My little troublemakers

I was standing in line for lunch at the cafeteria, and distracted because I could not get Michael Jackson's Rock With You out of my head. The girl behind me, a classmate named Shelley, was having a conversation with some other girls comparing the breast sizes of her peers.  I was just barely paying attention, too busy privately grooving to Rock With You, but my ears pricked up when Shelley declared, "And Kelly's just so flat-chested."  And she was right, probably because I was ten years old at the time.  But this proclamation marked the official beginning of my youthful dissatisfaction with my non-stacked body.

Throughout junior high and high school, my longed-for breasts did not arrive, although I was an Amazon woman in every other way--5'8" at age eleven, size 10 shoes, "luxurious" eyebrows, really long arms.  I loomed over the seven smallish boys in my class for years along with Terri, an equally Amazonian creature whose perfect breasts, superior blonde/blue color scheme and winning smile assured her popularity until (and undoubtedly past) graduation.  Meanwhile I was a spelling bee champion and a straight-A student...actually, I was a straight-AA student until maybe sophomore year.

But, you know, I was pretty in my dark, unapproachable, Audrey Hepburn-like way.  Unfortunately I didn't know of her existence at the time, and that would've helped.  One night when I was in high school, my (busty) friend Reva and I were walking around our little town's pathetic summer carnival.  I was wearing an all-white shorts jumpsuit with a zip-neck and a black and white animal print scarf that I wore as a belt.  It was unquestionably the best outfit of my teen years, possibly life, and I felt like a million bucks in it as it made its offical Summerfest debut.  Reva steered us to a crowd of borderline-sleazy boys and for some reason pointed out my fashionable ensemble to them.  "It'd look a lot better on you, Reva!" one of them laughed, staring at her chest as usual.  So high school was like that, but believe me by then my escape-from-Jerktown plan was already well in place.

My college and adult years were populated with a handful of romantic interests who tolerated the fact that I was a handful at best.  A couple of them even loved that I was small, and I eventually made peace with my breasts.  Even though the sexiest Victoria's Secret bras were too big for me, I was still beautiful, and when a sugardaddyish boyfriend offered to buy me implants, I became the guns of the Navarone on his ass.  When an online dating prospect, who had spent weeks "enthralled" with my writing and my face, requested a full-length photo of me, I sent him the two you see above.  And when he dropped off the face of the planet immediately afterward, I viewed it as his profound loss.

Finally Jeff found me, and as if by magic I started to develop breasts and crossed the A-cup Rubicon into B land.  I remembered the following conversation from years ago when I bought a gorgeous, expensive bra. 

"What a lovely bra," the cashier said. 

"I'm just glad this brand comes in an A."

She grinned.  "Oh, I was small when I was your age, but once I hit my thirties..."  She puffed out her estimable chest triumphantly.  "Maybe it'll happen to you!" said my department store fairy godmother.  And what do you know, it kind of did, and over the past couple of years I have proceeded to love and even glory in my new, curvier body.

I had my first mammogram after Jeff and I were married.  It was a stressful runaround to be sure, with communication breakdowns, near-faints while my "dense" breasts were being smashed, second trips back for additional images, and waiting waiting waiting with my dear husband who had already lost a young wife to breast cancer.  Ultimately, I was fine.  No one in my family has had breast cancer, I don't drink or smoke, I've never been on birth control pills or any other drugs, and I seem healthy in every other way.

Everything changed on September 7.  I had another (now-dreaded) yearly mammogram.  I felt victorious in the fact that I didn't faint and the technician needed only four images.  Two days later, however, I learned that they needed to do the mammogram equivalent of photo re-takes due to asymmetry found in my right breast.  This had happened the last time, so even though I hated the thought of going back, I wrote off my breasts as being unphotogenic in some way. 

Last Tuesday, then, I went back for the re-takes.  Jeff was with me, as was my friend Laura via phone, who wanted text message updates.  I got changed into a hospital gown and sat in a waiting room with four other nervously upbeat women, all older than me.  It was then that I realized the importance of stylish shoes and a pedicure when you're having a mammogram.  Those gowns and capes erase any sense of style you might have had, but at least you can keep your shoes on.  And there's a lot of staring at the ground in the waiting room, which had a TV that was inexplicably tuned to the Weather Channel.  Luckily I wore my nice sandals and a fresh coat of lavender nail polish.  One by one the women were led through the labyrinth of the gleamingly new Mills Breast Cancer Institute (such a fun name).  Then it was my turn.

