I sat in the waiting room and filled out four pages of paperwork, then paid $50 for my specialist co-pay. I returned to my chair and nervously scanned Twitter and Facebook. I couldn’t help checking out each of the women who were waiting along with me – all in their 40s and 50s. I had a hard time reconciling that most of these women were there for a routine exam, hence, they weren’t nervous or scared at all. I tapped my toes against the hardwood floor and tried to breathe slowly.

“Mrs. Tibbs? Come on back.”

I’d been waiting for 25 minutes. The woman led me to a changing room where I was instructed to remove my clothes from the waist up and tie the gown to open in the front. I stored my jacket and top in a locker and brought my handbag with me. I was ushered into another waiting room, where I continued to nervously check my phone. It was 9:35. I waited and counted down the minutes as they creeped toward 10:00, when I thought I’d have all the answers and be happily headed to work.

***

Finally, at 9:50 a petite, kind-faced technician led me back to the room. She questioned me about my family history.

“What age was your mother when she passed away?”

“54.”

“What age was she when she was diagnosed?”

“54.”

She turned to face me and said “Oh, gosh. She had a quick decline?”

“Yes, she was diagnosed maybe three weeks before she died.”

She led me to the machine, which didn’t look as scary as I’d imagined, but nevertheless, I was freaked out. To be just 30 years old and have your first mammogram is pretty unusual. I was prepared for it to be uncomfortable, but uncomfortable is pretty subjective, don’t you think?

Smiling, she said, “I apologize – I’ll have to be a little bossy for this part.”

She positioned me in such a way to get the best pictures – six in total. I had to hold my breath while the pictures were taken, and I handled the pain pretty well until the last two, when they switched to spot compression, when I winced and bit my lip. A tear came to my eye.

“I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”

“Yes, I’m just ready for this to be over.”

***

A few minutes later I was lying on an exam table while the technician rubbed an ultrasound probe across my chest. I kept my eyes glued to the screen, but all I could see was varying shades of light gray, dark gray and black. She told me before the ultrasound that ultrasounds provide an easier reading because cancer shows up white against dense breast tissue, which shows up gray. I didn’t see any white. The mammogram is trickier. Cancer shows up white against dense breast tissue, which also shows up white. Trying to detect suspicious tissue in a white-on-white image is more difficult.

The doctor, a well-known and highly respected expert in breast imaging, came into the room and looked at the images.

“I’m going to do a quick exam of your left breast to see where the tissue is that your doctor identified from your physical.”

I tried to breathe normally.

“Yes, I can feel what your doctor wrote about. And you say your mom died at 54?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know if she had cancer in both breasts?”

“I don’t know… I was very young when she died.”

“OK. I don’t see anything suspicious on your mammogram or on the ultrasound. However, given your family history and your very dense breast tissue, I think we need to have a biopsy done, just to make sure there’s nothing abnormal.”

I stared at her. This was not what I expected her to say. I was prepared for her to say “Nothing to be worried about! You have dense breast tissue, but we won’t need to see you again for another 5 years.”I said nothing. She explained further, while I nodded along.

“The needle will be very small. We’ll numb the site and extract cells to check for abnormalities. It’s very routine for someone like you, given your history and the denseness of your breasts. The chances of the biopsy coming back completely benign are about 98%.”

I continued to stare at her and say nothing. Eventually, I squeaked out a high-pitched “ok.”

“Please understand, Stacey. I’m not recommending this because I’ve seen anything. I’m recommending this because of what I’m feeling in the exam. I’m sure it’s nothing, but we should cover all our bases.”

After I dressed, I sat down with a scheduler to book the biopsy appointment for Wednesday, May 1. Then as I walked to the car, I called Billy to tell him.

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