Shallow Frank

I went today for my routine mammogram, now that I’m in the *cough*40*cough range.  What an unnerving experience.  The ENTIRE day, leading up to my appointment, I anticipated pain.  “It doesn’t matter how big your breasts are,” the technician tried to reassure me, “it’ll hurt regardless.”

AND boy did it hurt!  The last x-ray, I started to whimper and begged her to hurry up and finish.  At some point, I also think that I lost consciousness… a little bit.  But, it’s preventative medicine, so my insurance company says, something that ALL women need to do every…single year after they turn 40.

I have ANOTHER 150 years of someone mashing my boobies flat and telling me to not move.  Wonderful.  I’m SO excited that I can’t wait until NEXT year.

And, I lie… like a dog.

My family history is comprised of NEARLY every ailment except for breast cancer.  BUT.. and this is a really big one, that doesn’t matter.

On the CDC website, they offer a bunch of statistics regarding breast cancer:

White women stand a greater chance of having breast cancer, according to their hard-to-read chart… nearly 125 out of 100,000 women have it; however, women in NJ, OR, RI, VT, WA, and DC, the statistics change a little: 126.3 to 134.0 per 100,000.  Apparently, living in NJ offers a higher rate of women having breast cancer.  Wonderful.  The CDC is not known for its tactful approach to statistics.

When I arrived at the imaging place, they asked me if I have any female family members who have or had breast cancer.  No.  Not to my knowledge.  Even my mother said that no one died from it.  Does that mean no one ever will?  No.  It just means that we’re not carrying the gene.

But, I put 2 sweet’n lows in my coffee/tea.  I drink diet soda.  I have eaten food with ingredients that not even my dictionary can decipher.  Nursing one child does not afford me the protection against breast cancer, it just rules it out one time.

But I’ve had two other children whom I didn’t nurse.  The first one because I couldn’t… his father’s lawyer made sure of that.  I was also too stressed out with my brother’s death, the constant barrage of harassing phone calls, letters, and such from SD’s family.  And, to be honest, living with my parents as a single mother wasn’t always the most exciting.  YES, they were very helpful, but I felt trapped… unable to work (again, the lawyer, SD, and his family’s way of preventing me from bettering my life out of fear that I may lose my son), receiving state welfare/food stamps/WIC, as well as EVERYDAY people coming up to me to ask me if I were married.  Or, if I even knew who the father was. 

I nursed my middle son because everyone was pressuring me to do so.  Guess what? I didn’t find it relaxing, comforting, a moment of bonding, or a great dieting tool.  It was a struggle.  It was time consuming.  I had another child to take care of so nursing didn’t afford me mobility either.  That, and the fear that at any moment some baby would cry and my milk would come in… soaking through the nursing pad and ruining another shirt. 

The third child came and I had decided to feed him formula.  Nursing isn’t for everyone, I kept reminding myself.  Certainly there are benefits to nursing a baby, however, it hurt all of the time and my middle son was never satisfied.  I was pretty sure that #3 son wouldn’t be either.  That, and my husband FINALLY had an opportunity to feed his son and I, on the other hand, was able to sleep (a little) at night without having to play the role of human drive through.

In all three cases, my children were not good sleepers… until they were about 9 months to a year old.  Nursing didn’t help #2 son to sleep better, but opposite–he was ALWAYS awake.  He was colicy.  He cried almost CONSTANTLY.  When I finally gave up and gave him formula, he was picky.  It took three tries before I found formula that was both satisfying and didn’t make him throw up.

My oldest and youngest were born via c-section.  I also had gestational diabetes during my last pregnancy, something that completely knocked me out.  Literally.  After he was born, I slipped into what my doctors called a “blood sugar switchup coma thingy.”

I could HEAR people, but I couldn’t respond.  I couldn’t open my eyes.  I couldn’t speak.  I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t do anything.  No one warned me about this either, until AFTER it happened.

“By the way, after having #3 son, you might’ve experienced this weird thing that probably lasted several hours… your body was switching from insulin dependence to your natural insulin.”

Ya think?  Really?  If someone had ONLY warned me BEFOREHAND, I wouldn’t felt paniced thinking that I was dying or going to die.  Every SINGLE time a nurse said, “OK, Herstory, it’s time for you to open your eyes,” and I couldn’t, well, it would’ve been nice to know WHY not.  Four or five hours later, I was able to open my eyes and speak.  When my doctor came to visit me after I was awake, I asked her what happened.  She was shocked that none of the nurses caught out to this because it could’ve been serious IF I DIDN’T WAKE UP FROM IT.  Good to know.  Thank you.

So, when I had to check YES on the “breast feeding” question, I anticipated someone asking me a question–so to alleviate that, I wrote “only for the middle child.”  THERE!  And, I was asked “why not.”  “Because I didn’t WANT to.”  That’s a slap in the face for every woman whose nursed EVERY child until they were potty-trained, hiding the nursing child under a specially made blanket while wearing specially made clothing.  I’m sorry, but it was a miserable experience and neither #2 son or I appreciated it.

Today, he’s a healthy 14 year old.  My 5 year old is also a healthy child.  Healthy and hyper, just like is oldest brother.  (Understand why I feel frazzled so often?)

Anyway, if you haven’t had a “mammy” yet, don’t worry.  In total, my boobies were squished for maybe 5-10 minutes before I was sent on my way.  And, nearly 2 hours later, they don’t even ache.  Boobies are resilient, ya know.  And, if your technician ever says, “No pain, no gain,” you have MY permission to kick her ass.  Fortunately, this techie was nice.  Though, I could’ve done without the conversation when the last squish took my breath away.  For whatever reason, I just wasn’t in the MOOD to tell her what grades I’ve taught when my boobie was smooshed within a half inch of its life.  Sorry.

Anyway, if you would like MORE information about breast cancer, check out this website by the National Breast Cancer Foundation.  The give more straight-forward and clear symptoms:

Risk factors for breast cancer include:

• Older age – Half of all women diagnosed are over age sixty-five
• Early onset of menses or late menopause
• Diets high in saturated fat
• Older age at birth of first child or never having given birth
• A personal history of breast cancer or benign (noncancer) breast disease
• A family history, particularly a mother or sister
• Treatment with radiation therapy to the breast/chest
• Breast tissue that is dense on a mammogram
• Taking hormones such as estrogen and progesterone
• Obesity
• Moderate alcoholic intake – more than 2 drinks per day
• Gene changes – including BRCA1, BRCA2, and others

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This doesn’t mean let someone grope your boobie either… (*coughs*Dangerspouse*coughs*)