October 18, 2011. Biopsy day, a year ago.
What made me email my old high school buddy, Kim Lamb Gregory, and ask if she wanted to cover this event? Maybe, I thought, this simple blip in my life could help other women who were facing the same thing. Apparently it’s pretty common, this breast biopsy process.
When I saw my gyno on October 3 last year, she couldn’t see the red spot. After all, I wasn’t hot and steamy from the shower. The red spot had retreated into the cool, smooth skin of my breast. Nonetheless, she said, my concern alone warrants a look. So it was off to the women’s center for a mammogram and ultrasound.
Thus, on October 5, I was relatively unconcerned when I showed up for the boobie squish. This was going to be nothing. But on the initial mammogram images I saw it…a spot. A tiny blip, deeper white than the rest of my weird white mammo breast. And then the ultrasound. Anytime the physician and technician have their heads together, muttering and measuring, it’s not a good sign. Sure enough.
The radiologist was earnest and honest. Biopsy.
Fast forward to October 18. There’s my old high school buddy, now feature reporter Kim, notebook in hand. A photographer in tow–an amazingly gifted woman named Karen, who can see into the depths of my being and capture an image of it. Kim and Karen documented the whole thing.
The biopsy wasn’t too bad. A sting of the needle with numbing stuff, a couple of sharp snaps in my breast, and it was over.
A year ago today, a couple of worm-shaped plugs of my breast floated weirdly in their new liquid home and set out for their new pal, the pathologist. I pressed an ice pack to my bosom and went home to wait for the good news. And that was that.
It feels like it was a long, long time ago.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28