The Mass

It's strange how the small details are the ones that stick in your mind after a stressful event. I remember calling Dr. Lee's office and being told that I'd have to wait 6 weeks for an appointment. I remember being annoyed. I remember that the woman on the phone didn't care that I was annoyed and told me that I could see a nurse practitioner right away if I didn't want to wait. I didn't want to wait, but I also didn't want a stranger feeling me up and looking up my hoo-hoo. But, because I am impatient, and because my husband was 43 at the time and because I was pretty keen to get a clean bill of gynecologic health so that we could have another baby I agreed to see the NP.

I knew I didn't like her the moment I met her. Does that make me feel like a bitch? Yes. Yes it does. But I didn't like her and I still don't. That being said... I don't think she liked me either. Or maybe she's like that with all of "her" patients. I say "her" because I'm pretty sure she gets all the impatient, high-maintenance women that would rather be seeing their own doctor but settle for her. That might make me come across like an unsympathetic bitch too. She didn't smile. She got right down to business. Blood pressure, hoo-hoo, breast check, in that order. It was the breast check that threw me. She's squeezing and grabbing and massaging my left breast and then she's squeezing and grabbing and massaging my right and she says, "Ok, there's a mass in your right breast. I'm going to write you a prescription for an ultrasound where they will take a closer look. But you need to schedule it for 2 weeks from now."

Ummmmmmmmmm......... "A mass?" I say. "What does that mean?" "Here." she says and she takes my hand. "Feel this." And she pokes my breast with my right hand. "Feel that mass?" There's that word again. "No. I don't feel anything." "Here." She says with a note of exasperation and she takes my left hand and places it on the same spot and pushes down. "Right there." First of all, I'm in shock. Second of all, I really don't feel anything. Third of all the word "mass" evokes visions of mounds and hills and giant tumors and I really don't feel anything resembling a giant tumor so I tell her so. And she says "Well, there is a mass there. Here's your prescription." And she's gone.

In a screenplay I'm pretty sure I would write something like "End Scene"
here and start Act II then cut to me in my car in the parking garage hysterically crying while dialing my husband at the office and telling him the whole story which went something like this.

"Sob, hiccup, Hoooooney, it's me. This mean woman at the Dr. says I have a mass in my breast. (Hysteria rising, voice getting dramatically higher pitched) A MAAAASSS."

"What mean woman?"

I love my husband. His first instinct is to defend my honor. The breast cancer thing will register in a minute.

"The nurse-practitioner."

"Why did you see the nurse practioner? Where's Dr. Lee?"

"Sob. Hiccup. I don't know. I couldn't (hiccup) get an appointment (hiccup) for 6 weeks so I had to see this woman. And she says (sob) that I have a MASS (note of hysteria) but that they can't ultrasound it for 2 weeks because of (hiccup) my hormones or something."

"Do not drive. Stay where you are. I'm calling Dr. Lee. I will call you right back." Click.

So I sit. And I wait. And the phone rings 5 minutes later. "Dr. Lee is going to see you in the morning. Are you calm?"

"No."

"Do you want me to come get you?"

"No. I'll get myself home."

"Ok. Don't worry. I'm sure it's nothing."

And surprisingly that made me feel better. Michael has that affect on me. All you women's libbers out there, judge me if you will, but he makes me feel safe and like he can handle anything and the woman in me finds that ultra-attractive.

So I pondered how the phone conversation must have gone when he called. I mean, Dr. Lee couldn't get me in for 6 weeks but Michael with his cute english accent calls and either flirts his way through or threatens a law-suit (neither of which are out of his repertoire) and voila the elusive Dr. Lee is magically available. I pondered but I didn't care.

So at 9 AM the next morning the 2 of us walked back through the sparklingly clean double glass doors of the Dr.'s office and waited to see Dr. Lee. She was on call that day, so even though the nurses rushed us into a room (making it relatively clear Michael had chosen angry-law-suit-guy not charming-flirty-guy) we waited 2 hours to see Dr. Lee. Pretty sure she ran across to the hospital to deliver a baby while we were waiting but God love her, when she walked in the room she said "Don't tell me anything. I don't want to know what she said or what she thought or where she thought she felt the lump." SEE! Already... "lump" is a reasonable word whereas "mass"... well we've already seen how that word affects my emotional well- being. She opened my gown and performed the breast exam on both of my breasts. I waited. We waited. She did a really thorough job. (Lawsuit?) But she was kind and she smiled and was matter-of-fact and said, "I don't feel anything. You have fibrous breasts but nothing I would call a lump. Nothing we need to worry about." "Really?" I said. "Really. Now let's talk about fun stuff. Next time I see you, you going to be pregnant?"

And like that, it was over. I'd never been able to empathize with cancer patients, cancer survivors or the family members of those people before and though my brush with it was very short-lived, the stress it caused gave me a very real and very new sensitivity toward actual cancer patients, survivors and their families. Michael and I talked about it over a celebratory bottle of my favorite red pinot noir at lunch.

Six months later I was back at Dr. Lee's office having my ultrasound and there was definitely a mass. But she was in my belly and had a strong heartbeat and was born healthy and happy in December 2008.