The Importance of Mammograms: My Personal Journey Through Ultrasound and Biopsy

Enter the ultrasound. This was the ironic chapter of “How I Spent My Christmas Vacation.” Even though I had already survived my dreaded mammogram, I was back again. I kept telling myself I had nothing to worry about—that it was just my fat, dense boobs showing up weird on the images. Ultrasounds I can handle. I’ve had more than my share: when I was pregnant with my twins, when my gall bladder went kerphloey, when sarcoidosis entered my life, and again when they saw nodules on my thyroid. Cold ultrasound gel wasn’t new to me, and in that moment, I convinced myself I’d be fine.

There I was, stretched out in that oh-so-lovely gown, chatting with the tech as she squished and squashed and took pictures of me. I laughed and tried to keep it light, but when she asked me to stay put while the radiologist looked at the images, my heart sank. I knew enough to know that wasn’t good. Curiosity got the better of me—I sat up and peeked at the monitor. I didn’t know exactly what I was seeing, but I knew it didn’t look friendly.

When the Radiologist Walked In

The radiologist joined us, did a few passes himself, and finally admitted he wasn’t sure what he was looking at—but it wasn’t just a cyst. Of course it wasn’t. I never seem to have that kind of luck. He told me not to stress (easier said than done), and assured me the intake nurse, Erika, would call me. Erika was the guru who handled things like this. Why would she be calling me? To schedule a biopsy. A word that lands like a punch to the stomach. Biopsy is a word no one wants to hear.

That was when the reality hit me. This wasn’t just about one bad test or a follow-up. This was about the importance of mammograms—because without that first screening, I wouldn’t have been here at all. I was scared, nervous, and clinging to denial, but I was also grateful I hadn’t skipped the appointment.

Keeping My Fear to Myself

I went home carrying the weight of what had just happened, but I didn’t share it with my kids. Twin A was leaving on a cruise, and I didn’t want to ruin their holiday. Twin B didn’t know either, because let’s be real—twin competitiveness runs deep. I could already hear it: “Mom told me first.” No, thank you. I decided I wasn’t telling anyone anything until I had something concrete to tell. That silence was heavy, though. It was me, alone with my thoughts, facing the possibility of something I really didn’t want to face.

Preparing for the Biopsy

Sure enough, Erika called the very next day. My biopsy was scheduled for two days after Christmas. She asked if I had any tight-fitting, front-opening sports bras. I laughed, because sports bras usually mean exercise, and I don’t exactly scream “gym rat.” Still, I ordered some on Amazon, and now I own three sports bras that will likely spend the rest of their lives shoved in my underwear drawer. Humor was the only way I could cope with the reality of what was coming.

On top of that, they scheduled a visit to the Lahey Breast Center. It was a worst-case-scenario precaution, so I would already know the doctor and office if something bad was confirmed. I agreed, all while floating through denial, telling myself there was nothing wrong. But underneath the denial, I kept circling back to the importance of mammograms. My life and my health depended on facing this, no matter how uncomfortable or scary it was.

My Reflection on the Importance of Mammograms

This experience wasn’t abstract—it was deeply personal. It was my body, my kids, my future. I hated every step of the process: the mammogram machine flattening me, the uncertainty of the ultrasound, the cold terror of the biopsy. And yet, I can’t ignore the truth. Without my mammogram, none of this would have been caught. Without it, I might have stayed blissfully unaware until it was too late. That is the painful, undeniable importance of mammograms.

If you need the science behind it, you can read the American Cancer Society’s guide to mammograms. But if you need the human side of it—the fear, the waiting, the way it invades your holidays and steals your peace—well, that’s what I’m living. And that’s why I keep showing up for my appointments.

How I Found Strength

Going through this, I leaned hard on my ability to laugh, even when I wanted to cry. I also leaned on positive thinking, because without it, the anxiety might have swallowed me whole. If you’ve ever struggled to stay optimistic in the face of fear, you might want to read my post on the power of positive thinking. It’s not just words—it’s the lifeline I held onto when I didn’t know what was coming next.

Final Thoughts

This isn’t just a cautionary tale; it’s my life. I may still crack jokes about medieval torture devices and laugh about the useless sports bras in my drawer, but the truth is, I’m grateful. Grateful for the test I hate. Grateful for the nurse who called me. Grateful for the chance to face this head-on. I’ll always roll my eyes about the process, but I’ll never downplay the importance of mammograms again. And if you’ve been avoiding yours, let my story be the nudge: don’t wait. You’re worth it.