Saturday, August 29, 2015

the weight of the world

Ever feel like maybe the universe IS trying to crush you?  I know that I suffer from the effects of anxiety and trauma, I get that my heart will forever race when I enter the walls of a medical office.  I have been working to accept this as my normal for some time now.

Yesterday I got a terrible call.  Fucked up in every way.  My annual mammogram screen was abnormal.

Let me back up.... I went to get this mammogram because insurance covers it (thanks ACA).  A lot of literature is out there that says if you're in your forties, you are possibly better served going every other year because of the rate of false positives.  Nevertheless, I received a couple of reminder letters in the mail.  I happened to not be pregnant.  Sure, go get it over with.

My follow-up ultrasound is monday afternoon.  Could it be a false positive?  Sure.  There's anywhere between a 45 and 60 percent false positive rate in women my age.  I have really dense breasts.  My mom does too.  We don't have a family history of early breast cancer in our family.  Due to some stuff with an estranged family member that I will leave off this blog, I did happen to be tested for BRCA.  And I am not a carrier.  My mammogram reading could look different from the baseline one I had done at 40 because, well, you know, two fucking pregnancies.  I could go in and not even need a biopsy.

On the other hand, I could be really unlucky.  Because you know, it's me.  I could actually need a biopsy and then have to wait even longer in this state of being.  Fuck, I could be walking around with goddamn cancer right now.

In any event I am sort of angry.  Unfocused.  Tense.

Angry and tense by the way does wonders for my weight.  I get beautifully slim when I get stressed out.

And then there's the baby shower I am attending in a few hours.  You read that right.  PBFAW's baby shower.  I am one of the only people from our office invited, it's sort of a special thing.

I spend hours ruminating over whether my ttc days are going to end, how they're going to end.  On what terms.  Ha.  A fucking cancer diagnosis could well be how they end.

Risk of women to experience three or more consecutive miscarriages - 1:100
Risk of women to experience a partial molar pregnancy - 1:1,500
Risk of babies to develop a giant omphalocele - 1:5,000 to 1:10,000
Risk of woman to experience all three of the above scenarios, with a side order of Asherman's Syndome:  Fuck My Life.

With all of that, I should now note that there is this:
Risk of women at 40 to be diagnosed with breast cancer -1:68.  Which I realize is just under 1.5%.

1.5% is a pretty meaningless number, catch my drift?


  1. Ugh. I'm so sorry you're going through this. Hoping all is well.

    1. Thank you. Just a few more hours to go....

  2. Hoping for the best for you. Had the same thing happen months ago, went back for ultrasound and all was okay, just cysts. Very scary and with our track record, it's understandable to think the worst. Stay strong

    1. Thank you for writing - I am hoping for the best, preparing for the worst.

  3. Hoping the best for you too. And also had to take a moment to tell you that you are truly doing some awesomely good work with this fantastically written blog. Although my story of love and loss is in its infancy (horrible pun not intended), I still identify with your demeanor and (some of) your experiences which has provided me with a much needed sense of relief and comradery in this horrific club to which we both belong. Thx for your awesome words, I had to tell you that you kick so much ass. Good luck.

    1. Thank you so much for writing. When I began this blog too many years ago, I was hoping that someone would get something out of it. My version of lemons to lemonade I guess. Many hugs to you.

    2. Hope no more! Your someone (among countless others I have to assume) is right here.