The technician doing my images seemed instantly familiar to me.  I couldn't say how other than the fact that she was stunningly average, the kind of muffin-shaped, cheerful thirtysomething in the process of growing out a Kate Gosselin reverse-mullet that you see at least twice a day in this part of the country.  She was soothing and said that getting more images is "very normal."  I thanked her when she was done and told her "good job," which I always tell medical professionals.  It can't hurt.  I was directed to a room where I could sit with Jeff as we awaited results.  I alternately texted Laura and curled up nervously against him.

Ms. Stunningly Average appeared about fifteen minutes later and said to me in a stage whisper, "They need to do an ultrasound--still very normal."  Instantly the back of my neck felt hot and I bent over, looking at Jeff.  I wanted to stay strong, but this seemed bad and not normal at all.

A while later I was led to a private examination room with a bed/table.  The ultrasound technician instructed me to lie on my back.  She was a plain, middle-aged woman with a brown bob.  "Now lift your right arm over your head and lean to the side a little, that's it," she said, helping me maneuver into what was honestly a very glamorous-looking pose, the kind I liked to draw when I was in life drawing class.  She further explained the process and how oh-so-normal everything was while opening my gown and squirting that ultrasound lube all over my right breast.  I tried being chatty with her for a while but ultimately became silent as she glided a cell phone-sized object over me and looked at a computer screen.  I studied the ceiling, where one of the tiles had been replaced with a photo of waves crashing against a rocky shoreline.  One of the rocks was a natural arch whose cut-out area resembled the Native American profile once featured on old nickels.  The white part of the biggest wave looked like a fleeing chipmunk.  After I felt that I had completely exhausted the photo's potential for hidden pictures, the technician was finished and went to consult with another doctor while I mopped up the lube on my chest.  She said that this doctor would come back and probably do an ultrasound herself, which was, let's all say it together, "still very normal."

So the doctor--and I can't remember her name, which is insane as I usually remember the names of everyone who feels me up--came in.  She was middle-aged but obviously still really trying to look fabulous.  Good for her.  The doctor and the technician re-lubed me and re-ultrasounded me, murmuring quietly to each other as they continually passed the instrument over the top of my breast.  I couldn't make out a word they were saying.  Then it was over. Thanks, good job everyone.

Finally I was allowed to get dressed and sit with Jeff as we awaited results in a suspiciously well-decorated room.  A framed reproduction of one of Georgia O'Keeffe's red poppies sat on an ostentatious brass easel near the couch where we sat.  A coffee table featured a few untouched-looking magazines.  Jeff was exactly the kind of person you'd want by your side in a situation like this, strong and encouraging, but concerned, and once again I cuddled beside him as we sat in silence.

The news was not good.  They wanted to schedule a biopsy to see what a tiny area is.  It's probably nothing, but the biopsy would tell them one way or another if it's something to worry about.  Or I could wait for six months, have another mammogram, and they could see if anything had changed.  Jeff, who knew from experience that a lot of bad things can happen in six months, encouraged the biopsy.  I was glad he was there because I couldn't think anymore.  A bubbly-but-not-too-bubbly young woman came in and scheduled the biopsy, which I will have tomorrow morning at 7:45. 

As soon as Jeff and I reached the parking garage I burst into tears, which I did off and on the rest of that day.

So the past seven days have been devoted to the nightmare that is Not Knowing.  I've talked with my mom, who has had two similar 6-month-wait-and-see areas that turned out to be nothing.  Jeff has been my rock and I adore him.  We've gone on epic walks together, comforted each other, distracted ourselves with everything we can think of, worked hard on our various projects, and engaged in gallows humor.  I've taken to calling my breasts "my little troublemakers."  Last season on 30 Rock, Nathan Lane guest-starred as one of Jack's roudy Irish relatives.  When referring to his fists, he held them up one at a time, yelling hilariously, "Say hello to Bono! And Sandra Day O'Connor!"  So I've also been calling my breasts Bono! (left) and Sandra Day O'Connor! (right), but this isn't exactly catching on like wildfire the way I'd hoped. 

