I Have My Father’s Eyes (and possibly his cancer gene)

A number of things happened in the past few weeks that have me wicked a bit freaked out about the possibility I have cancer. Since this is supposed to be a Microblog (not Super Heavy Duty Macro blog), I have a brief summary at the end. Click HERE if you want to skip to that.

Okay, if you didn’t click, don’t say I didn’t warn you! This is gonna be wordy, and will involve the word “nipple” and more about my health history than you probably care to know… this is your last chance to turn back…

First, a bit of history.

Back 22 years ago when I had my first baby, I had a hell of a time nursing. Mastitis, yeast, blocked ducts – you name it, I got it, but I held on and nursed the eldest until she was two months old. I ended up with a lump in my left breast that never went away. At some point (either between the eldest and the boy, or the boy and the youngest) I had an ultrasound done, and they told me it was just a scar tissue kind of a thing. Something to be aware of, but not to worry about.

Over the years, I was very good about doing breast self-exams. A relatively long time after the youngest stopped nursing (I managed about a year with her and the boy each), I noticed that I still had a few drops of milk each time I did an exam and checked for discharge. I mentioned it to my doctors & nurses over the years, joked about becoming a wet nurse (which I would’ve done in a heartbeat if it didn’t involve giving up coffee, chocolate, and vodka… I mean, how could I function? *grin*), but they all agreed that as long as it didn’t change color or amount, again not to worry.

Skip ahead to about a month ago.

I discovered a number of family members (who hang in the tree close to me both maternally and paternally) were having issues with cancer – either a recurrence, or newly discovered. Because of it, a paternal family member had some genetic testing done, and discovered a strong cancer risk in the Cavanaugh gene pool. Then in mid June, a close maternal family member needed to have a cancer-related procedure done (not my story to tell, so I’ll leave it at that).

Hubby makes things more interesting.

On June 23rd, hubby came home from work and said he’d fallen getting off his ladder – long story short, he fractured his left ankle. He is currently either hobbling around wearing his fancy compression boot from two years ago (when he broke his right ankle at work), or sitting with it propped up, while he waits for it to heal enough to be cleared to go back to work. Not that what he’s doing while he’s home isn’t work, given he’s dealing with me, and being my rock and my appointment buddy whilst I’m going through all this stuff. Which leads me to…

That doesn’t look right…

Over the 4th of July holiday weekend, as we were heading to bed Saturday night, I was thinking about all the cancer stuff in the family, and realized I hadn’t done a self exam in a while. Did my left side – all normal, and the usual couple small drops of milky discharge. Did my right – no pain, no lumps, nothing out of the ordinary, but instead of milky discharge, small black dots of liquid appeared.

I freaked out and was on the verge of tears calmly told hubby to come see, and he said, “yep, that looks like blood.” We decided that since it was so late, and it wasn’t actively bleeding, that we’d wait until the next day to see about getting it checked out. I absitively posolutely did not Google and see all of the scary possible reasons it was happening. Nope, didn’t do it. Okay, maybe just for a second, but I stopped as soon as my hand starting shaking too much to operate my mouse pretty quick.

Sunday I called our local Urgent Care (like a regular doctor’s office and an emergency room had a baby) and asked for their opinion – should I wait and make an appointment with my regular doc, or go in and have them take a peek? The woman on the phone told me in the nicest, most terrifying way possible, “you should probably just bypass us and go straight to the emergency room. They’re better equipped to figure out what’s going on.”


Time to freak out

After running upstairs to gather the kidlets (okay, two are now in their 20s and the other is 17, but still kidlets to me) so I could sob hysterically while simultaneously laughing at how ridiculous I was being calmly explain to them what was going on, hubby and I headed off to the ER. A few hours (and a $150 co-pay we can’t afford, since hubby is on Workman’s Comp at the moment for the aforementioned broken ankle) later, the doc said all he could tell me is yes, that looks like blood, and I should definitely get a mammogram and ultrasound to see what’s up. However, in a twisted twist of luck, they didn’t have those particular machines at the hospital. I’d have to wait and go to the local imagining center to have it done.

