Making Tracks

By Kat Bryant

I discovered a lump in my breast the morning of Aug. 7.

I quickly determined that it wasn’t a bug bite or a cat-claw wound; there was no puncture and no itch. Just a red spot with a bump under it — warm and tender to the touch.

Did I panic? Yes. Yes, I did. And with good reason.

About 16 years ago, my mom noticed a warm, painful spot along the base of her left breast. Her annual mammogram revealed nothing, because the spot was outside the scan’s range — practically on her ribcage. When she asked her doctor about it, he assured her it was just skin irritation caused by a tight bra. Try a slightly larger size, he said. Nothing to worry about.

The pain persisted.

Months later, Mom’s left leg started to hurt. She knew something was very wrong, but her doctor continued to wave her off, saying it was just arthritis. Take some Tylenol, he said. Nothing to worry about.

The pain persisted.

Finally, Mom decided to find a new doctor who would take her concerns seriously.

By then, two years had elapsed and the damage was done: It was in fact breast cancer, and it had spread into the bones in her leg. Her new doctor gently told her she had about six months left to live.

But, as I’ve mentioned previously in this space, Mom was a fighter. She had a rod screwed into her femur to reinforce it; and some targeted radiation therapy reduced the cancer’s presence. She wasn’t cured, but she was able to look forward to traveling more with Dad and watching her grandson grow up.

And she did both. But eventually, the cancer began to take over.

Mom’s final year was an ordeal I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. It was excruciatingly painful and humiliating for her, and it was frustrating and horrifying for Dad and the rest of us. When she passed last year, it was a blessing.

With all of that still fresh in my mind, I contacted my doctor’s office and made an appointment immediately upon my discovery. And, I’m relieved to say, my experience was different in every way.

My gynecologist’s assistant listened and understood my concerns when I called, and she went out of her way to squeeze me in to see him within a few days (rather than making me wait the usual four to six weeks for an opening).

During that appointment, Dr. Martens listened to me, performed an examination and confirmed the presence of a lump. He talked with me calmly and without condescension, saying it was most likely a blocked milk duct — but that my concerns were valid, especially given the family history. So he ordered an ultrasound to make sure.

Grays Harbor Imaging also was able to get me in within a week. This past Wednesday, Dawn Heckathorn (my favorite radiologic technologist in the world) listened to me, empathized with my fears, and performed both my annual mammogram and the ultrasound.

Both were negative. In fact, by that time, I couldn’t even feel the lump anymore; the blockage had apparently resolved itself. I nearly cried with relief.

Do you see the difference in my experience versus my mom’s? Besides the outcome, I mean?

We both knew something was wrong and tried to do something about it. But in my case, everyone along the way acknowledged that I knew my own body well enough to recognize a problem. They all listened to me and worked with me to reach a well-informed conclusion in the space of just two weeks. I’m thankful for every single one of them.

Will I “wait and see” if I find another worrisome lump in the future? Hell no! I will have it checked without delay.

If Mom had trusted her instincts all those years ago, she might still be here today. If I learned anything from her experience, it’s to trust mine.

Kat Bryant is lifestyle editor of The Daily World and editor of Washington Coast Magazine. Reach her at kbryant@thedailyworld.com or on Facebook at Kat Bryant-DailyWorld.