My first biopsy was one of the worst experiences I have ever lived through. Thank God, I have never been raped, or beaten or held captive against my will. I am embarrased to even type those words. I feel like I am being horribly disrespectful and melodramatic to even mention such terrible things in a paragraph about my own lucky, priveleged life. How dare I compare my experience to that of people who have deeply, seriously suffered!?
But, I want to be totally honest about my whole cancer experience, and these are the feelings I have about that mammogram guided biopsy I had on my right breast in early July. These are the thoughts that run through my head when I try to think about how to explain it to other people. It was like being raped, or beaten or held captive against my will.
It was just awful.
I've written about the actual day, although I have not posted anything yet. As usual, I've tried to be honest and pay attention to detail. Also as usual, I laugh out loud when I read it back to myself. Everything seems so surreal and ridiculous. But, unlike my other stories, this one sounds bitter and blaming.
That's why I haven't published it here, yet. I'm still trying to work it out in my own head and heart, so I can get to a place where my perspective on the event feels like something that would be useful for others, not just cathartic for myself. Also, I don't want to criticize or offend the wonderful people at the place where I had the procedure. They are wonderful and it was really not their fault.
In an effort to digest the experience, I keep asking myself, "What was so terrible about it?"
In answer, I keep returning to the simile of being raped, beaten or held captive. In each of these circumstances, the physical event itself causes only part of the trauma. The distress reaction could be signifianctly mitigated or exacerbated depending on the level of surprise, trust and consent involved in the interaction.
Rape is a powerful example. The same technical act, with forwarning, agreement and assurance of safety would be something quite different. Imagine being asked, "Would you like to do this here, now and with me?" Imagine that the freely given honest answer is, "Yes!" Suddenly, a criminal act requiring multiple therapy sessions to start recovering from, becomes the highlight of a romantic weekend for two. ( I don't mean to sound flippant about rape. I am NOT trying to downplay the seriousness of sexual assault. I am trying to illustrate the magnitude of expectation, familiarity and permission.)
Regarding captivity, I'm not going to try and imagine the boredom and terror of prisoners or kidnap victims. I don't need to. Regular daily life is full of situations where we agree to remain in a position or location that we don't really want to be in, and it's not so bad. It's not so bad because we were given a chance to agree before hand on exactly where we would be and for how long. We read insipid magazines in uncomfortable chairs while we wait for our name to be called at the doctor's office. We lay down in the chair for the dental hygenist, though we'd rather be out for a walk. We cram into the window seat though we'd rather have the aisle, and only leave our seats when the flight attendent says we can.
But, if the situation changes, so does our response. If we were told we would might have to wait for an hour before the doctor could squeeze us in, we serenely do so. But, if we were told we would only wait a few minutes, we are in a state of extreme agitation by the time the minute hand starts to close in on a full circle. If the hygenist who told us we didn't have any cavities did so in a tone that made us doubt her, we are irritated when the dentist looks in and announces that we do. But, if she told us with an earnest, caring expression that made us really believe her, then our irritation is blended with confusion and dissapointement when it turns our she was wrong. And on the plane, you take full responsibility for entertaining yourself during the four hour over-land flight you paid for. But, it's not a pretty picture if you wake up from a little nap, look down through your window at an unending expanse of ocean and your watch says it is now two hours past the time you should have landed.
My other turn-to description, "It was like being beaten," is the least maleable, and perhaps the most accrurate. It is hard to imagine a situation in which you would agree ahead of time to be slapped in the face, kicked in the head and punched in the eye. Of course, it would have to be someone you really trusted, or you would never agree to it. And if there were such a situation, imagine how much worse it would be if instead you ended up pinched on your ass, shoved against a wall and kneed in the groin. It's not even that one kind of abuse is inherently more violent than the other. It's just not what you agreed to. Also, please remember, it wasn't a total stranger. It was someone you really trusted, and would probably need to trust again in the near future.
From my limited perspective, having a breast-biopsy really does seem similar to being beaten because they both involve physical pain and discomfort that, unlike sex acts and confinement, no one would agree to under normal circumstances. They also results in bleeding and bruising. On the other hand, being trapped is kind of similar because the mammogram clamp is holding your body in an unpleasant position for far longer than is agreeable. Finally, I do think it was a little bit like being raped, because you end up half naked with strangers who are grabbing and hurting your sexual parts.
Okay. So maybe I'm not being disrespectful or overly-dramatic when I say that my first biopsy was like these three things. Maybe I actually have a right to say that. Maybe I am not being an awful, selfish, oblivious, insensitive person. Or maybe, I am still reeling deep inside my personal emotional response to that afternoon and maybe nothing I am saying is making any sense.
Let me try again. Here are the main points that I am trying to make this morning.
1. It sucks to be feel like you've been mislead about what you are agreeing to let someone else do to you.
2. It sucks even more to feel like you really trusted that person and now you don't.
3. And it really really really sucks to feel like you are being forced to do things you never agreed to at all.
Of course, all of these things are that much worse when you didn't get a good nights sleep or eat a good breakfast becauase you've been tossing and turning at night and have no appetite since you started wondering what you will do if it turns out you have cancer.
Aside from that, I tell myself that these problems could have been eliminated if I'd asked the right questions or done the right research. But, if you've never had a lump before, or a mammogram or a biopsy, you don't know what to ask. You have no context. At least, I didn't. You don't know to ask things like, "Doctor, when you say you're going to use a needle...do you really mean something that could core a small apple?" Or, "Doctor, when I feel stuff dripping down my naked chest, what will it be and will it stain my pants?" Or, "Doctor, how cold will it be in the room and will I be able to reach a tissue if my nose starts running or will I just have to sit there and let the snot drip off my face?"
That's why I'm trying so hard to write about all this, even though my mind gets swamped trying to sort it all out and sometimes what I write seems stupid. I want other women going through breast cancer to be able to borrow my context. Hopefully they'll then be able to ask more intelligent questions than I was able to ask, and make more informed decisions than I was able to make.
I hope I hope I hope.
And I will publish the account of that first biopsy very soon. I promise.
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