![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
They're very efficient at the Cancer Institute, which I still don't like the name of. I shall now refer to it as the Place of Boobie Smushing and Poking, or TPoBSaP.
They're very efficient at TPoBSaP. Barely a chance to read. Whisked back to the room. I have a hospital bracelet. I should make a scrapbook.
They poked around and found Fred and muttered about him, about him being pretty dense, and she said that they needed to use another needle. I asked if that would be the biopsy needle, and she said yes. So. Upgraded to biopsy.
(I ask a lot of questions. I got the info about the different size needles for aspiration and biopsy at the ultrasound on Monday.)
They don't say the words cancer or malignant or tumor at these things. Because they can't tell without labwork. So I knew I wasn't going to get any of those words, even if it was something.
But there was one very innocuous word.
"Toothpasty".
It looks a little toothpasty in there, she said.
What she did not know, of course, is that my aunt looked a little toothpasty in there, that word exactly, and it was cancer.
No way for them to know it was a poor word choice... but yeah. That, I guess, was the one word capable of sending me into gibbering-fear mode. Not that I gibbered there. And I am not gibbering here at work. I am outwardly calm. I am just gibbering in my head.
Because, y'know, hearing the exact same thing they told your aunt who got cancer at your biopsy will make you freak out a little. I'm pretty sure that's normal, under the circumstances.
My aunt is in remission, btw. So. Yay aunt! And she's not my birth-aunt, so that's got nothing to do with me geneticswise...
They sent it to the lab. She said I'd probably hear on Monday, but definitely by the end of the day on Tuesday. "It's probably nothing." They tell that to everyone, though, I'm sure, so I'm really not all that reassured. I mean, what are they going to do, say, "Yep, that's probably cancer" and then "Oops, it's not! Sorry!"? No, they're gonna tell you it's probably nothing.
It could be nothing.
But expect me to be doing that gibbering-in-the-corner thing a bit til I hear.
I really have had about enough of this body-malfunction shit.
They're very efficient at TPoBSaP. Barely a chance to read. Whisked back to the room. I have a hospital bracelet. I should make a scrapbook.
They poked around and found Fred and muttered about him, about him being pretty dense, and she said that they needed to use another needle. I asked if that would be the biopsy needle, and she said yes. So. Upgraded to biopsy.
(I ask a lot of questions. I got the info about the different size needles for aspiration and biopsy at the ultrasound on Monday.)
They don't say the words cancer or malignant or tumor at these things. Because they can't tell without labwork. So I knew I wasn't going to get any of those words, even if it was something.
But there was one very innocuous word.
"Toothpasty".
It looks a little toothpasty in there, she said.
What she did not know, of course, is that my aunt looked a little toothpasty in there, that word exactly, and it was cancer.
No way for them to know it was a poor word choice... but yeah. That, I guess, was the one word capable of sending me into gibbering-fear mode. Not that I gibbered there. And I am not gibbering here at work. I am outwardly calm. I am just gibbering in my head.
Because, y'know, hearing the exact same thing they told your aunt who got cancer at your biopsy will make you freak out a little. I'm pretty sure that's normal, under the circumstances.
My aunt is in remission, btw. So. Yay aunt! And she's not my birth-aunt, so that's got nothing to do with me geneticswise...
They sent it to the lab. She said I'd probably hear on Monday, but definitely by the end of the day on Tuesday. "It's probably nothing." They tell that to everyone, though, I'm sure, so I'm really not all that reassured. I mean, what are they going to do, say, "Yep, that's probably cancer" and then "Oops, it's not! Sorry!"? No, they're gonna tell you it's probably nothing.
It could be nothing.
But expect me to be doing that gibbering-in-the-corner thing a bit til I hear.
I really have had about enough of this body-malfunction shit.
no subject
no subject
I'll keep you in my thoughts sweetie. Hang in there.
no subject
Good luck, you deserve some in this department! :)
no subject
Last time I talked to that twit I tell you.
*HUG*
no subject
no subject
no subject
My aunt was diagnosed with Stage 4 Endometrial cancer a few years ago, she had a *very poor* prognosis, and at last check she's free and clear.
It ain't over 'til it's over.
no subject
(And by the way, to answer a question I think you asked a while back, LISA 2004 is November 14–19. Still not sure whether I'm going to go.)
no subject
Eep!
I guess those things can pop up pretty quickly sometimes, here's hoping that's all it is. *hugs*
no subject
no subject
no subject
I'll send good thoughts your way hon. Hang in there.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Toothpasty...what a strange word...it's a good descriptor but, yeah. Strange.
Gessi
no subject
no subject
Urk, I know how much that sucks... my mom too recently went through the whole breast-cancer scare thing when they found an irregularity in one of her breasts in her annual mammogram. Several hundred dollars and a few manual examinations later (in my parents' own words, "She paid to have her breasts groped by a doctor!") they concluded that the irregularity was caused by the deodorant spray she'd used that morning.
Geh. :P
no subject
Mine's been felt independently by 5 doctors now. Ha!
Interestingly, I haven't been charged a co-pay for the mammogram, ultrasound, or bopsy. Just the initial appointment with my regular doctor.
no subject
Gods, you are overdue for some good news. Thinking good thoughts that that's what it will be.
M
no subject