I knew it. I knew something was wrong. I told my friends and I told my mom. I told my primary care doctor office and they laughed it off. You're 28... you don't need a mammogram.
A sigh in despair, and it occurred to me! Planned Parenthood will see me!
Now at this point it is the end of the pandemic "quarantine" shut down era. Yet, doctors offices were not willing to see you in person unless it was 'severe'. I guess a lump the size of a golf ball that was stabbing my breast was not enough.
I will tell you this and excuse me in advance... for this will NOT be the last time I say this, I KNOW MY BREASTS. I've loved them always! The religious household I grew up in always tried to shame me for my body and love for it. See I was 8 years old when i started growing the girls. I will never forget the day my dad took me to target to get my first bra. Ofcourse, being an only child and a girl at that... my dad had no idea what he was doing. Yet, he was chill.
I remember him going to the sales lady in that section and whispering.
"What kind of bra would you recommend my 8 year old daughter to wear? I don't want her feeling self conscience or uncomfortable, I just want to protect her."
I remember asking myself, what does me wearing a bra have to do with protection? Now this I promise I will tie together later.
The sales lady looked at my dad and then at me hiding behind a rack with big coats; wearing my favorite overalls and my brand new harry potter style glasses (yes I was bullied) and she looked at me kindly and laughed a bit at my dad.
"It's scary, I know. My daughter is the same age. I know exactly what she needs."
So then this lady walks over and shows me all the colors available in what truly was a comfortable bra. I wore these kind of comfort sports bra until 6th grade and by that point I was a C cup and needed real bras. By the time i got to high school i was a double D, and proud. It felt like my two girls and i were on adventure together. I knew everything about my breasts, they were such an integral part of me. So yes, when I felt something was wrong... I KNEW something was wrong.
Anyway, moving forward. Planned Parenthood was my saving grace and got me the referral. I chose Sibley as they were under John Hopkins (which needs no introduction I hope), and went for a mammogram among other tests. Their silences spoke loudly. Their kind face of concern telling me yet another test is needed created knots in my stomach. I chuckle a little now. About terms and body parts I never knew anyuthing about. I remember texting words like 'biopsy' and "lymph nodes",to my girls and their texts getting slightly less hopeful. I will never forget... them telling me things don't look good but it looks like cancer and that they would confirm within 2 days.
Ever had an out of body experience and still have to function like a normal person. I walked sideways to my car. got in. AND YELLED.
FUCKKKKKK.... ARGHHHHHHHH... FUCK THIS SHIIITTTTTT!!!!!!!!!
I sat there and cried. Ugly crying and yelling.
I then saw an older woman possibly in her 40's, walking out of the building. Bald. She had taken off the scarf off her head because the sun was beaming hard that day and I saw her laugh. I cried harder.
I knew I needed to get out of the hospital area, but the stream of tears in my eyes wouldnt let me see. I kid you not. Already being a blind girl I was low key a menace to society at that point. I drove while having a meltdown with enough tears to drown out my vision forever. What did it matter? I knew it in my gut... i have cancer. I HAVE FUCKING CANCER.
