They're very efficient at TPoBSaP. Barely a chance to read. Whisked back to the room. I have a hospital bracelet. I should make a scrapbook.
They poked around and found Fred and muttered about him, about him being pretty dense, and she said that they needed to use another needle. I asked if that would be the biopsy needle, and she said yes. So. Upgraded to biopsy.
(I ask a lot of questions. I got the info about the different size needles for aspiration and biopsy at the ultrasound on Monday.)
They don't say the words cancer or malignant or tumor at these things. Because they can't tell without labwork. So I knew I wasn't going to get any of those words, even if it was something.
But there was one very innocuous word.
It looks a little toothpasty in there, she said.
What she did not know, of course, is that my aunt looked a little toothpasty in there, that word exactly, and it was cancer.
No way for them to know it was a poor word choice... but yeah. That, I guess, was the one word capable of sending me into gibbering-fear mode. Not that I gibbered there. And I am not gibbering here at work. I am outwardly calm. I am just gibbering in my head.
Because, y'know, hearing the exact same thing they told your aunt who got cancer at your biopsy will make you freak out a little. I'm pretty sure that's normal, under the circumstances.
My aunt is in remission, btw. So. Yay aunt! And she's not my birth-aunt, so that's got nothing to do with me geneticswise...
They sent it to the lab. She said I'd probably hear on Monday, but definitely by the end of the day on Tuesday. "It's probably nothing." They tell that to everyone, though, I'm sure, so I'm really not all that reassured. I mean, what are they going to do, say, "Yep, that's probably cancer" and then "Oops, it's not! Sorry!"? No, they're gonna tell you it's probably nothing.
It could be nothing.
But expect me to be doing that gibbering-in-the-corner thing a bit til I hear.
I really have had about enough of this body-malfunction shit.