I have an appointment with a breast surgeon. That is so scary. Not every day, in fact not a majority of the time. The fear sneaks up on me in my dreams. Or when I’m tired and trying to rest. My brain says to wait for the appointment, but my heart says it’s too long to wait.
I called my sons to give them a head’s up on what is happening.
Did I tell you how wonderful they are?
For the life of me I can’t remember exactly what they said. Not comfort exactly. Just calm, quiet good sense to give me a hand to hold. One got off the phone and immediately researched atypical cells on the web. He called me back and gave me a lecture on what he found, advising me to look it up myself. Which I did.
What is atypical ductal hyperplasia? After reading several sites, I’m still unsure. Does it need surgery? Depends who you ask. Is it cancer or will it become cancer? Well, that depends, too.
I have lots of questions for the surgeon.
The advice seems to imply an excision (surgical cut) of the area surrounding the calcified tissue removed during the biopsy or lumpectomy is needed. The statistics show a small number of the excised tissue samples result in further surgery. The big but is not knowing until the surgery what will be removed.
A lump? A breast?
I thought about that too. Would I mind if I had a breast removed? I don’t think so. I have a thousand reasons to live. My breasts did their work- they provided milk for my babies and made my clothes fit nicely.
I guess I’m mature enough to continue to enjoy life with one removed. Only I truly hope it doesn’t come to that. I need to pray more. For peace and serenity with whatever happens. And I want to be able to focus on my writing, again.
Seven days and counting until I meet the surgeon.
My son is updating my website, so I’d like to have you check it out.