Yesterday was intense.  A rainy drive to the city.  A packed parking garage.  And my surgeon running late so I almost missed my ultrasound and mammogram downstairs.

I gave her until 1:24, then I changed out of the johnny, put my clothes back on and went down the hall to the nurse.  “I’m out of here,” I said, pleasant but panicked.  “I can’t miss the mammogram at 1:30!”

Suddenly there was a flurry of action and a phone call to the imaging center to announce my delay.  My surgeon popped out of room and asked me to stay for the check up, which was great because that would save me a trip back to the city later in the week.

The mammogram was clear.  The ultrasound wasn’t.  I knew something was wrong when I waited for twenty minutes for the technician to return with the longed for “all clear” from the radiologist.

The longer you have to wait the more trouble you’re in.

Sure enough, after what felt like seventeen hours, the radiologist, a resident and the technician entered the room to explain there was something “vague” and “architectural” on the ultrasound.  They did it again and all agreed I needed to return next week for a biopsy.

The good news is that it wasn’t a “mass” or a “tumor”, simply something “vague”.  Even if I’d never had breast cancer they would have recommended a biopsy.

We are sad, but we’re okay.  The news could have been a lot worse.  The hard part is waiting for the biopsy, then waiting a few days more for the results.  We might not know anything until February 24.

Banjo Man and I managed to get out of the underground parking lot and its quirky automated exit procedure and then we headed home to the country–with a stop for an early dinner at Cracker Barrel, as promised.  We took home enough leftovers for two more meals.

It’s raining (not snowing!!!!) this morning, so I am heading to physical therapy and then to the YMCA’s pool for some stretching and walking in the water.   Because…there will be summer.

Count on it.