And so, in approximately 19 hours, my right breast will be numbed with lidocaine, a needle will be inserted, and cell samples will be extracted.  A hair-width bit of titanium will be permanently inserted into the area as a marker indicating the location of the problem area for future mammograms.  "Most people tell me it's not even as a bad as a trip to the dentist," the doctor informed me.  But there will most likely be bruising, and oh how my body loves to hold onto a bruise, and I have to decide which bra of mine can hold an ice pack.  Probably none of my pretty ones.

I wish this were merely a treatment that would cure the problem area, because then I'd have no trouble enduring this biopsy, but it's not a treatment.  After it's over we get to wait for several more nightmarish days to see if it's cancer.

A song has been in my head since last Tuesday, and it's not Rock With You.  It's the Annie Lennox/David Bowie live performance of Queen's Under Pressure.  The part at the end, where she's clinging to him, that's how I feel.  I'm trying to be strong, but that's who I am right now. 

Thank you for reading this.

 

Comments

[Dr. SunWolf]

Oh, horrid anxiety for you. As a sister with the SAME breasts, small/dense (we may have been separated at birth?), I know that you're hurting now. But. But, I've had a zillion and counting needle biopsies and they always turn out fine or "possibly pre-cancerous cells" (years ago), so I (not being the one facing your biopsy) have every confidence on your behalf.

However, I'm throwing showers of iridescent smiles your way, white light to keep away the worst of the anxiety trolls, and thoughts of the happily-ever-after life you are gloriously in the middle of.

SunWolf
@wabisabiwhisper

[Ebertchicago]

Oh, Kelly, I'm there with you. Thank God for Jeff. It's so good to know someone really, really cares. Probably the biopsy will return okay. If it doesn't, it appears they've found whatever it is very early, and you and Jeff still have a lot of long walks ahead.

R

[Kevin Hunsperger]

I am thinking about you Kelly. I hope everything goes well tomorrow. Thanks for sharing such a personal side of yourself.

[Alison]

I found your post through Twitter and it's so strange that I did because I am going through something similar.
It is horrible and scary and the Not Knowing is the very worst part- hopefully.

Know that you are in my thoughts and prayers and you are surrounded by endless support and love!

[Alyzabeth]

I sure hope it turns out okay! I'm sure with your mom's history of it being nothing, the odds are in your favor!

[Laura]

Wish I had something profound and comforting to say. I don't. All I can tell you is that I've been thinking about you and wishing you well as you. Hugs.

[Hil]

I had a wait-and-see in six months with my mom a couple years ago. I take off work and sit in the waiting room for her the last five years or so. That particular year I got through a bunch of chapters in my book before she came out again. The results came out wonky. She has the "dense" problem too. They wanted her to come back in six months, which she did, but I think the waiting is the worst bit. For her it turned out that "whatever it was" was "reabsorbed" and gone by the next scan. They say that it happens a lot and normally without anyone noticing, but with the scanning at a younger age and with better scanners people are noticing them. I thought it was crazy to wait six months. To me not knowing that long would drive me nuts. Hopefully you'll get good news too and not have to wait quite so long for it.

I am pissed in retrospect at your crummy treatment in school. I can't imagine you being anything less than noticeably awesome. Strange how what makes someone cool as an adult sometimes doesn't have that power as a kid. And what wounds as as a kid lingers into adulthood. I was pretty unflappable at that age and don't remember a lot of teasing in school. I was so obviously weird and unconcerned with my appearance that no one had to point out my faults I guess. I had a superiority complex that protected me. :)

[David Comay]

Kelly, here's hoping that the news is good. You're such a bright light in this world; please take care, think as positively as possible and I'll keep my fingers crossed and thoughts positive too.

[Rachel Blackbirdsong]

Kelly, my mother recently completely chemo and radiation for breast cancer. It's been an adventure to say the least, but we're getting through it. Mom isn't terminal, they caught it early.

You will get through this and you will be OK. Most likely it will be nothing because most lumps are benign. However, if the lump is cancerous, you will get through this and you will be OK.

Just keep repeating that to yourself.

*hugs*

[Linda]

Sending you waves of positive energy Kelly!! Happened to me 13 yrs ago! But not a good outcome. Had a mastectomy, for me, a good thing..Have been healthy since, but it's quite a trip to endure. Best wishes, please let us know how it goes...

[Mel]

Thinking of u and loving u...will be praying for my glamourous and insanely talented cousin...

