In the beginning...

It was a Thursday. I had picked up an extra shift at the hospital because there was a gap that needed to be filled. I had an appointment with my GP in the afternoon about a blocked duct but I went in and did a ward round in the morning and sorted out all the patients and students before darting off to see my own doctor.

I wouldn't have bothered on my own account, but husbands can be such worriers! It seemed to be my fate to have at least one bout of either blocked ducts or mastitis with each baby, and Benji had suddenly stopped feeding on the right side. Besides, I like my GP. She is funny, sensible, good at what she does and we often have a laugh together about the anxieties of husbands.

I had last seen her during my pregnancy with Benji (also for husband-related anxiety) so we had quite a bit of catching up to do. I explained I was there for her to see this breast lump which was probably a blocked duct, and that I was doing my wifely duty, so could I please have a message from her to take to my husband telling him not to worry?

One of the things I like about my GP is that she is thorough. Even though we both knew this would not be anything, she went very seriously through all the steps of examining me, looking carefully at everything (even the lymph glands under my arms and in my neck) and generally doing a very good job. I always take notes about her style when I see her - she has been in practice a good twenty years longer than I have, and I hope one day to have her bedside manner.

However, I have to admit that I was not impressed when she said that my lump was "not obviously a blocked duct" and that I would have to have a mammogram and ultrasound. One of the annoying things about seeing a good doctor is that I would have to be an idiot not to take her advice. So I checked my watch, decided that I could fit in her requested investigations as long as the registrar did not call, and went over to the radiology suite.

She had called ahead and so when I arrived I went straight in to the MMG. It was rather uncomfortable, but not as bad as I had feared. The worst part was the reading material in the waiting room - 50 Shades of Grey. I decided I would rather stare at the walls.

Then the U/S, which unfortunately took a very long time. In the middle of it, my phone rang. It was the registrar at the hospital for which I was currently on-call. The ultrasonographer waved to indicate that I should take the call, so I did. It was a routine update on the patients of the afternoon and the results from the morning's blood tests. I talked to the reg for a while, and while I was annoyed to notice that the ultrasonographer had turned the screen away so that I could not see what he was doing,  as I was on the phone I could not correct him.

The phone call and the ultrasound ended at about the same time, so I was given the films and released to take them back to my GP. Straight away please, and they would fax over the report within the next ten minutes, as soon as the radiologist was finished. Amazing service! I trotted back to my GP, hoping that we would be able to wrap this all up before the end of the day.

But no. She was doing the professional frown and "concerned" look that I have felt on my own face when I have to give someone news they are not going to like. Sure enough, the U/S was "inconclusive" and the report said "recommend biopsy".

"I can't. I'm on call."

My usually very understanding GP seemed to be rather dense today.

"It is one thing to have an U/S while I'm on call, but I can't have a sedative, local anaesthetic and be lying under a sterile sheet having a biopsy while I am supposed to be on call!"

Totally unsympathetically, she suggested I call in sick.

"But I've never chucked a sickie in my life before! I don't even know how to call in sick at this hospital!"

"There will be a way."

"And I'm meant to be on call this weekend as well!"

Finally, I managed to turn my mind to tackling the issue, found the relevant phone numbers, and called in sick. Then my increasingly dictatorial GP said that I should call my husband to come and hold my hand for the biopsy.

I scoffed at that. Did she think I was some kind of inexperienced person who has never been in a hospital before, that I needed my hand held? She was insistent. She even rang through to the theatre where Dean was operating. I was rather scandalised by her nerve. She did not bother to ask what he was doing - just told him to drop everything and come straight to the hospital to meet me. (I had never dared try that, not even the day I thought Zoe had a broken arm!)

So with a deep sigh I wandered off down to the surgeon's rooms for a fine needle biopsy. I still thought this was all rather overkill for what was most likely going to turn out to be a blocked duct. Lactating women are notoriously difficult to image, and I was well aware of the number of "false positives" which MMGs turn up in women under 40. Still, my GP was very compelling.

So the surgeon gave me an injection of local anaesthetic and stuck a small needle in me.

I asked him, "Did you get any milk out?"

"No." He gave me a rather strange look that seemed to say, "Are you sure you're a doctor?"

The needle did not hurt. I could not feel anything except for a small amount of wetness leaking down my side.

"Sorry about this, but I might be leaking milk on your examination couch."

He turned around quickly from preparing the slides and hurried back to apply direct pressure to the site. Lactating women bleed quite a lot when you stick a needle in the breast, apparently.

Dean arrived just in time for the conversation about "FNA inconclusive, suggest U/S guided core biopsy." After a quick conversation, we agreed that the girls were already with his mother and it might be best to get it out of the way immediately, so we headed downstairs for the core biopsy. Fortunately they were able to squeeze me in just before 5pm. I did not need it (of course) but I was glad all the same that Dean was there to hold my hand.

* * *

It was a long day, so I'm going to split it into two posts. Also, I've just been told that some people prefer to follow blogs on FB, so I've created a FB page for this blog and all updates will also be posted there.  https://www.facebook.com/honeysandwichesandbreastcancer