Some brilliant women in my life blogged their journeys with cancer, it’s fair to say that I have been inspired by them. During my previous medical adventures, and then the 2012/2013 enormous medical marathon (as it is called in our house), I didn’t make space to reflect daily in writing. Journaling has never been my thing; my life is littered with one weeklong stabs at pen and paper. But breast cancer impacts 10% of American women, and right now, I am in that number.
A few weeks ago, I found a large lump that appeared basically overnight. It appeared to be a typical run of the mill fibroadenoma. I scheduled a doctor’s visit within a couple days. (SEE THOSE PSAs DO WORK!) and got scheduled for a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound.
Let’s talk about Monday, shall we? (Do you love how I provide you a choice?)
Monday was supposed to be a jaunt over to the next city south of us, for a whirlwind adventure into pancake smooshing of my breasts and probing with wands. If you have been pregnant, you might agree that a wand to the boobs is nothing in comparison. So, I was scheduled and happy to go.
I arrived, got into my candy pink gown “open to the front please” and sat down in the disrobed women waiting room. Street-clothed women have another waiting room. By the way, “room” is generous. It should really be called the “nearly naked nook” as it is a tiny little holding area adjacent to a hallway with a few chairs, a Keurig, and a tiny basket of snacks.
I met my mammographer, a sunny and cheerful woman named Deeanne. She told me, we are going to take a few images and send them off to the radiologist, and she’ll look at them and ask for more. The 3D Mammogram machine was such an incredible piece of technology. The breasts come out, they get heaved up onto the plate and smooshed. Repeat until all areas have been flattened and imaged successfully.
At one point, I was looking at the machine and thinking “this thing costs as much as a mansion in many places in the country… my boobs are being flattened by hundreds of thousands of dollars. This is wild.”
To my core, I am a happy, friendly, and deep-thinking person. My husband calls me “his brilliant space cadet.” My brain in combination with a happy-go-lucky personality has been very advantageous throughout my life. On Monday, it was no different.
After the first round of images, I was sent back to the “nearly naked nook” and read a chapter of my book. The highly capable Deeanne says, “we need you to come back in for more images.” And off I went, more pancake flattening, with the bonus vice style screw plate. The radiologist wants more, I was told “it’s common and you have very large breasts.” Smoosh from the right, smoosh from left, here a smoosh, there a smoosh. Everywhere a smoosh, smoosh.
Eventually, I return to the “nearly naked nook” and chat up one of my neighbors. She was wearing some killer Vince high tops and carrying a Frye bag. I asked, “Are those Vince shoes?” And an instant acquaintanceship was built, we talked Nordstrom, designer shoes and Poshmark. She learned that I wasn’t a label hungry socialite, but a reseller and it’s my job to spot valuable brands from 50 feet (or 5 feet in the “nearly naked nook”). It was such a fun conversation and removed all potential worries from my head.
About 20 minutes later, they let me know that more images are coming my way. My abdominal wall instantly tightened. The third round was looking at a few places with multiple images. Sesame Street, “Count von Count” style counting was ever present in the Cromar house, even before having our daughter. What was supposed to be 6-8 images became 19 ah, ah, ah, 20 ah, ah, ah, 21, ah, ah, ah.
The mammographer was informed, kept me educated and explained so much to me. She answered every one of my questions, even the quirky ones. She was truly a delight.
Eventually, I came in and out of the “nearly naked nook” six times. 39 ah, ah, ah. 40 ah, ah, ah. Then it was time for the ultrasound. Honestly, after that much flattening of my breasts, the ultrasound was downright close to a massage.
Missy, the ultrasound tech, and I had lots to talk about. How ultrasound techs get trained, staffing philosophies, her extensive career managing and training new techs, and how the science is not only technology driven, but operator driven. All and all, Lyn’s educational field trip to the Women’s Imaging Center was going swimmingly. At one point, she got quiet, and I looked at her face. Her eyes were rapidly blinking, and it was quite the tell.
As a person who played poker weekly for the better part of a decade, I pay attention to tiny social cues. Little did I know that the fun was still to come.
In comes the radiologist, who in all honesty, was a bit like meeting the Wizard of Oz (minus the crook and scoundrel part). She was behind the curtain for all the hours that I had been there. She was requesting more mammography, more images, more wanding. She came in to do the diagnostic ultrasound.
Discussions were jovial and conversational. We talked about winter driving techniques, the importance of teaching defensive driving to teenagers, and methods of instructing your teens to be safe and stay safe on icy roads. We chatted about skiing and winter adventures. Wand, screen shot, wand, screen shot, wand, screen shot. Suddenly, it was quiet, screen shot, screen shot, screen shot, screen shot, screen shot. Much like those deep-sea dive documentaries, the crew thought they found the sunken ship.
Within moments, all the air left the room. The defensive driving chat was gone, the screen shots were seriously whispered between the tech and the doctor. Wand, screen shot, screen shot, screen shot. The doctor didn’t have the bright smile and relaxed face, like she had minutes ago. Missy started reaching for paperwork and filling it out. Screen shot. Screen shot. Screen shot. I hear “3? 4 maybe?” softly whispered between them. At this point, I realize that I have been topless in a cold room for more than an hour and I have to pee.
Eventually, it was over. I ask to sit up and she says that I need three or four biopsies and that I have multiple presentations of suspicious areas. I put on my candy-colored pink gown, shivering from the chill as I consider the news. I ask, “Biopsies are common, should I be worried?” She replied “Frankly, yes” We talked a bit more and I took note of some unusually long-term language choices from both Missy and the physician. “We are going to take great care of you.” “We have a team here for your needs.” “Our staff will support you, as we do this together.” Missy explains the biopsy logistics to me. OUCH! My next appointment was scheduled for me, and I was given the appointment card while in the ultrasound room. That’s patient care that I wasn’t used to.
I walk out to the car, warmer and have finally peed. Finally, I drive to the nearest thrift store because work beckons. I walk around in a daze and make two purchases; one is a bad one! I’ve been running my business for nearly six years and have bought more than 20,000 items, but bad purchases don’t really happen anymore. Well, so I thought.
I made a couple calls, told my husband my concerns about the language used, and my social perceptions. I knew something was up but vowed not to drive myself nuts. I came home, did a smidgen of research, and went to school to pick up our First Grader. This is the day when our life changed. This is the day when I started my breast cancer journey.
Lyn Cromar is a cancer survivor, Coloradoan, business owner, mother, and wife. After being diagnosed with Stage 2B, Grade 3 HER2+ breast cancer, she underwent 6 rounds of chemo, 7 surgical procedures or surgeries, 28 rounds of radiation and 18 months of treatment all during a global pandemic.
Her family still has an active GoFundMe, as she fell 3 weeks after her cancer journey wrapped up, and her weakened arm bones fractured, requiring further surgery, 8 screws and a massive metal plate and treatment that continues today. But she’s still smiling broadly with sincerity, humor, and gratitude. She’s like the Whack-a-Mole of optimism. https://www.gofundme.com/f/d4wzh-team-cromar-support-the-cromar-family
