A Tiny Detail

In yesterday's post, I mentioned that I have pulled/torn a muscle in my chest cavity. What I didn't say is that leading up to that diagnosis, that's not what I thought it was. And I haven't given myself the latitude to truly wrap my brain around that idea.

Several weeks ago, I felt something. Was it a lump? Was it on the other one? I ignored it. Or so I thought. Once I knew it was there, there wasn't really a way to "ignore" it. I thought perhaps I'd hurt myself in kickboxing or strength training, so I hung back a little, giving it time to rest and heal. But it didn't feel any better. In fact, it got worse.

I started thinking, thinking more, thinking harder, always thinking. I thought of worst case. I thought about if I was over-reacting. What if it was nothing? I didn't want to look like a fool at the doctor. And which doctor should I go to, even if I did decide to go?

Finally, when it was to the point I couldn't sleep at night because all I could picture in my head was having my breast removed, enduring chemo and missing the lives of my children, I called the doctor.

At my exam yesterday, there was lots of pulling and tugging. There is NOTHING at all enjoyable about a breast exam. My doctor, whom I have trusted with my life and the lives of my children on more than one occasion, said that he felt nothing. The area he was in when I yelped was chest wall - not breast tissue. He was confident it's the muscle, not anything else.

BUT, if in the next few weeks, there isn't resolve, he will do a mammo.

My grandmother is a breast cancer survivor. My dad has cancer. I'm not carrying around the best genes. There is nothing to make you more scared than the thought of it. I hope my scare is over for a very long time.