and I went to bed together, which doesn’t happen that often, due to his shift-work job or me thinking that an 8:30pm bedtime is the most amazing thing ever. I mean, I wake up at 4:45am to workout, bring the boys to school, and then work a fulltime job outside of the home. I deserve that bedtime!  Let’s be real, here, with our busy schedules and me, wanting to just go to sleep when I lay down in bed, extracurricular activities in the bedroom don’t happen as much as my hubby would like. So anyway, we were in bed and Wayne copped a couple squeezes of my boob. I remember thinking it was different because he didn’t just grab the whole boob and squeeze it, it was just the top part, and he went back to that spot a couple times.

When the activities were done, Wayne immediately said to me, “I felt something.” I replied, “What do you mean you felt something?” “A lump. Here”, he said, as he took my hand and put it on my right boob. I felt it too. “What is it! What is it!” I yelled out as tears filled my eyes. Wayne replied, “I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s fine.” This is his typical response when I’m freaking out about something. “It’ll be fine.” That’s why we balance each other out so well. That’s the response he uses when I get worked up about finances, or the laundry, or his driving. It’s like his reaction response to my hysteria. In that moment, however, I could see the fear in his eyes. I knew this time he wasn’t actually thinking, “I’m sure it will be fine”, that’s just what came out. But, what else do you say to your distraught wife?

I got out of bed and went to the bathroom. I stood there looking in the mirror as I felt this lump. How did I not feel this before? It’s so obvious. Now, it’s typical for us humans to think the worst-case scenario. I mean, c’mon all you moms. When our babies had a temperature, we all believed that they had some strange disease that we’ve never heard of because we Googled it, and if it’s on the internet, it’s true. So, of course I instantly jumped to the conclusion that I had cancer and that I was going to die. I laid there in bed that night and thought of everything I needed to do before I died. I know, that sounds ridiculous. But I knew this lump was not supposed to be there. I don’t have lumpy breast tissue. This was new. This was bad.

I rolled over and Wayne held me as I cried. I was so scared in that moment, and the days to follow this. I didn’t sleep. I tossed and turned all night. Finally, when I saw 4:00 a.m. on the clock, I got out of bed. I put my fluffy pink robe on, which ironically has a breast cancer awareness ribbon on it and sat down on the couch to Google “Breast Cancer.” This, of course, made it worse. First, I read that approximately 90% of breast masses are benign and not cancer. I thought, “Oh good! What are the chances of me being part of that other 10%?” However, then everything that was mentioned about a cancerous lump vs. a fibrocystic lump was exactly how my lump felt. It wasn’t abnormal in shape. It didn’t move between my fingers. It was secure. It was solid.  

Tears filled my eyes and rolled down my face. I dropped my phone to the ground. I folded my hands and cried out, “God, make this all go away. Make this okay. I’m sorry for every wrongdoing of mine. Please, just make this all go away.” Then, I got up and walked to the bathroom to put my workout clothes on. Physical activity is my stress reliever, and one of my favorite things to do. Although my body felt weak, and I was tired, I knew I needed to sweat. I walked out to our family room, and my designated workout space, and pushed play on my workout program. During my work out, the super trainer said, “We are all fighting battles in our own lives. You need to believe that you are strong enough to fight yours!” I remember thinking, “Holy shit! She’s talking directly to me!” See, that’s why I love my workout programs. It’s so much more than a physical workout. It’s my therapy. However, so much doubt filled my body. “Will I actually be strong enough to make it through this battle?”

I slowly got ready for the day. I text my boss and told her I was going to be late. I got to work about 8:15a.m. and called my doctor at 8:20a.m. When the receptionist asked, “What do you need to be seen for today?” I started crying and could hardly answer her. All I could muscle through the tears was, “I found a lump in my breast.” She replied in her soft voice, “Okay. Let’s get you in right away. Dr. Hoffmann has an opening at 8:40a.m. Will that work?” “Yes, I’ll be there” and I hung up the phone.

