I opened the box today, both Pandora’s and the one from Fed Ex.  It contains my fertility meds, lots of needles, lots of instructions, a "sharps container" for the used needles (what do we do with the container when we’re done, is my question) and other medical paraphernalia.  I am not scared of giving myself shots, it’s never been an issue.  I’m proud to say that during my last IVF, I even got the hang of giving myself the shot in the butt (intramuscular, for all you medical professionals) and that takes some dexterity and some good peripheral vision.  Or maybe my butt is just THAT big. 

I got the nerve to open the box after lots of "processing" of yesterday’s Scary Mammogram Letter.  I spent a lot of the day in productive activities like 1) crying 2) browsing the internet and 3) parsing the Scary Letter like it was a Dead Sea Scroll.  Strangely, all three activities were truly productive.  Crying you can only do for so long before you get sick of yourself, so that was helpful.  The Internet yielded up some wonderful "ask the expert" bulletin boards populated by worrywarts like myself and a whole lot of women with real, horrifying breast cancer situations that made me feel like a big fat baby.  Bless the doctors who sit and answer the questions all day – over and over they would say "you’re fine, celebrate" or "you’ll probably be fine, don’t worry" or "you caught it in time, take a deep breath."  I also figured out that my "ill-defined area of density" is probably nothing, and if it’s something it’s probably not much of anything; and that a lot of other worrying aspects that would accompany a breast cancer finding were not there.  If there was really a 1-cm something where the shadow on the mammo was, we’d have felt it.  and…  Duh, that’s what "no dominant mass" and "no suspicious calcifications" means.  I am also proud to say that there is some amount of "breast density" which means the girls are still youthful (despite the fact that they get taller and more willowy every year), though it makes it harder for the mammogram to see all the scary stuff.  After harassing the poor woman who answers the phone at my radiology center, I finally got an earlier appointment for next Wed. the 17th, and I also got a very reassuring call from my doctor saying, hello, don’t worry.   There is always the chance that it could in fact be Something, but I’m going to the appointment – unlike 60% of women who, when asked to make a followup appointment for more images do not – and I am officially Not Worrying. 

Very much.

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