My First Mammogram

It's easy! It's scary! Omg I can't believe I'm old enough!

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I had my first mammogram two weeks ago. A week ago, I had my first diagnostic mammogram followed by an ultrasound. A “mass” was found in my right breast. Thankfully, this “mass” was determined to be just a “cluster of cysts.”

In the current age of “MAHA” weirdness, I knew I wanted to write about my experience. Every other day I see a post on Threads from someone saying they will never get a mammogram due to the radiation or pain or whatever else. I’m telling you: please get one if/when you’re able to. Though they are imperfect and perhaps archaic, they can be lifesaving.

I was hopeful that I would never have to get a mammogram. I thought that surely by the time I would need one, there would have been a less antiquated “torture” device to check my breasts for disease. But now at 40, in the year of 2026, there is no such better mechanism.

I scheduled my appointment back in November. To my horror, I was able to get scheduled for mid-January. “Too soon!” I thought. Leading up to this appointment, I was a wreck. I had read so many horrifying things from people online about how painful it is, how someone passed out and hit their head, how the machine stopped working for someone and one of their breasts was just squished in the device while the tech had to restart the machine. Sometimes reading hundreds of people’s experiences is not actually what you need.

My partner drove with me to the appointment on a bitterly cold afternoon. My appointment was at 3:30pm, the time where the winter light does that thing where the blue-grey sky collapses into the sunset. I screamed along to “Dog Days Are Over” by Florence + The Machine in the car. I had cried to so much leading up to this appointment. I was doing this on a quarter less of the Zoloft I’d been on for over 20 years (a first).

I checked in only to realize I needed to be in the building across the street. Thanks to my penchant for arriving extremely early everywhere, we had enough time to drive an extra two minutes. I checked in at the correct place and went to the waiting area. I took three Advil an hour ahead of my appointment—a tip I learned online. We sat for all of three seconds before I started tearing up again—my fear so palpable I could see its breath. Right as I was trying to steel myself, the tech came out to get me. I began crying as soon as she took me back. “Aw, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” She asked me. “Yes, I’m just really scared,” I replied. The woman, who was probably in her 50s or early 60s was kind and compassionate. “We’ll go as slow as you need and I’ll explain everything before I do it.” She motioned for me to go into the changing room. I was to take everything off above the waist. Since you can’t wear deodorant, lotions, or perfumes, I was already sweating and smelling ripe.

I changed and met her in the exam room. The lighting was dim bordering on dark, which I appreciated. I saw the machine. It didn’t look all that scary. The tech walked me through putting my right breast on the plate, as she slowly began applying pressure. She asked if I was okay often. To my surprise, I felt fine. “This is it?” I thought. The pressure didn’t feel intense. I wasn’t even wincing. Before I knew it, the appointment was over. They got me at 3:25pm and I was done by 3:35. It wasn’t painful at all for me.

I felt a sense of relief so big it could have swallowed every body of water.

I had been so overtaken by fear of the actual exam, that I didn’t even think about the results. I couldn’t. The weekend was extra long since Monday was MLK JR Day. I enjoyed my weekend, but knew I would probably get a call back, since the tech (and other women) told me it was extremely common since there is no baseline yet for first-timers. Tuesday morning, at 7:30am, I read my results:

“Left Breast: No mammographic evidence of malignancy.
Right Breast: mass at 8 o’clock, anterior depth. Assessment: 0 - Incomplete. Diagnostic mammogram with possible ultrasound is recommended.”

I was also found to not have dense breasts, which was a shock, since my gyno had told me most women nowadays have dense breasts (and my mom does, which can be an indicator). This, of course, can change at any time. For people with dense breasts, it can be harder to find masses, including cancer, thus an ultrasound is automatically recommended.

I spiraled. I lost my shit. I saw black. I felt numb. I called immediately and they hadn’t even put the order in yet for my diagnostic mammogram. More waiting. Experiencing a health scare during heightened levels of fascism was not on my 2026 Bingo card. They wanted to schedule me for Feb. 9. Thankfully, I got something sooner—Jan. 22. I didn’t even have to wait that long, but for three days I was either bawling or numb as fuck. What added insult to injury is that, even with excellent insurance, I had to pay $500 for this diagnostic mammogram. I was able to put this on my credit card, but not everyone can do this. Yet again, I think about how awful this country and its shitty health insurance is.

The day finally came for my diagnostic mammogram. For this one, my mom came with me. I was called back and led to another, smaller waiting room that had lockers and other women sitting nervously in pink gowns. I changed and waited, again. I was finally called back and again, the tech was super kind. I started to tear up and she explained to me that it’s very normal to get a call back after your first one and that even getting ultrasound doesn’t mean anything “bad.” She began the diagnostic mammogram (basically just another mammogram, but they take images at slightly different angles and more closeup so the radiologist can get a better look at the “thing”. The radiologist then looks at the images in real time so they inform the tech if they need to do more images). I was told I may not even need the ultrasound.

The tech got what she needed and I went back to the pink-gown-ladies-in-waiting-room. I let myself be hopeful about maybe not needing the ultrasound. Soon, another tech came out and matter-of-fact told me I would need the ultrasound. My appointment was for 2pm, so I had to leave and come back. I went out to the bigger waiting room with tears in my eyes and told my mom.

We went home. I tried to eat lunch and watch something soothing (I chose “Gilmore Girls”) and I colored on my iPad. Finally, it was time to leave again.

I had an abdominal ultrasound when I was sixteen and had two transvaginal ultrasounds in my 20s and 30s. I knew a breast ultrasound would, at least, feel easy.

Another kind tech, who was probably in her 20s, took me back to the room. Dim, dark lighting awaited me. I laid on the table and she began putting gel on my right breast. I expected it to be cold, but it was warm. She took more pictures and sent them to the radiologist. She left me alone in the room, for what felt like an eternity. She came back with the radiologist who explained to me that there is a very small oval shaped something in my breast. She said she was going to do the ultrasound again (and she would do it) to look for cysts, because if there were cysts that was good news. If not, then I still might be okay, but they would want to see me back in six months.

The radiologist put more gel on my breast and started the ultrasound. I laid back praying for cysts. I also laid back thinking, “Well, if I have something, maybe it won’t be so bad.” In my heightened moments of sadness defeat, I thought: “Well, if I die from this soon maybe that won’t be so bad—this world is awful.”

I tried not to look at her face. I didn’t want to see any fear or concern in her eyes.

Finally, the radiologist spoke. “I found a cluster of cysts where this oval shape is located, so you don’t need to come back for a year. Any questions?” Just like that, this was over? I asked if she needed to biopsy anything. She said no, because the area is so tiny and unconvincing. She apologized for any scare the callback may have caused me. I said I appreciate how thorough they all were.

I left the room elated, but also exhausted and unsure. Did I hear her correctly? I’m ok? What?!

The next day I received my new letter which stated unequivocally:

“1. Benign cyst(s) in the right breast. There is no evidence of malignancy. 2. Routine screening mammography is recommended. BI-RADS: Overall: 2 - Benign.”

I didn’t hear anything incorrectly! Good news documented!

A week after this appointment, I’m here still reeling from it all. Who knows what the future holds for me. I know I will be anxious at my next mammogram. I know I will have “scanxiety.” I know that shit happens and you just have to keep going somehow. At least I have more medical experiences under my belt. At least I know how loved and supported I am.

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