I left work and drove to my doctor’s office. I was called back to my room and went through all the normal questions, blood pressure, weight etc. Then Cassie, the nurse, said, “Dr. Hoffman will be right in.” He came in and we talked about this lump. He asked me a lot of questions about it, and then he did an exam. He said, “I can see why you are concerned. Let’s get you scheduled for a Mammogram and get some answers as to what this is.” Cassie got me scheduled for 10:30a.m. that morning for a mammogram. As I sat there and waited, I was scared. I didn’t want to have a mammogram. I’ve heard horror stories of these procedures and I did not want to experience it. In fact, I had already told myself that I would never get a mammogram. I was healthy. I wasn’t going to have to worry about cancer because there wasn’t a history of it in my family, and therefore, I could save the pain of my boobs getting squeezed through this machine. But there I sat waiting for my turn at the age of 37. I was called back to the mammogram room. I walked in and the X-ray technician asked if I have ever had a mammogram. I told her, “No, and I am really nervous about getting this done.” She was super sweet and showed me how the machine worked and told me that the horror stories of mammograms were from years ago when the machines were different. “Whew”, I thought to myself. We started the process, and no, it wasn’t that bad. Just a lot of touching and squeezing and pushing. When we were done, the X-ray technician showed me the pictures. I saw the lump instantly without her having to point it out to me. She said, “I will send this through to have the Radiologist look at it. Please don’t get dressed until we hear from him to ensure all the pictures are okay.” The phone rang just a couple minutes later, and I heard her say, “Yep. Okay. I will walk her over there and get it done.” Once again, I thought, “Well, that doesn’t sound good.” The X-ray technician said to me, “The Radiologist wants a better look at that spot, so I am going to take you down the hall to get an ultrasound done.”

Down the hall we went, into another room. It was dark. There was a bed with the ultrasound machine next to it. I laid down and the Ultrasound technician was quiet as she performed the procedure. She was clicking pictures and taking measurements of the lump inside of me. I looked up at the screen at one point when she was taking measurements and tears filled my eyes. That lump looked huge. It seriously looked like the size of a golf ball. I laid there and thought to myself, “This is just a bad dream, and I am going to wake up from it and it will all be okay.” She finished what she needed to do and contacted the Radiologist. She turned to me and said, I’m going to put Dr. Nelson, the Radiologist, on the phone. He wants to talk to you. Again, “This doesn’t sound good”, I thought to myself. Through the phone, a man’s voice said, “Hi Angie. I am sorry that you’ve had to go through this today. I’m sure it’s a lot to take in. That is definitely a solid mass in your right breast, and we need to get a biopsy of it to determine what it is.” The doctor continued to explain the process of and ultrasound guided biopsy and then asked if I had any questions. My mind was a jumbled, foggy mess. I couldn’t even formulate a sentence to respond to him. They rearranged their schedules so they could get me in for a biopsy on Monday morning.

I got dressed and walked out of the office. I got to my car and sat there, staring straight ahead. I started crying again. “Why is this happening”, I yelled out. I called Wayne and told him about my whirlwind of a morning. His response was again, “Well, we will just see what Monday brings. I’m sure it will all be okay.” For a moment, I agreed with him. I thought to myself, “Yeah, this will all be okay.” But then I thought back through the morning. I thought about what the doctors said, and how they said it. They were concerned. I felt the lump again, because now that I know it’s there, I can’t stop feeling it. This wasn’t just a lump.

My Facebook post that day was, Philippians 4:6-7, “Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your heart and mind as you live in Christ Jesus.” I prayed. I prayed hard. 

            It’s crazy how our bodies respond to stress. These next few days were hell. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I had diarrhea. I just went through the motions of the days. I felt like a walking zombie. Thankfully, it was homecoming at my son, Dylan’s, college that Saturday. This was good, it gave me something else to focus on, for some of the time anyway. During the game, I would cheer on the Cougars during one play, but then completely zone out and think about this lump for the next couple of plays.  I was physically there, sitting in the stands at USF, but I was no where near there mentally.

Finally, Monday came. Biopsy Day. I got to the appointment and the ultrasound technician tried to be as positive as she could, because let’s be real, what a horrible position to be in. She got me all ready, and then Dr. Nelson, the Radiologist, came in to perform the procedure. He told jokes as he did the procedure and tried to make light of the situation. I appreciated the humor. I laughed. But it wasn’t a real laugh. It was a nervous, scared laugh. This biopsy consisted of sticking a needle into the mass three different times, grabbing some cells, and emptying the cells into test tubes. (I know, good medical terminology.) I remember him telling me that the mass is very solid. Usually, he said he can just stick the needle into the same insertion point each time because the cells will fall into the hole, but they didn’t with mine. Therefore, he had to re-poke the mass, in a different spot, all three times. He said, “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, just that it is very solid.” Of course, I took that to mean it was a solid, cancerous tumor growing rapidly inside of me and I was going to die. No joke. He finished up the procedure and told me it would take 2-3 days for the results and if I don’t hear anything by noon on Thursday, I should call my doctor and check-in with him. 

These next two days were the longest days of my life. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I couldn’t focus on anything. It seriously felt like I was waiting for my death sentence. I was trying to prepare myself for the worst, in hopes that it would be nothing. Little did I know that there was, in fact, absolutely no way to prepare for what was to come.