During this entire ordeal there was a different battle at home. My husband, who was on the outside looking in, felt that I had completely gone loony bin insane. He supported the first trip to the surgeon. He supported my vigilance. He supported me but felt I was over reacting. He knew I couldn't see the forest through the trees. He was frustrated by my emotion and he didn't want to support an unhealthy depression. In the end, though, he was always there for me. Always.
I know I said I dedicated these posts to Susan but I am also dedicating them to my husband. He stood by my side no matter what. Sure, there were disagreements/arguments about my approach to finding answers. In the end, though, he was there with me at Johns Hopkins.
Getting to Johns Hopkins is like driving through "The Wire" in Baltimore. It's a tad scary.
Walking into the hospital is breath taking. I came from doctors who were just trying to get you out of the door. This hospital lived and breathed. These doctors cared. Of course they did, they wouldn't be at Johns Hopkins if they didn't.
My first appt was with the radiologist to do an ultrasound (another one). My previous experience with radiologists had been very pleasant. They had always answered my questions and explained things to me. This man was a complete and total asshole. He ignored me and asked me not to talk since it was distracting him. He then, immediately, turns around to his assistant and asked if she had seen that awesome game yesterday. He didn't even look at the affected breast. He left without saying a word to me and I burst into tears. The assistant had NO idea what to do with an emotional pregnant woman so she took me back to the waiting room where I cried on my husband's shoulder until we were called back to see the doctor.
I have had two Muslim doctors in my life. The first one saved my life and the second was this man. He saw me crying and immediately comforted me and asked what was wrong. I told him, "I did not drive all this way, have my husband take off of work so that I could be told nothing and be treated like absolute garbage." My husband was so upset that he asked the doctor, "What in the world was this guy doing?? He didn't even look at the right part? What is going on????"
The doctor walks out of the room and immediately gets on the phone and demands to know what there is a pregnant woman in his room claiming that she was treated horribly and crying her eyes out. He comes back, does him examination and proceeds to get me squeezed in immediately with another Radiologist.
This Radiologist looks at the right spot. And finds a huge lump. She then proceeds to do a biopsy right away. She rushes the results. She calls me the next morning to tell me that everything is ok and I shouldn't worry.
In the end, nothing was explained. I didn't find out what it was and frankly, I am scared that it will come back if I get pregnant again. Not a single person could tell me what it was.
Do I regret going through all of this? F*ck no. So what if nothing became of it? If my experience helps other women to find their balls and stand up to bully doctors, then it was all worth it. You get to live one life. ONE LIFE. Don't let anyone keep you from what you feel is right.
To my husband: Thank you. Thank you for never leaving my side through all your frustration. Thank you for always supporting me no matter what. Thank you for keeping the promises you made to me on our wedding day. I know this time in our lives was hard but our marriage is rock solid because of it. You are the definition of a real man.
Now on to the hard part...
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