After reading this beautiful post, I got to thinking about my own "girls." For the past several months I have been on hormone replacement therapy due to insanely bad PMS...or pmdd. I have to rub this pink progesterone cream on various specific parts of my body on a very deatailed and annoying schedule. This is due to the fact I got my hormone levels checked and found that I virtually had no progesrerone in my body. In its place, lots of testosterone and estrogen...they both make one a bloated emotional hairy mess...(One perk, have large sex drive)-bonus for Bradley.
The doctor also told me it was a miracle I had children at all due to these damn, as I call them "Whoremones" now. Anyway back to the girls. Now that I am officially a woman in the hormonal sense, I have new breasts. One would be excited, since throughout my life I have had very perky almost B's. We are now full C's and I am so annoyed. I find now that I miss my little chest and the way that my clothes fit. They feel like intruders attached to my body that are now dearly loved by my partner and the general public as well. Which is fine, but I had come accustom to my boyish bod. Thought maybe my silly boobie story would entertain you for a minute..and maybe make u smile.

There really isn't anything I can say that will ease your nerves,but I wish I there was- but know I am thinking about you and know that I am so happy that you have found your Jeff and he has been lucky enough to find you. Much love. Mel

[Kelly]

I love you all for reaching out to me today. Thank you, and thank you internet!

[Colleen N]

I hope you get great news when you hear the results-no cancer! If it turns out to be cancer, I hope it is very early and very curable. You are very lucky to have Jeff. He sounds like a great guy. I had to have a biopsy in April 2008 and the results showed cancerous cells-DCIS. The Dr. who called me said-No one likes to hear they have cancer but if you're going to have it, this is the best kind to have. That didn't really help at the time, but it did later on. I was VERY lucky. Just a lumpectomy and no radiation. And lots of supportive friends and family and great doctors. I pray every day that cancer stays out of my body. I just wish we could wipe out all forms of cancer so no one would have to go through this anxiety.

[Sandra]

Sending you strength, Kelly. Stay positive, you are surrounded by love & light!

[KRM]

I hope it is nothing, but remember, whatever it is, it isn't the end of the world. You'll still be beautiful and, more important, Jeff and your family will still love you whatever it is.

V has complete confidence in you!
http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/N_2FpWg_sTi0dXm41zwCRoj979wgW1ELFS2AMNyw3Xw?feat=directlink

[Angie]

I love your blog: your amazing art, your chicken-n-biscuits recipe, your refreshing dry humor, and your honesty and courage shown in this entry. Found you through Emily (ran across her on youtube, her great personality and huge makeup collection makes me giggle). Really enjoy and love (can I use the word love once more?!) both of you! Sending some LOVE (ok twice) your way! :) -Angie

[Caroline]

When I was 20 I had a lump about the diameter of a nickel discovered, ultrasound-ed, and cut out of my breast within an entire time period of like two days. I have fibrocystic breasts (is that what "dense" means here?) and like an 85% breast cancer rate on my mom's side (in that she is the only one who hasn't had it out of the 6 or 7 females I can think of). My mom's sister died of breast cancer when she was 25.

And it was terrifying, and scary-terrible, but the lump was benign. If what you have turns out to be cancer they will sweep it out of you SO FAST you won't even believe it, and you will be fine. I have total faith that this will pass, and since I am not even religious at all, that's rationality at work.

[Kelly]

I love you for saying that, Caroline, and I am so glad that you are cancer-free. You're the smartest student I've ever taught, but you were *so young* when this happened to you. Amazing how you were able to cope. I'm lucky to know you, and I admire you so much.

[Wednesday Addams]

Kelly, I love your blog and it is certainly a bright spot in my day when you write here. I also love your paintings, especially the one you did for me earlier this summer of my friend's cats! I went through something similar 12 years ago, dense breasts, odd ultrasound and needle biopsy. Everything turned out fine, so I am holding out the same hope that everything will be fine for you too! Sending healthy, relaxing and calming thoughts your way.

[Meagan]

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't kind of a mess after reading this. It seems like as soon as life becomes perfect...you can have it for a little while, and then something shitty just has to work its way into your happiness. I'm so sorry that you and Jeff are going through all of this, as the fear takes a strong enough toll on you. One positive thing that my doctor told me just today (breast cancer runs in my family, so I've already started having breast exams) is that people don't usually die from breast cancer these days - especially when detected early. So - no matter how tomorrow comes out, you're going to have many happy days ahead filled with Jeff and Bunn and the other kitties...and painting, and Robert Ebert, and all of your former students who absolutely adore you :)

Best of luck to you - my mind will not stop thinking of you until your facebook friends have a full report tomorrow!!!

