The Biopsy: Marlene's Breast Cancer Story, Part 2

The Breast Biopsy:

I left my tale with you just as I was about to have a breast biopsy.  These very nice nurses take you back to a room, give you a totally inadequate gown and leave you sitting in room at 65 degrees Fahrenheit to await your fate.

I have to tell you, with all the various things I have been through, I could walk down 78 Highway buck-naked and it wouldn’t bother me at all.  It might frighten a lot of people and entice no one to have lascivious thoughts.  But why do all hospital gowns open in the front? And why are they made to fit someone that is a size six or less?  And at least one of the ties is missing.

Eventually, I was led into a room with a mammogram-looking machine and a large pink chair.  You are told to sit in the chair and lean forward.  The nurse presses your breast onto an icy plate and then she drops the vice on you, thereby leaving you clenched in the jaws of the Iron Maiden.  If some one yells “Fire!” you are going to be toast, because there is no escaping the jaws of mammography.

'Area of Concern'

This bench press has a rectangular hole in the top on the cookie sheet.  This is so the “area of concern” can be reached by the doctor.  The entire time you are pinched in place the two nurses are setting up equipment, swabbing your “area of concern” with an ugly orange bêtedine solution.

(Please note:  We are still saying “area of concern”, not “scary, malicious, evil spot that you know is growing by leaps and bounds”) Just when the nurse tells you that you are in “proper placement”, people start coming at you with LONG needles.  “You will feel a little prick as we numb your breast.”  Little prick, my Aunt Fannie!

I wish I could remember the two nurses’ names.  I really tried.  They were funny and clearly explained everything to me.  They explained the equipment and how the doctor would proceed with taking a sample and then a film, another sample, etc.  They were compassionate and gentle but Beelzebubbette and Demonetta are all that I can remember. Then Dr. Biafore comes in. 

Praying Hands

She is a lovely lady with a delightful personality and some day I will be able to have nice thoughts of her again.  She is carrying a rectangular blue box about 2 inches square and 6 inches long, with a long needle attached to one end.  Beelzebubbette is talking to me about growing up in the Atlanta area and trying to get me to look at her as she engages me conversation.  I ain’t no dummy.  I hear that drill bit and that popping sound.  I know Dr. Biafore is sinking a well in my left breast.  This goes on for at lest three days or perhaps 30 minutes.

I noticed that Dr. Biafore holds her hands in a praying position when she studies the screen showing the drill bit placements.  It may be that she holds her gloved hands that way to protect them from touching anything.  Or, she could be praying that the sink hole was in the right place.  I know I am praying.  I just can’t get my hands in proper position.

The good news is that a clip will be left in the spot where the tissue was excised.  This is so any further tests will show where a biopsy was performed.  I am hoping this metal clip will be large enough that I can wear magnetic name badges and it will perform a breast lift.

You have heard of the old “good news/bad news.”  Well, this is sort of the bad-news-is-bad-enough-but-it-could-be-a-whole-lot-worse news. 

To be continued to Part 3…

(Editor's Note: This is the second in four-part series on one woman's diagnosis and fight against breast cancer.)