The ER nurse was awesome, and printed off directions, office hours, and the phone number to the place. She suggested I call first thing the next morning, even though it was Monday July 3rd (still considered part of the holiday weekend, for those readers across the pond). Needless to say, since the office opened at 7am, I was on the phone at 7:01, only to hear a recording saying something to the effect of, “we’re closed for the holiday and will reopen on Wednesday, July 5th.”

What, me worry?

The next couple days were spent calmly waiting for Wednesday to arrive. Seriously, I was fairly calm, thanks in great part (at alternate times) to Ativan and vodka. Silver lining, I discovered a new favorite summer drink – three scoops of Vienna Mocha Chip ice cream and three shots of Boru Vodka, combined in a big mug, topped with whipped cream, and served with a spoon. Heavenly! But I digress…

Wednesday arrived, and again I called first thing. I explained the ER should’ve sent over orders. The very nice receptionist spent a few minutes trying to find the order, but couldn’t track it down. Then she asked, “what was the reason you went to the ER?” When I mentioned the words, “blood” and “nipple” in the same sentence, she suddenly decided orders be dammed. She scheduled me an appointment pronto, and said she’d worry about the paperwork afterwards (which made me wicked happy and more freaked out, all at the same time). She got me set up for Friday – because it was a diagnostic, not a baseline, it made it more difficult to find a time slot, but son of a gun, she managed! Then, more waiting.


Friday, hubby and I headed to the place (I’ll spare you the details of my sudden panic as I realized the ER doc mentioned the mammogram center was across the street from them in Dover, but when I checked the paperwork in the car, it said the address was the next town over from Dover). Everybody there was amazing and as comforting as possible, so the three hour long appointment flew by like it was only two hours fifty-nine minutes. The good news – both the mammogram and ultrasound came back within normal parameters. The bad – they still had no idea why I continue to have bloody discharge, and that old blocked duct lump in my left breast is now twice as big as they’re comfortable with.

The awesome technician who did my mammogram ushered me and hubby into an office, and continued to be awesome. She quickly got me scheduled in the first available slots for a biopsy on one and a surgical consult for the other (both of which are coming up later this week). Oh, and to keep things straight, I’ve started referring to my left breast as Lumpy, and my right as Leaky. *grin*

The waiting is the hardest part

So for the past week and a half, I’ve been keeping busy with bunches of things, since there’s never a dull moment with five people, one dog, and one cat in the house. Again, not my stories to tell, but suffice to say, there’s been no lack of appointments, shopping, phone calls, homeschooling, laundry, and other assorted household distractions. We (hubby & I) have also gotten in some good quality Netflix binge watching time (someone please tell me the second season of Santa Clarita Diet will be on soon!).

Getting ready to rumble!

Last week, I decided if I wanted to eat all the ice cream (with and without vodka), I should just do it. This week, I’ve cut way back on sugar, slowed down my coffee drinking, stopped my alcohol drinking all together, and upped my water intake to get myself in a better physical (if not mental) state for my procedures. I can’t decide which is worse – waiting, or behaving!

This past Friday, I had a “touch base” appointment with my PC (primary care) so I could get back on some daily meds for my depression & anxiety. I also filled her in on the story behind all the paperwork being faxed over to the office. Side note – seems when you leave a sobbing voicemail message for your doctor, they tend to make room for you in their busy schedule. At one point, my PC told me not to worry because she could refer me to an awesome local oncologist, even if the surgical consult doc didn’t. Cue more panic, because needing an oncologist would mean for sure I have…


Not gonna say that sentence yet.

To be fair, she also qualified it with, “if you need to see one.” At least, that’s what hubby told me – I couldn’t hear her at that point, over the screaming in my brain.


Okay, I’m done. For now.

