one single mother. one spririted preschooler. oy — what a life.
Today I got felt up at Washington Hospital Center by two doctors, a woman and a man, both lovely people. I found out that because I am an Ashkenazi Jew, I already have a one in forty-two chance of getting breast cancer. And because my mother and my grandmother both had breast cancer, and because my mother’s breast cancer was pre-menopausal, they are really flippin’ out over there. I’m at high risk, red-alert, bring out the big guns.
They also recommended genetic testing again for me, which I wrote about at about this time last year. I probably still won’t go through with the genetic testing, mainly because it oogs me out, and what is the point of finding out if I have a “breast cancer gene” anyhow? I don’t want to know if there is some gene inside of me that will increase my likelihood of getting breast cancer over the course of a lifetime to 80%.
If there is a situation to be dealt with now, I’ll deal with it, but I don’t want those numbers and statistics in my mind and body. I’ll go every six months for an exam, as they recommend, and leave it at that.
I know this all sounds very flippant, but I actually was really impressed with the level of care over there. Yes, they do a bit of unintentional fear-mongering, but they did seem really concerned and were also very positive and kind. I felt like they really had my best interests at heart, and when I say that about medical professionals–given the level of fear, loathing, and mistrust I usually have for them–you know it’s for real. They also assigned me to a very sweet woman who works as a “navigator,” who is helping me to navigate the hospital system. She actually made all my appointments for me tomorrow. By agreeing to work with her, I am now taking part in a study to see if these navigator folks can help women better manage their health and treatment, and see better outcomes.
So tomorrow morning, I am going for an MRI, a mammogram, a sonogram, and, as I have been joking all day, a candy-gram and a money-gram. It’s weird — I feel like I should be freaking out, but instead, I am looking at this all with some kind of oddly bemused detachment. And also gratitude — for all the women who have gone through this process before me, with all the benign and malignant lumps and bumps in their breastuses that lead them down this path. I am not trying to make light of this, or of any woman’s struggle with breast cancer or a breast cancer scare, but I just can’t seem to get whipped up into a drama over it. I want to. Believe me I want to go all drama queen right now. I want to call Sami’s dad at 1 am crying and hysterical, asking him if he would raise Sami if I died, but I just can’t seem to go there.
It’s getting late, and I need to get up early tomorrow for the exams, so I will leave this post on boobie madness for now.
Good night.
Welcome to this blog - my chronicle of the illuminating, character-building path of single parenthood. I'm making this up as I go along. My life is my practice, and my five year-old son is my greatest teacher.
Karen
June 11th, 2008 at 7:36 pm
Dearest, I think that odd detachment is samadhi. Focus on what’s in front of you. The doctors are outcome oriented, by nature. They ask, “What if?” You ask, “What now?”
I’ll say service.