The English Maximalista

It is 7:30 on a hot August morning. I am sitting in the waiting room of our local breast center as I start writing this. Writing soothes me, so I’m glad I brought my iPad along, to distract me from worrying.

I can’t help overhearing a grumpy old man (NOT my husband) complaining to his elderly wife about the ratification of stupid laws, such as the one telling people to not leave their dogs or children in cars with the windows up. The interior of a car can reach 100 degrees within ten minutes… but this man’s logic was, well, it’s 100 degrees outside right now: What’s the difference?!

Mr Maximalista and I are exchanging knowing glances with each other, silently communicating at the other man’s curmudgeonliness. Who knows? One day that might be us.

Anyway, we are at the breast center together because I got recalled after my recent regular annual mammogram. Apparently, there were some dubious-looking spots on that reading, so here I am, back for another uncomfortable breast-squishing, only this one is to be followed by an ultrasound. 

That gel had better be WARM.

Mr M joined me to offer some moral support. He cares about my boobies almost as much as I do. It’s nice to have him here to hold my hand. And I shall need him to drive me home if I am given Bad News, today.

The ten days that passed between the dreaded phone call from the breast center, to the morning of today’s recall appointment have given me a few more grey hairs, along with plenty of opportunity for reflection.

My first thought was of gratitude for having access to health care. Not everyone is so fortunate. I was flooded with relief that I follow through with my own self care by having regular mammograms. Even if that meant I was now subject to ten long days filled with anxiety for the unknown.

And even though this was my first thought, I have to be honest with you by admitting that my immediate SECOND thought was more along the lines of an existential crisis. Would I be given a death sentence? What would I tell my family? How will I cope? Will this change my approach to life? 

I realize October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, so I am a bit early in my evangelism [since it is August], but I really want to stress to you, my friend, how important it is to be aware ALL YEAR ROUND.

Early detection is key.

Ladies, I sincerely hope you are examining your own boobies regularly, as well as making sure you go for your regular mammograms. Mine happen to be annual because of my age bracket. 

Guys, you are not off the hook: your odds of getting breast cancer are much lower [1 in every 100] for men than women [roughly 1 in every 8], but the outcome for men is usually poorer, because men are generally diagnosed later than women. 

Fellas, check your pecs!

*****

Thankfully, I got my results immediately today. Turns out I have some pea-sized cysts on one breast. I almost cried with relief. Nothing to be concerned about — it transpires that cysts are extremely common, and they do not become cancerous. Also, if they get too big, they can be extracted.

Nevertheless, the horrid 10-day wait for today’s appointment (upgraded from my GP at the friendly office up the road from my house, to specialists at the more imposing Breast Center at the Hospital in the city) gave me plenty of pause for thought about my life.

I vowed to try to be even kinder in my daily goings. Give more hugs and tell my loved ones how much they mean to me. 

I also vowed to be more grateful for my lovely little life. As Don Corleone said, when he collapsed from his fatal coronary, “life is so beautiful.”

Anyway, I just wanted to share my experience with you. Please check your breasts.

Lots of love,

M xo