And, Ms. Eddington - you've always been that one person who I look up to and think "Damn, I wish I could be more like her - little boobies and all!"

[Claudia]

Kelly, I just finished kicking b cancer's ass. I'm 26. (24 when diagnosed). While I went through treatment I planned my wedding and got married and did one round of p90x. I'm well now and more healthy than I've ever been in my life. The point is, while we hope it's nothing ( which you're probably tired of hearing but is very true nonetheless) if it isn't, and turns out to be something, you still have your life to live and the end of it all will come. Being open about this is key, so that no matter what happens, you can always know that we all have your back (even if we're strangers and have never met). I'm thinking of you and am channeling posiive vibes your way.

[Caroline]

I forgot the part where I had a benign ovarian cyst removed via outpatient surgery earlier this year. I AM THE TUMOR EXPERT!

Also, how I coped when I found the lump was by becoming hysterical and calling my mom. You have one of those and you should feel free to cope in this manner also.

[Victoria Crum]

I came to you by way of Poof...or is it Puff? Well, I know it's Emily. :) And I am so sorry that you have to endure this. I am sending prayers and great positive energy.

My sister in law just kicked breast cancer's ass two years ago, while attending law school, and raising 3 kids! Her blog is blawgcoop.com/lawmom/ , just in case you'd like to visit.

[Mare]

Thank you so very much for sharing and giving of yourself. You, Jeff and Sandra Day O'Connor are in my prayers. Sending calm, healing thoughts and get the f'outta here I don't have time for this S#!%, energy!

[Anna]

hey Kelly, I'm sorry you have to endure this particular trial. I know you are strong enough to overcome it. I hope your biopsy goes well and that your news is good. Thanks for your amazing blog and for being the person you are.

[pris]

from someone who has been there, done that- good luck-sending positive vibes. hang in there.

[Susan P]

I'll be thinking positive thoughts for you tomorrow. My wee ones (well, the right one) and I went through a biopsy 4 years ago. The two small lumps turned out to be fibrocystic. I'm hoping it's nothing serious for you either :)

[dm]

Hey Kelly! Thanks for sharing this with your readers. I am sure that you are going to get good news.

[Andrea]

My prayers for you, Jeff, and your family. I'm praying everything turns out well for you and i wish you the best!

[Claire]

Kelly, I just want to say that this post touched me and that I am wishing you all the best. I have read your blog for some time and loved your writing, painting and cooking. All the best to you, I will be waiting for an update. Best wishes from Finland.

[Lisi]

I have been reading your blog for about a year and it always makes my day a little bit better when I do but I never leave a comment, today I felt the need to. As a woman I feel what you feel and I really really hope that you will be ok. I am sorry you have to go through this but have faith that everything will be alright, I wish you the best of luck Kelly. God Bless you.

[layla]

Hi Kelly. I know nothing I say is going to make you less anxious/worried as you wait, but please hang in there. Will be praying for you. Am happy that you have someone as amazing as Jeff by your side. God bless!

[Elizabeth Mackey]

I'll be thinking good thoughts for you Kelly :)

[GinaE]

All good thoughts are with you and Jeff now as you endure the "wait". I went though it as well, and pray your results will be like mine...fine. Thank you for posting your experience. It will encourage others to get their exams. I'll be anxious until your next post.

[Emma]

Oh god when I finally realized where this what going, my throat dropped way down to my feel.

Hopefully, it's nothing. My aunt goes through this all the time; constantly getting biopsies. Every time, they put her through the same emotional turmoil. Every time, it comes back negative.

Good thoughts are being sent your way!!

[bj]

Kelly, my prayers are with you.

[The Beautiful Kind]

As a small-breasted woman I started out enjoying and relating to this post. I thought this was about body image and self-acceptance. Then you went into more serious territory. I am so sorry for this unexpected turn of events. I love all the warm, supportive comments from women who have been through similar situations. You are surrounded by love and good energy.

[Terry Bayer]

I used to be anxious for breast check-ups and mammography because I have bumps on my breast. And just like you, I found out that they are only benign and can be removed without danger at all. There are some people who worry about breast diseases, but I see it as an inspiration to live life to the fullest.