How I Did Not Get Breast Cancer

I never thought this story would ever be written down, but I need to get it out of me.

Perhaps it will help someone, or at least make a few people stop and think.

How did I not get breast cancer?

It all began a few months ago when I changed jobs.

As usual, I had to complete the standard occupational-health checks:

a chest screening and an appointment with the company doctor on a Thursday.

The company doctor was a woman over sixty.

Something about her energy felt strange to me.

My intuition is usually fairly good.

Still, I assumed there would be no problem.

I had seen many doctors before and been through several occupational-health examinations.

Nothing new was waiting for me.

At least that was what I thought.

The doctor said that, because she did not know me, she wanted to examine me more thoroughly “just to be safe”.

Why not, I thought.

I was somewhat surprised when she started examining my breasts because that clearly did not belong to the normal scope of the appointment.

Still, I said nothing.

Then, while I was lying on my back on the examination table, I felt an extremely strong pressure.

She pressed my right breast painfully hard.

Then, in a dismissive and rather superior tone, she said:

“You do know there is a lump in your breast, don’t you?”

I went pale.

All I could say was:

“No.”

The moment I could leave, I wanted to escape.

Perhaps from the sentence.

Perhaps from the way she had said it.

I do not know.

As soon as I stepped outside the door, I almost began crying.

I went into a kind of shock.

I called my partner and blurted out everything.

But I still had to hurry to my former employer to collect paperwork.

My mind kept racing all the way home.

As far as I knew, there had never been any kind of cancer in our family.

Knock on wood.

I had only encountered the disease closely once before, around a year and a half earlier, through a friend.

My partner told me not to immediately assume the worst.

It could be a fatty lump.

Or a cyst.

But I was terrified.

That weekend we travelled home to my parents.

I could not keep it inside.

I cried throughout the entire weekend.

After the first shock, on Monday I started researching whom I should see and where.

My general practitioner was still in Budapest.

Because I was beginning a new job that Monday, I could not travel there.

I had to solve the situation locally.

I found a gynaecologist and tried to book an appointment.

The assistant asked what the problem was because the doctor’s calendar was already very full.

Holding back tears, I briefly explained my fear.

She responded with extraordinary kindness and empathy.

Then she directed me to another doctor.

He was actually a senior vascular surgeon, but during the first two hours of his clinic day, he also saw patients with this kind of problem without requiring a referral.

On my second day at the new job, I had to go to my new manager and explain what was happening.

He needed to know because from that point, I would have to attend medical appointments and examinations during working hours.

I was lucky.

He reacted with complete understanding and assured me of his full support.

People — and managers — like that are rare.

I remain grateful.

Less than a week after hearing the frightening news, I was sitting in the vascular-surgery department at 7:30 in the morning with tears in my eyes.

The assistant was very kind.

So was the doctor.

When he examined me, the first thing he said was:

“First of all, calm down.”

The lump was not in my breast.

It was beneath the tissue, on my rib.

Because the area had been extremely painful ever since the earlier doctor had pressed it so hard, he first sent me for an X-ray to see whether anything unusual was visible in the rib.

He also arranged an ultrasound, which could be done relatively quickly.

When I left, I already felt some relief.

One week later, I returned with the X-ray result.

It showed nothing suspicious.

The doctor suggested trying a course of anti-inflammatory medication.

Perhaps that would solve the problem.

If not, we would accelerate the ultrasound.

The course finished in the first half of December.

The “something” was still there.

It simply no longer hurt.

Around Christmas, however, I increasingly felt that something was wrong.

The pain returned.

So did the fear.

Fortunately, the huge volume of work, my new surroundings and the enormous professional challenge filling my days helped distract me.

I threw myself into work.

I almost forgot the appointment completely.

Fortunately, I had entered it into my phone back in November.

On Tuesday, it reminded me that I had to appear the following day.

The ultrasound was performed by a relatively young doctor in his late thirties.

Before beginning, he asked me to explain how the problem had been discovered, which examinations I had already had and what medication I had received.

When I described who had found this “thing” and exactly how, he was almost shocked.

An occupational-health doctor, he said, was not responsible for that kind of examination and did not have the relevant specialisation.

He could barely understand why she had examined me in that way.

In the end, the assistant and I practically had to calm him down.

The important part was this:

According to the ultrasound assessment, the severe pressure and pain I had experienced during that first examination had most likely triggered inflammation in the breast tissue and around the cartilage at the end of the rib.

A small amount of fluid was visible there too.

And what was the mysterious “something” the original doctor had casually called a lump?

A natural protrusion of my rib.

It had probably never attracted my attention because it had always been there.

The next step was an intensive two-month anti-inflammatory treatment.

What did I feel?

Relief and happiness.

But also anger.

Because of that overzealous doctor, two months of my life had become a nightmare.

I was afraid to be alone because the moment I was alone, I knew I could not silence my thoughts.

No matter how good a moment was, I could never fully relax into it.

Emotionally, I had to prepare for every possibility.

The next doctor might say anything.

For weeks, my family had to watch me either fighting tears or burying myself in work.

I was angry with myself too.

I had ignored my intuition.

I had failed to say NO when something inside me was clearly telling me I should.

Simply because a doctor stood in front of me, I kept quiet.

The experience changed me.

I learned to stand up for myself.

To listen to my instincts.

To enjoy every minute of life.

To say “I love you” as often as possible.

And to understand that there is never such a thing as too many hugs.

I also learned that I no longer need to hide my feelings.

I cried on buses.

Among crowds.

Alone at home.

Curled up in my partner’s lap.

And I discovered something simple:

Even when people notice our emotions, most of them do nothing.

So why should we hide them?

The people who love us will love us with those feelings too.

Time is the greatest value we possess.

The moment we are living right now.

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There is time for everything that truly matters.

When the results finally arrived, the joy of life that had been stolen from me for weeks returned multiplied.

I am grateful for the lesson.

Grateful because I am alive.

We take so many things for granted.

Our health above all.

But none of it is guaranteed.

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