please see my new documentary about health, cycling and hope: Share the Road
I went to my mammogram appointment. I noticed quickly I was
the only man in the room. Lots of women of different ages and ethnicities.
There are more common types of who gets breast cancer, but as this room shows,
particularly with my presence, there are outliers, too. I fill out the copious
paperwork and jump up each time they call my name. It takes about three of
these jumps before I get the call that tells me the machine is broken. No joke.
The patient who is in the room just before me has it break during her
appointment. I have to reschedule.
This is hard – not just on me, but on those who are waiting
for the information. When I get home, my wife practically jumps me at the door.
“What happened?” she demands. “The machine broke,” I explain with a shrug. We
stare at each other dumbly for a moment, then it passes. No putting a lid on
this today.
I’m still not scared, but after being in the office and that
close to the machine that will give potentially life-changing results to me,
I’m more anxious than ever to get this over with. The reschedule is set for
eight days later. Life happens. Ups and downs. Some good laughs, some burning
anger. I have an appointment with a cardiologist during this time regarding my
varicose veins – I didn’t even know that was what was going on until a friend
pointed them out in a facebook post beneath some family pictures from Maui. I
felt weird about her comment at the time. Now I need to give her thanks: Thank
you, Pavlina.
It was good to discuss my heart with this specialist, as
I’ve never seen a cardiologist before. I’ve thought about my heart a lot – from
a physical and emotional standpoint. I’ve had fears of it stopping outright.
I’ve felt like it’s being shredded. I swear it’s been worn on my sleeve,
dragged behind my and shattered into a million pieces. But all in all, it seems
to be holding up well. I have long been curious about getting a stress test
done on it, like they do for the elite athletes. The cardiologist checks me out
and says he wants an ultrasound done on my leg to get a better idea of what’s
going on. He says he’ll let me know about my treatment options once he sees
that chart. Scheduling says that will take a month, then another month to get
back in to see the doctor. So it goes.
In fact the rest of the week goes by. I’m conscious of the
test on the day of, but not overly worried about it. I go back to the office.
There’s one other guy there this time. That doesn’t make me feel any better, or
any worse – I simply notice it and wish him (and all the “hers”) the best.
They call me back. My radiologist is very quiet and kind.
She asks me to take off my shirt and go up to the machine. The machine. There
it is. It has pink lettering, with the name “SHEILA” on it. I’m guessing that’s
there to make the women more comfortable with it. As my radiologist positions
what tissue I have for the slowly compacting plates that will soon hold my
suspect right breast (I actually feel better calling this my “chest” if
you don’t mind), she assures me that breast cancer in men is extremely rare.
That’s what everyone says. I hope they’re right. I’ve also heard this process
hurts from many people. I hope they’re wrong. My tissue is squished between the
plates and I’m told to hold my breath. This caught me off guard so I barely
have any to hold. I hope the little I have will last me. A few seconds later a
beep and a “you can relax” releases me. We go through the same drill on the
other side of my chest, then side views for both. She says I can sit as she goes
and checks out the pictures. I was told by my General Practitioner that he
would look at the results of the mammogram after the test and if there was
nothing to be worried about, I wouldn’t hear back from him. The radiologist
re-emerged just then and said three simple words: “It’s not cancer”. I didn’t
realize how good that would sound until I heard her say it. I stood and smiled.
I managed to say “oh”. She said it was likely a reaction to something else that
I couldn’t quite discern. Maybe my ears were buzzing in excitement or her accent
suddenly got heavier or I don’t know what. Whatever it is it’s not cancer. And, by all account, it's nothing to worry about. I’ll follow up with my General
Practitioner to get his best guesstimate, but for now it seems I’ve dodged a large
bullet.
I hugged the Radiologist before she or I knew quite what I
was doing. She laughed and hugged me back. I barely held back tears. I didn’t
expect to be so emotional. I didn’t expect to hear such definitive news so
quickly. I am relieved. I am thankful. I know I’m okay today. I talked to my
parents afterward and after celebrating the good news, my mom asked me what
else I was working on – as I tend to be a bit of a work and certainly
project-aholic. “Being happy”, I said without hesitation. Not even thinking
about work right now. That’s a relief, too.
please see my new documentary about health, cycling and hope: Share the Road
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