WHEW

Two years ago at this time I was busy with radiation after having a cancer removed from my right breast. It was encapsulated and had not spread to the lymph nodes. I was lucky. People gape when I say the experience was fun sometimes. It was also emotionally strengthening, scarey, rewarding, and a number of other adjectives.

Any hypochondria tendencies I have and there are many are are not about the cancer, but I will admit when the doctor who did the X-rays for my asthma mentioned something wasn't looking right with my breast, there was a major gulp. She thought it was probably to do with scaring but recommended a mammogram.

It did not cause a great deal of worry on my part. I decided to say nothing to my daughter, housemate or fiancé because the chances of it being serious were minimal but I made the appointment for a mammo anyway.

My gynie can do mammograms because he has a colleague, a doctor from Paris who comes to Switzerland to work in my gynie's clinic a couple of times a week. He told me with a smile as I was taking of my bra, that he does not like the name Nelson as a Frenchman, but I told him the origin was Swedish and had nothing to do with Admirals and Trafalgar Square.

Both he and my gynie looked at the results and decided it was scaring --nothing more.

WHEW

Still to all women, get those mammograms.  They can save your life.

When I told my housemate, I suggested that we make the house a cancer-free zone not just for us but for all our friends and family member. Enough is enough.

(The reason I chronicled the entire breast cancer experience is in the hope that those that might go through the procedure might remove a bit of the anxiety.)