I’ll be sure to update everyone next week with the news on Leaky and Lumpy. I’m sure everyone’s on the edge of their seat, shivering with antici…


In the meantime, have any of you, my dear readers, gone through something like this? Any advice for me going forward? Feel free to share your thoughts, even if they are pretty, pretty lies – at this point, I’m happy to keep my rose-colored glasses firmly planted on my face, until the moment (if it even occurs, and I’m still not convinced it will) that reality knocks them off my nose. In fact, I’m actually pretty sure that the Universe has a great punchline in store for me – something along the lines of a completely-curable-but-totally-embarrassing diagnosis that I’ll have to cop to here, since I was such a big blabbermouth about it.

Oh, and last, but not least –

Here’s the Microblog Monday version of the above

Over the fourth of July weekend, I discovered bloody discharge coming from my right nipple. Because of the holiday and the diagnostic nature of the scans, I wasn’t able to have a mammogram and ultrasound until almost a week later. The good news – both came back within normal parameters. The bad – still no idea why I continue to have bloody discharge, and an old blocked duct lump in my left breast is now twice as big as they’re comfortable with. Now I have a biopsy for my left breast (I’ve nicknamed Lumpy) and a surgical consult for the right (Leaky) coming up later this week. This, combined with the recent discovery that both my paternal and maternal sides of the family have issues with cancer, have me more than a little concerned. Oh, and in the midst of it all, hubby broke his ankle. Good times.

Cancer #MicroblogMondays
“Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is?
Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.” ~ Melissa S. Ford, Stirrup Queens

Cancer gene)

Cancer. This is not a passive voice. I am writing in an active voice. My SEO will stop telling me how to write. Cancer. These sentences are also shorter than twenty words. Stop being so controlling. I will keep going until you turn green. Cancer. I can’t believe this is still orange. Finally, it has turned. Success! This is not a passive voice. I am writing in an active voice. My SEO will stop telling me how to write. These sentences are also shorter than twenty words. Stop being so controlling. I will keep going until you turn green. I can’t believe this is still orange. Finally, it has turned. Success! This is not a passive voice. I am writing in an active voice. My SEO will stop telling me how to write. These sentences are also shorter than twenty words. Stop being so controlling. I will keep going until you turn green. I can’t believe this is still orange. Finally, it has turned. Success! This is not a passive voice. I am writing in an active voice. My SEO will stop telling me how to write. These sentences are also shorter than twenty words. Stop being so controlling. I will keep going until you turn green. I can’t believe this is still orange. Finally, it has turned. Success! >Cancer. This is not a passive voice. I am writing in an active voice. My SEO will stop telling me how to write. Cancer. These sentences are also shorter than twenty words. Stop being so controlling. I will keep going until you turn green. Cancer. I can’t believe this is still orange. Finally, it has turned. Success! This is not a passive voice. I am writing in an active voice. My SEO will stop telling me how to write. These sentences are also shorter than twenty words. Stop being so controlling. I will keep going until you turn green. I can’t believe this is still orange. Finally, it has turned. Success! This is not a passive voice. I am writing in an active voice. My SEO will stop telling me how to write. These sentences are also shorter than twenty words. Stop being so controlling. I will keep going until you turn green. I can’t believe this is still orange. Finally, it has turned. Success! This is not a passive voice. I am writing in an active voice. My SEO will stop telling me how to write. These sentences are also shorter than twenty words. Stop being so controlling. I will keep going until you turn green. I can’t believe this is still orange. Finally, it has turned. Success


111 thoughts on “I Have My Father’s Eyes (and possibly his cancer gene)

Add yours

  1. Jebus Traci….stressful times and you are still managing to be funny…thoughts with you…and please definitely keep us posted. Hoping for a good result…the body is a strange and wondrous thing in my own experience-not quite like yours- but as a woman who is getting older, which seems to trigger any variety of conditions, sometimes the body just does odd things for a while and then stops doing those things and no one knows why. Maybe the body, or Bodser as I call it, just has a ‘sick’ sense of humour… Not the greatest piece of wisdom I know but…sending good thoughts x

    1. LOL! Thanks, Clare, and I thought your wisdom was pretty great myself! Given that I’m looking 52 square in the eye later this month, I completely agree that as the years have gone by, my Bodser’s (love that) humor is getting increasingly twisted. Much appreciate for the good thoughts!

