For eight days in January, I thought I had breast cancer. My routine mammogram had shown a “questionable developing nodule,” and the doc wanted me to come back for more views.
When I got the “more views” call, my mind jumped over “questionable” and went straight to “developing nodule,” “nodule” being a six-letter word for the four-letter word “lump.”
As I waited for the follow-up testing, I planned who I would tell, and how, when the cancer was confirmed. I considered which commitments and responsibilities I would unload so I could proceed with my treatment regimen. I wondered how that regimen would differ from my first go-round with breast cancer not quite 20 years ago, when I had three surgeries, chemo, radiation and five years of tamoxifen, a drug which can keep hungry little breast cancer cells from getting the estrogen they need to multiply. I even flipped through the L.L.Bean catalog looking for tops with puffy fronts in case I became totally flat-chested.
I knew this kind of thinking was foolish, but it was irresistible. Continue reading