Stephanie Newton Books

I’ve been putting something off for several years now. Felt guilty about it, but not guilty enough to actually do it. Every October during Breast Cancer Awareness Month I would think, oh yeah, I should really get that mammogram (that my doctor wanted me to get three years ago). And every year, I would think, well, I’m not forty yet…until last year when I turned forty and then I was just plain procrastinating, which we’ve already established that I’m good at.

A month or so ago, we were at a conference and a friend mentioned just casually that her mom had recently had a lumpectomy because they’d found cancer when doing her routine mammogram. It was no big deal. They caught it early, but thank God that she’d had the mammogram done.

I stopped coming up with excuses and called. I consoled myself with the thought of the ginormous brownie I would buy at my favorite deli afterward. And when it was done, I didn’t think about it again–I was just glad it was over.

Then I got a letter a few days later telling me I needed to come back for definitive tests. Now I know this is a common occurrence, so I just made the appointment and tried not to think about it. But really, it’s hard not to think about.

The rest of the story is that I went back and the radiologist is “not concerned.” But there for a day or two, I thought about it. I thought about the statistics. If 1 in 8 women have breast cancer in their lifetime…why wouldn’t it be me? I thought about my friends who are survivors. And I thought about my family and what it would mean to them.

I’m incredibly relieved that there’s nothing to “be concerned” about. But I’m also grateful that we have the tests. So here’s the moral of my story and why I’m writing about my boobs today (lucky you). Get a mammogram. It takes 20 minutes. It can save your life.