  2. Oh my darling! This is the one blog post I couldn’t save to read for when I get home! The C word is so bloody scary. I’m just so glad that you’re getting it all checked out so thoroughly. Fingers crossed it’s just an embarrassing, but harmless diagnosis. My boobs have got lumpier as I’ve got older. You’ve prompted me to do some self-checking though. Please update us as soon as possible. I’ll be thinking of you. Stay strong, you amazing woman you xxx

  3. My goodness, my sweet. You are an absolute inspiration: to share and to write so beautifully about this frightening time you are experiencing. We are all here with you, OK? And watch out over the Atlantic as I’ve just sent a thousand hugs over the sea to you, they should be arriving any second now xxx

    1. Funniest thing – I was standing in the living room, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I felt 500 pairs of arms wrapping around me! You’re awesome, Em – thanks so much! ❤️ ❤️

  4. hi! i have that same thing and i freaked out, if i put the substance on a tissue it is actually a greenish shade. Fibrocystic changes in your breasts may cause lumps or thickenings in your breast tissue. They do not indicate, though, the presence of cancer. In addition to causing pain and itching, fibrocystic breast changes can, at times, cause secretion of clear, white, yellow, or green nipple discharge.Sep 7, 2016
    Breast and Nipple Discharge: What It Could Mean – WebMD

    all of that makes me go. well how in the H e double toothpicks am i ever going to tell when to freak out….the very nice breast cancer center dr gave me a list and i get a 4 D mammogram AND and ultrasound every year as i am UHM very very dense hehe, there is also a sort of infection type thing that can cause that colored change in the ‘milk’ however I have found that it is not like mastitis so doesn’t set off the alarm bells in my head.

    she also stated that if i have to express it, that’s not the same as the discharge that occurs in many cancers which just ooze or leak on their own i gave her the ew gross face and the face of distrust too, so i track it like i do my cycle and if a huge jump OR difference i call and they check, again

    Lighting candle…smudge

    I know that all is perfect in the body as with Spirit. I know that when I think in fear and I attempt to reset my body to match my fear conditions, all I need do is to recall that my body is made to perfection created in image. I see all cells and body processes resetting to that perfection daily as part of spiritual practice.

    smudge again, offer thanks to (fill in blank) blow out candle

    Do the next right thing.

    ps i hope that next right thing is not slapping elisa 😛

    1. LOL! Nope, I can’t see the next right thing ever being slapping Elisa! *grin*

      Thanks so much for sharing your experience – it really helps to know I’m not alone in this. And I’m wiped out from running all over creation today (for completely non-boob related things), but tomorrow I plan to do the smudging, and salt hand wash. Much appreciation for those tips. Bright blessings to you, dear lady.

      1. I am rather waiting for an update….HOWEVER, that might be contrary to what I suggested lol The brown eyed susans have run over all of my beds, and wild strawberry (ack the WEED) growing all under it, TIP: when it grows all over your altar first and you curse the uhm altar being, you get WAY more of the wild strawberries sigh. My son requested me to massage his hands this morning after a rather hard scary day yesterday, I was angry with him and I want to recoil from the bombarding. However, that inner voice said, oh he is asking for a grounding, he is remembering it, give him a target, take a risk. he is so far MUCh calmer and has come to me again asking……yes I am rolling my eyes again while grinning and grateful that my HP gave me an avenue to be of maximum service and safety! PS i really want to make and eat another chocolate zucchini sunbutter frosted cake, this would NOT help me. I think a glass of basil water instead. Happy Energy!~~~~

