So I had my follow up appointment with the boobie doctor. And I’m not too thrilled with the outcome. I need to do a lot of research.
I do not at this time have any cancer. I had abnormal cells. Now I am high risk.
They gave me a little chart that factored in my age, the age of my first period (which is a guess, who the hell knows if I was 11 or 12, or whatever). That’s something all mothers should mark down for their daughters somewhere, because apparently that’s info you need when you’re in your 40s.
My risk is 35% that I could develop cancer. I didn’t think that sounded too bad (considering all the shit we encounter on a daily basis just living life), but then she told me that the Average Woman (who is this average woman, anyway?) has a 12% risk. So I’m a triple threat.
They recommended I take tamoxifen for 5 years, which is normally what you take after you have cancer.
I wouldn’t care too much except it would probably throw me right into menopause.
I’m not ready to be in menopause.
I’m just not. I’m forty-fucking-four. I don’t want to get a dried up vagina and sweats and more hairs to fight, not to mention more risk of weight gain (hooray, like I need that).
And oh by the way, the tamoxifen can increase your risk of uterine cancer. Maybe.
I guess I’d be more accepting of the fate of this if I had cancer! But I just have some shitty cells, that they scooped out.
And oh, by the way, I also get to get a titty MRI in May, which is where I lay in an MRI machine with my titties in a cup and they do an MRI on ’em. And even more exciting, she told me, “Don’t be surprised if we find a lot of stuff we have to biopsy after the MRI, because that thing picks up every little thing and we have to check it all out.” WTF. REALLY?
So that’s when I started crying and told her that let me get this straight, I didn’t at this time HAVE cancer, but I’ve been worried for the past three months, and now every six months I get to go through this all over again, and worry for three months? So for six months out of the year, I’ll be getting biopsies and waiting for test results. Hooray.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’d rather be making these decisions than scheduling chemo appointments, and far far too many women are in those shitty pair of shoes. But I cannot imagine that poking around inside my titty every six months – not to mention my mental strain – is going to do me a bit of good in the long run.
I am going to request an estrogen test. I want to know what my levels are, and if they are high, and if I can decrease them naturally over the next six months through diet and exercise and Juice Plus. That’s my call back to the doctor tomorrow. She never even told me about that, Almighty Google did.
And one last oh, by the way, she also shared that another option is to have a bilateral mastectomy, and that will reduce my risk of developing cancer to 1%. Why don’t I just get all my fucking potentially troubling body parts removed, just in case? What would I be left with? My hair?
Like Madonna sang, I’m keeping my boobies, oh yeah, I’m going to keep my boobies. For now. I’ll hold off on the bilateral mastectomy for the moment, but thank you for the option.