Last week, I wrote a post about how our week had not gotten off to a great start. I laughed about it, figuring things could only get better from there. I was wrong.

*Warning* To any of my male readers, you’re going to encounter the words boob and breast a lot in this post. If that makes you uncomfortable, stop reading now.

I woke up Wednesday morning with a weird feeling in my right breast. I didn’t think too much about it, assuming it might be tenderness from my oncoming period. However, the feeling persisted, and didn’t feel like any tenderness I typically encounter. As I inspected it, it felt more tender to the touch and like there might be something there. I asked the Jamie booby expert, and he agreed that he felt some swelling. He encouraged me to call the doctor and see what they said.

I almost didn’t call the next day, as it started to feel a bit better in the morning. But I was a good girl, and decided it would be better to know for sure. I left a message with the doctor, wondering if I needed to be seen or if it was something I just needed to keep an eye on. Knowing that it typically takes hours for the return call, I wasn’t expecting to hear from them until late in the afternoon. Apparently, when the word “breast” is involved, they don’t mess around. They called back ASAP and said they definitely wanted to see me. They had an appointment set up for me for the next day. I hadn’t been worrying too much yet, but now I was getting a bit nervous.

I showed up for my appointment the next morning, and after a quick feel up, the doctor said that there was indeed some swelling in my right breast and that she wanted me to go for an ultrasound. My mind started swimming with possibilities of what this meant. I’d be lying if I said one of them wasn’t, “OhmyGodI’mgoingtodie.” I waited around a bit longer while they tried to set up an appointment for that day. Unfortunately, they couldn’t. This was Friday, and now I had to wait until Monday to find out what was going on.

After a weekend of nail biting, I showed up for my next appointment, this time with hubby in tow. I knew I could have done it by myself, but in case I received any earth shattering news, I wanted him by my side. Plus, I often don’t think of the right questions to ask, and knew that he would.

Along with the ultrasound, I was also scheduled for a mammogram. I had heard horror stories about these things, and was not looking forward to it. When the nurse/technician called me back, she made Drew sit out in the waiting room. With x-rays involved, he was not allowed in the room. Fabulous.

As I walked into the room, I was struck by how warm and comforting it was. Soft lighting, a comfy velour chair, and classical music playing in the background. It was quite an inviting space, despite the booby squisher of doom in the corner. I was told to step behind the divider, choose an ever so fashionable “cape,” and remove my blouse and bra. This struck me as funny, because as soon as I emerge from behind the divider, the first thing she does is pull my boobs out. What’s the point of modesty?

Luckily, I had a wonderful, motherly nurse who understood this was my first experience, and she walked me through step by step, and assured me that she was NOT going to squeeze my boobs off. She squeezed my boobs into all kinds of weird contorted positions, and I marveled at how flat the girls could get. Each time she squeezed down on them, she’d tell me, “Hold your breath,” and I would think that was pretty much the only option. *gasp*

In a matter of minutes, it was over, and although far from the most pleasant experience of my life, it was honestly not as bad as I expected. I started to relax a bit, and Drew was invited back in the room. Before I relaxed too much, I remembered I still didn’t know if I had cancer yet, and the knot in my stomach returned.

After some more waiting (did I mention all the waiting was the WORST part in all this???), we were ushered into another room, where I was instructed to lay down while the new nurse lathered some blue goo on the end of whatever the thing is attached to the ultrasound. She put it to my breast and felt around, inspecting different parts. I tried to read her face, but she had her poker face on. After some inspection, she left, and then returned with the doctor. Drew told me later he wanted to use the joke, “Is it a boy?” but decided it wasn’t the best moment. I thanked him.

The doctor began throwing out lots of medical jargon, and the only word I heard was “normal.” I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I realized she was telling me I was just fine. Luckily, Drew asked the questions that my overwhelmed brain couldn’t come up with, and we got a few more answers in plain English. Basically, it’s normal breast tissue, and sometimes the tissue changes as we age, and will change due to hormones and menstrual cycle. Or something like that. I was going to live. That’s all I needed.

Our week last week went from pretty bad to really bad. Luckily this week is off to a much better start. Hopefully it will continue that way.