        1. LOL! Sorry about that – I was hoping to have some additional information today, but it was a no go. Working on my update post now, and should have it up shortly. 😀

  5. Well, A.) I’m so very sorry you are going through this and B.) Since you asked, I have gone through something similar. Lol! I have heard the words “call a surgical oncologist immediately” before. I know that panic. All I can tell you is that I understand. I don’t have a way for it to feel better, except to tell you to eat the ice cream, that does work. Just keep moving forward at each step. Take care of yourself when you need to. Reach out and vent. Do it. I imagine you’re the sort that doesn’t want to do that necessarily, but you should. If and when the time comes, get a second opinion, don’t rush into anything. Take a breath whenever you can. That’s all I’ve got for you, sister. If you need anything, I’m here.

  6. Woah, what a fraught and stressful time for you. Just so nerve wracking. I’m so sorry you’re going through all of this.

    I have very fibrocystic breasts, and don’t even give myself an exam anymore as I know I will find lumps, lots of them. At any one time I usually have at least 3, 3 to 5 cm cysts, and up to a 100 small ones. I get a mammogram and ultrasound yearly, and see my specialist regularly.

    A few years back after a mammogram (which I was called back to get re-done), I was told I was okay. Several weeks later, when I went to see my doctor for something else, she asked if I’d heard the results and how was I going? I said yes, I was glad to be all clear again. She said something along the lines of, “Actually, can you please come in and sit down, we need to talk”. Turns out I’d been given the first round of results by the specialist, but the second round had gotten lost in the mix, and they showed, in her words, that I almost certainly had cancer. She assumed the surgeon would have told me, but the surgeon apparently didn’t get the second results.

    She rang and got another appointment with the surgeon the next day to see what I needed to do. I had to travel to get a special type of biopsy as the hospital that had the machine that can do it in our city, was giving their machine maintenance. Then more consults to decide if it was cancer or not…. another specialist had to be gotten in….my breasts are hard to fathom it appears. In the end, I was told I had significant changes in breast tissue that were not cancer, but the whole thing from the first mammogram took nearly 3 months (although I was unaware of the not-so-good results for quite a while).

    I still worry as I hear stories of others who had a first opinion that was good, then got a second opinion and it turned out they had cancer. Sometimes I just want to say ‘Take them both off.’ However, I have put my trust in the docs I have now. I also did a bit of research on the best breast surgeon in my area, and changed to them from my old specialist. My doctor also specialises in women’s breast and reproductive health.

    The waiting was the worst. I just wanted to know and get on with whatever needed to be done, pronto. They still give me alot of pain off and on, and sometimes they’re so sore I don’t know what to do with myself.

    I hope your professionals are good (I’m sure they are) and that you are well supported.

    I will be thinking of you and hoping it all turns out to be okay. It’s just so frightening thinking about possibilities, so I tried to live in the moment as much as possible, breathe, and keep myself busy. Take care and all the best for a brilliant outcome, Traci.

    Linda. xox

    1. Wow, Linda – I’m sorry to hear you’ve had your own scary experience, but I’m grateful that you shared it with me. I’m glad you’ve changed docs now, and I hope whatever is causing the soreness gets sorted out in short order. I’m extremely lucky – we have a number of excellent specialists in the area, and I know whatever happens, I’ll be well taken care of. Thanks again for your words of encouragement, and I’ll have you in my thoughts as well. *hugs*

      1. Good to hear you have excellent specialists. I think if you trust your docs implicitly, it helps tremendously. Hugs back at you. xox

  7. I read every word and told people to shush until I finished. You’re amazing and have great people around you, so I’m sure whatever comes you’ll be ready. With that said, I hope with every fiber of my being that what’s coming is a simple nothing that needs a prescription or a massage. Thank you for sharing your story and the very real scariness of it. That way, we–your friends out in blogland–can be there for you, too.
    Side note- that drink you concocted sounds like something they make in an amusement park and sell under the table for the enjoyment of parents with nap-deprived children. In other words, awesome and therapeutic.
    Thinking of you.

