So, tomorrow I have to go in for a biopsy. I go with much trepidation. Not that anyone goes tripping lightheartedly. What is so disconcerting is that I was given the all clear after a second mammogram, only to have the doctor call me the next day. He had second thoughts about some areas of calcification and consulted a colleague and decided a biopsy would be best. I’ve now read altogether too much about calcifications (I have a lot, it seems) and the kinds that can be a marker of cancer. Which led me to read a bit too much about breast cancer, including the dispiriting information that small isn’t necessarily better. A small cancer no bigger than a pinhead can kill you and you could actually have a better prognosis with a cancerous tumor the size of a golf ball. With some cancers early detection doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. So, the fact that this clump of whatever is so small the doctors almost didn’t bother with it is no comfort at all. So I’ve been thinking about death and how much I don’t like it, no matter what glories await on the other side, and how I would I would like to not approach any closer.
I also haven’t had a lot of medical interventions that involved slicing, or puncturing in this case. My c-section was it. Beyond that IVs and blood draws have been my sole encounters with invasive procedures. The idea of someone sticking a big needle in my breast, even if there is a local anesthetic (and that causes me some alarm, too, as I have now extrapolated from my issues with Novocain to whatever numbing agent they will be using. They said I could go back to work afterwards. Ha! I’m going to eat chocolate and watch a movie, and maybe go to a bookstore.