The scariest day

So one of the first questions I get when I'm asked about the big C is how did I know; what was it that made me think twice about how I felt and get myself to the doctor.  The answer, I'm lucky and I just felt something wrong.  The reality is that I originally went to the doctor because of a stomach bug, but while I was there, I took the opportunity to tell my general practitioner (GP) that I felt something strange.  She checked it out, but because of my age, she didn't think it was anything.  Now let me be clear, my GP is a fine doctor, and unfortunately her response is a common among the medical community.  The reality is that most women who get breast cancer are above the age 50, so the medical community often ignores signs of cancer in younger women because it's an unlikely prospect.  This is why it is crucial for women (and men for that matter) to be aware of their bodies and react when something just doesn't feel right.  For me, that's essentially what happened. I wasn't sick, there wasn't anything wrong with me, but I just felt that this lump in my breast wasn't right.  Since my GP didn't think it was anything, I went to my OBGYN to get checked out.  She's the one who checks me every year, so I figured, if she said I was in the clear, then I was in the clear.  Unfortunately, I wasn't.  "Just to be safe," my OBGYN sent me to get an ultrasound, just to check out what was "probably nothing". (For all you younger (i.e. under 40) women, you should know that mammograms are not always capable of detecting breast cancer in younger women.   The reason is that the mammogram works by spreading out the breast tissue as thinly as possible.  Younger breast tissue is generally denser, making it difficult to get an accurate reading on a mammogram.  Therefore, if you are under 35 and need a mammogram, insist on getting an ultrasound as well, just to cover your bases.)  So off I went and made my appointment to check what was "probably nothing" and went about my business.  Because it was "probably nothing," I didn't tell anyone about this appointment, and went alone to find out my fate.  As soon as the ultrasound began, I knew something was wrong.  This was taking way too long, but it's "probably nothing," so I shouldn't panic.  Once she had taken enough measurements, she told me to go back to my dressing room and wait.  A few minutes later, another radiologist came to my dressing room and told me, "so we're just going to do a mammogram, no big deal".  NO BIG DEAL!!! Are you kidding me?  Now, I don't know much about medicine and I'm definitely not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure that getting an appointment in NYC is nearly impossible and doctors never rush you into additional tests unless something is SOMETHING.  Even so, I tried to remain calm, thinking, this is "just to be safe," they're just covering their bases.  Nonetheless, as I was shuttled into the mammogram room, the tears start to roll down my face, at which point, the technician who was going to give me the mammogram looked at me kindly and said "don't worry honey, you just cry.  Cry as much as you want, and let me do all the work."  "EXCUSE ME, JUST CRY??  DON'T TELL ME TO JUST CRY!!! TELL ME THAT I'M OVERREACTING, THAT I'M AN ANNOYING HYPOCHONDRIAC WHO'S JUST WASTING EVERYONE'S TIME AND RESOURCES!!!"  Of course I didn't say this in the middle of all my blubbering.  I think all I mustered was an "um....o-o-o-k-k-k..," as the technician put me in position to squash whatever dignity was left in me.  Now for those of you who have never had a mammogram, the idea is to pretty much take you chest and turn it into a pancake.  You're basically manhandled, fondled, shifted and lifted in order to squash the bejeezus out of your breasts.  All I can say is take a deep breath, and just think "this will save your life, this will save your life, this will save your life."  That's all I got for you, sorry I don't have anything better.  Anyway, I digress.  As the mammogram continued, it became very clear that I was not an overreactive, annoying, hypochondriac.  In fact I was just the opposite.  So opposite that I was told to go back and wait in my little dressing room for the radiologist to come talk to me.  Within minutes, the radiologist came by my dressing room and sealed my fate.  "Great news Dalia, I talked to the other doctor and she said she could do the biopsy today!"  As I looked at her dumbfounded, she looked down and saw my suitcase next to me.  "Wait, are you coming or going?"  "I'm going," I responded, "I'm flying out to L.A. right after this."  "Oh," she said, "you can't travel after the biopsy.  Hmm. Well, why don't we just schedule it for Monday when you come back.  In the meantime just try to enjoy your weekend."  EXCUSE ME??? ENJOY MY WEEKEND?  YOU'VE BASICALLY JUST TOLD ME THAT I PROBABLY HAVE CANCER, BUT JUST GO ALONG AND ENJOY MY WEEKEND???  Of course I didn't say this.  I can't remember exactly what I said, but I think it was along the lines of "um...o-o-o-k-k-k..."  She of course saw my distress, and in an attempt to be compassionate she put her hands on my shoulders, looked in my eyes and very sweetly said, "Don't worry Dalia.  Just think, your Mom is ok, she survived."   "She's not ok," I responded.  And there was the problem.  The "probably nothing" had in 45 minutes turned into a huge SOMETHING, and I was not ok.