    1. Angela, you bowled me over with your comment. Thank you in return for being your usual awesome self. Next time I make my concoction (and I promised a local friend I’d make a Pin for it – LOL), I’ll be sure to toast to you and your amazing support. Thanks, lovely lady! ❤️

  8. I’m sorry you’re going through such a rough time. I’d like to tell you not to worry, but we both know that’s no help. You’re being sensible about it, and making sure that you’re in a good shape physically for whatever might come is a good idea. Let’s hope you get a diagnosis soon.

  9. Hey Traci, So shocked to read this and so sorry you’re going through this. Sending you all good wishes and hugs, and wish I could think of something helpful to say. I’ll be following your story, for sure. Hoping for the best for you.

    1. Thanks, Ruth – you know, I almost felt bad posting this, because I knew I’d have a hard time thinking of something to say if I were the one commenting. But just knowing that people are out there cheering for me helps me, so thanks for shouting out. *hugs* to you in return.

  10. So scary!! Waiting is the worst, and I am crossing everything I’ve got that everything turns out OK. Or, if not OK, then the best of the possible scenarios.

  11. Oh Traci I am so sorry, and I can appreciate what a stressful time this must be for you. HOWEVER, listen, I know this is easy for me to say, but try and take the positives: you know your history, you’ve acted promptly and technique and treatment are improving all the time.

    Thinking of you, sending healing, love and light always xxx

    1. You’re absolutely right, Samantha, and that’s what I’ve tried to do since this started. So far, the dark thoughts have been pushed out by logic at least 95% of the time… well, probably more like 87%…okay, when the vodka wears off it drops down to 65%… *grin*

      Seriously, greatly appreciate your kind thoughts, and thanks for the love & light! ❤️

  12. Hey Traci, I’m sorry to hear you’re going through this. I can’t imagine how it must feel as I’ve not been through something like this before. The waiting sounds like one of the hardest parts, but you’re doing all you can.

    I’ll keep sending positive thoughts your way x

  13. Traci, I’m going mad over you. But at least you’re on the path to knowing exactly what your dealing with. I don’t know what to say except keep being positive and I’m sending positive thoughts your way from Ireland. Keep us posted ❤️❤️❤️

  14. Traci, please remember that Fred and I have been through something akin to this, and IF-IF-IF-IF! you should need or want local recommendations for folks in any of those medical specialties that come with an unwanted scary diagnosis, we can give you the names of some truly awesome, wonderful, highly skilled people, who got us (and another very dear friend) through those rough times.

    I know that “if” is a terribly unsatisfying word that leaves you hanging, an all sort of agonizing, stressful ways. But it’s also a reminder that nothing is for sure until, and unless, it is absolutely for sure — so I hope you are able to hold on to that more positive thought, too.

    1. Funny thing – when I got the news about the family cancer gene, and was telling the kidlets, I invoked your name and the aforementioned situation in our discussion. Needless to say, I was already planning to pick your brains “if” (which should be spelled, “iiff” so it qualifies as a four-letter word) the situation warrants it. Thanks so much for shouting out, and for the extra hugs – both are wicked appreciated, and I’ll be sure to be in touch. Another funny thing – in our travels today, we happened to drive past your place, so we waved hello (which amused the youngest, who was with us). Then I came home to find your comment. Such awesome timing. ❤️

  15. Oh, I’m so sorry to hear this, Traci – how stressful for you! I have fingers and toes crossed for you that it turns out not to be the big C, sending it out into the Universe too xx

  16. Oh my gosh, this is so much to deal with. I’m so sorry. Waiting for results is always so hard. No advice, but I’m glad you are getting it checked out and are on top of things. Fingers crossed for you this turns out to be nothing!

    1. It wicked sucks eggs, Pam – LOL! Thanks so much for offering tips – I hope I don’t have to ask, but I’m glad to know I can if necessary. And I plan to keep everyone in the loop.

