By Eleanor Kazdan, February 11, 2021 — I had given up on mammograms seven years ago. At that time, one medical test led to a myriad of incidental findings, which in turn led to a year of at least ten diagnostic exams (nothing to do with my breasts by the way). Nothing serious was found, but it was a truly miserable experience. After one last mammogram around the same time, and after reading that it was not a good screening tool due to a huge false positive rate, I decided I was done. But, a bit of unease started to creep into my consciousness some time ago.
My darling grandchildren, becoming aware of death became obsessed with the thought of their grandparents dying. It was a generalized worry since Gary and I are healthy and active. My four-year-old granddaughter drew a skeleton at our house and told me that it was the remains of an old person. Then she turned to me and said, “You and grandpa are old.” I assured her that we were not going to die anytime soon. However, I thought of that darn mammogram and decided to have one last one to appease my mind and help ensure my longevity for my little ones.
My anxiety built as the day approached. What if something was found, and I could have prevented it by getting the recommended yearly screening? What if I had to get tests that turned out to be nothing but caused stress? What if, as I had read, something was found treated that never would have caused me any problem? Why didn’t I just forget the whole thing? After the mammogram, I obsessively checked my Penn portal. The next morning, at 6 A.M., there it was: an abnormality in my right breast. “Asymmetry” they called it. In this virtual age, I was left to research the issue on my own. Of course, [I was] reading about worst-case scenarios. Two more tests were recommended. In normal times, this would have been done right away, but because of the pandemic, I had to wait three brutal weeks. My anxiety fluctuated but generally got worse as the three weeks progressed. Fear of the unknown, fear of death — these are always with us but usually are passing thoughts. I became more aware of people who were going through hard and scary times — people in limbo.
The three weeks passed and so did the tests. Nothing was found. It seems that perhaps enhanced technology had picked up something that was there all the time. I could breathe again, and yet the experience changed me, as all difficult events do. [I felt] more compassion, and somehow less fear of dying. I suppose this type of experience can even be described as “every cloud has a silver lining.” I hope that clouds will be few and far in between for me and all the people I love.