I am not a good prognosticator. For example, last week I wrote this:
Later today I am going for a mammogram – my last. One of the good things – and there are a few – about getting older is that some of the less pleasant medical procedures are no longer done. This is one of them.
I got a call on Thursday; the technician had detected something in the mammogram picture of my left breast that needed further investigation. There are not many messages more calculated to raise a chill than that. It wasn’t a “lump,” they said, but wanted me to come back for another shot at getting a picture of it.
So yesterday I went back and was introduced to a new machine that took 3D pictures. It took two tries – the anomaly was close to the chest wall and hard to capture – but they got it. And I’m fine. The tissue in my breast is “complicated,” however, and I am not to cease getting annual mammograms. So there was joy in the afternoon, but not a total “whoosh” of relief.