  17. I read every word with bated breath. Thank you for the oversharing- it means a reader can really engage and follow. The interspersed images between the text are so comedic that I smiled through my concern. You have a way with writing for sure! I look forward to hear good news x hope is always best x Good luck TYW xx

    1. Wow, thanks so much FPG! I tried to find that balance between humor and seriousness, and hoped the images weren’t too over the top. Glad to know it worked for you, and I greatly appreciate you shouting out! *hugs*

  18. You dont need my sorries
    Or my tear stained face
    You need the strength of iron
    shoved firmly into place.
    Someone to hear your laughter
    To know its your version of tears
    but you dont get the pitty or
    Wet inside your ears..

    Be strong lady youre not alone. X

  19. Sorry to hear and waiting is the worst. Agree with other comments and listen to your gut over getting a second opinion. We have to advocate for ourselves in the health care system. Take notes or partner should. Also make sure question they are doing tests for nipples not just breast tissue. Hope this makes sense. Thinking of you.

  20. Guess what? Cancer isn’t a death sentence anymore. It’s more of a temporary condition and the cures are as bad as the disease. My wife has had it twice. And by the way, as of today no one knows if you even have cancer! Hang in there. You got this. Btw, Santa Clarita Diet is good? I watched one episode and thought it seemed really stupid. Should I go back?

    1. After I read your reply, I turned to my husband and said, “How the hell are you commenting on my blog with Phil’s account?” *grin*

      Thanks for the pep talk, and yes – we weren’t particularly impressed with the first episode of SCD either, but both our girls loved it so we gave it a chance. It took a bit to find its campy-kind of rhythm, but once it did, we really enjoyed it. Give it another episode or two.

  21. Oh dear, waiting really does suck! And you’ve had to wait a while now. (I remember being tested for cancer, and hated the waiting. It’s not easy to think of other things, is it?) Your post was amazing – it’s wonderful that you could find humour in the situation, and write about it. Wishing you the very best.

  22. I send you all my positive vibes, good thoughts and prayers for you Traci, for your own positivity and courage as you deal with these understandable concerns. Hugs.

  23. Thank you for sharing. Wishing you the best. Will be praying for you. Doing the check up last night. Will follow up with doc soon. Love your weekly blog.

    1. You’re very welcome, Rosario – thank you in return. I’ll be keeping you in my thoughts as well that the doc gives you a clean bill of health. Bright blessings!

    1. Lori, those links were awesome – thanks for sharing them! I feel better about my reaction to this – I think I was mostly yellow (although I bet my hubby would disagree). And I could completely relate to what happened with your son – our boy had a weird headache thing when he was only 4 years old – I’ll spare you the details, but he was fine in the end, and your description of the in-between time was spot on. Greatly appreciated both. ❤️ ❤️

  24. Well, I am sending 3000 good thoughts. But here are my rose-coloured glasses: not every problem is cancer, and not every cancer will end in disaster. I say that to myself because cancer is always the ONLY place my mind goes when there is an issue. (Oh, wait, I also think about strokes a lot.) Rationally, we both know that there are many other issues out there, but cancer is the big one we hear about time after time. And our mental picture of cancer is also the worst picture of cancer. We don’t think about people with cancer who continue to work and move through life. But those scenarios exist, too, depending on the type of cancer. So, deep breaths. I’m holding hope with you.

    1. You’re exactly right, Mel, and in my calmer moments (which are happening more frequently as time goes on) my rational brain kicks in and reminds me of all that.Thank you for the 3k good thoughts, and for holding hope with me. Both are greatly appreciated.

  25. Holy double breasted discomfort, Batman! Cut that nonsense out. Cut it out NOW. Tell Lumpy and Leaky to behave, dammit. Waiting is the worst, but hopefully you’ll get happy answers soon. Thinking of you. Keep us posted.

    1. Thanks, Emily! I’ve told them both they’ll be heading to the naughty corner if they continue to act out, but so far, it hasn’t had much effect. Appreciate the good thoughts, and I’ll be sure to overshare again next week with an update, once I’m through these appointments.

  26. I don’t want to freak you out and share my mom’s story with you, but I wouldn’t 100% trust the diagnostic testing without a second opinion. It saved my mom’s life….

  27. OMG, I think this is now SoberingSunday; What a nightmare of anxiety and worry there Traci. Its regurgitated a few memories of my own whilst waiting for a diagnosis on my mum (not cancer, but something terminal and rather harrowing) years ago. The worst part was not knowing, waiting for results, what ifs and amidst all that retaining humour. I do hope your spirits are hardwired for resolve. As someone said above cancer is no longer the beast it once was so early captures are often successful, and as said same person said, not all issues are that anyway so there may be much better information coming your way soon. To wit, you have my deepest thoughts and hopes for a good outcome. Just avert your eyes from Google is all I have to say! xx

    1. Dearest Gary, thank you so much for your kind words, and positive thoughts. And I’m trying to keep my eyes averted, but my fingers keep wandering over to Google when I’m not paying attention… *grin*

      1. You are most welcome Traci, I have travelled many times with relative and friends through assorted ailments and had a good dose of emotional turmoil on the way. Empathy is never far when I see a dear friend inside the mixer.

        Feel free to wander Google, BUT resist the urge to self diagnose. That path leads to the dark side…must resist Yoda speech….

  28. Oh my goodness what a stressful few weeks! I agree with everyone above! I hope lumpy and leaky start to behave…but it sounds like it *might* be okay. I will be crossing all my fingers and toes for you. I’m sending massive hugs anyway.

  29. Oh, what a horrible time you must be going through now, it can’t be easy trying to stay positive when you are worried sick. I hope that your results come back clear, and am sending you my warmest wishes.

    1. Actually for the most part, I’ve been able to keep my sense of humor about the whole thing, which helps (especially since hubby is laughing along with me). Thanks so much for your good wishes, Judy – much appreciated!

  30. I know how you feel, Traci. I was diagnosed with the big “C” a couple of years ago. I went through surgery and chemotherapy. So I understand your fear. I’m sorry you’re going through this. Keep us posted on your diagnosis and if you ever want to talk, let me know. I’ll be there if you need me to be. 🙂 Hang in there. ((Hugs))

    1. Wow, Lisa! Thanks so much for the offer, and I will definitely pick your brain if needed. Hope you’re feeling better these day. *hugs*

      1. I am. I’ve been done with chemo for two years and I’m so thankful I caught the cancer in time. I get to watch my babies grow up. Please feel free to reach out if you need to. I had a good friend help me during times of anxiety and she was able to calm me down. It’s okay to reach out. 🙂 ((Hugs))

  31. I’ve never had a discharge, but I have dense breasts and cysts all the time. I get a mammogram and ultrasound every six months because of it, sometimes two of each in one week….always fun. One time, I had a lump so large, it was noticeably sticking out of my breast. When I called my Dr. about it, things moved really quickly and I was having a mammogram the very next day. By the time the results got back to my Dr., the lump was already gone and she thinks the plates squeezing it during the mammogram aspirated the cyst. Fun stuff.

  32. Phew! It’s amazing you are able to inject so much humour in your post. My late date passed from Cancer and I know how petrifying just the thought of the big C is. All the best.

    1. Thanks, Jacqueline. I’m so sorry to hear about your father – my late dad also had cancer, but passed from Alzheimer’s complications. I appreciate your kind words.

  33. Wow! This post had me st the edge of my seat the entire read. Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry that you’re going through this! I pray that you get good news and nothing life threatening! It’s always scary to go through health changes that aren’t normal or are possibly something life changing. Well wishes to you and your husband!

    1. Thanks so much, Shanika! It’s definitely scary, and my GAD (generalized anxiety disorder) is having a field day with this situation, but so far, so good! Much appreciate the well wishes!

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