The End of Nursing?

I spent the last few weeks thinking I had to wean Ava so I could have a biopsy of a lump on my breast.

My breast specialist and I have been monitoring this lump for two years, ever since The Week That Sucked. When I first met Dr. Feel-Me-Up, I was pregnant. My new midwife was pissing me off, first not finding a heartbeat at 8 weeks, then saying the lump I'd shown her had to be checked.

So, he examined me, marking both breasts up with a black magic marker. I felt one lump. He, apparently, felt 27.

After an ultrasound, he told me his professional opinion: breast tissue. I have fibrocystic breasts, he explained, so there are many lumps. All of them felt normal enough to him that he didn’t recommend a biopsy. He suggested I wait until after the birth then have a mammogram, but he said if I wanted a mammogram or a biopsy, even during my pregnancy, he’d do it.

That night, sacked out on the couch in all my sickly 1st trimester glory, I watched the Boston-area newsmagazine Chronicle. Wouldn’t you know, it featured a cancer surgeon from Brigham and Women’s, who noticed in the mirror a slight dimple on her breast. She had a mammogram and an ultrasound. Both showed nothing. She asked her fellow cancer surgeon to biopsy it anyway. She had cancer.

Curled up in a ball, watching this now-bald women with her kids, I kept hearing Dr. Feel-Me-Up explaining that “Pregnancy boosts estrogen, and estrogen helps feed tumors.” I wanted a biopsy. Instead, a few days later, I miscarried.

In my new non-pregnant state, I visited the doctor again for a mammogram. It showed nothing. His confidence that it was just breast tissue calmed my fears. He told me to come back in six months. When I did go back, I was pregnant with Ava. He said come back in a year.

So, a year went by, and I saw him again last month. He said the bump was softer, checked it again with ultrasound and confirmed again, “breast tissue.” He asked a few times if I had any pain there, and I said no. The plan: Get an MRI six weeks after weaning Ava, when the hormonal havoc of nursing has settled.

I went home feeling comfortable with this plan, until I felt a steady ache right were the lump is. Psychosomatic, I told myself. Then a week later, I felt it again. A few more weeks, there it was again, only this time, it hurt when I reach my arm out. Not debilitating pain, just enough to let me know it’s there.

Then last week I innocently picked up a Self magazine. Wouldn’t you know, it was a special breast cancer awareness issue, which they decided to celebrate by profiling several young women, ages 30 to 35, with metastasized breast cancer. Many of these women were told by their doctors that their lump was nothing. Several were fighting for their lives.

Now I feel like an idiot for not getting a biopsy sooner.

Yesterday Dr. Feel-Me-Up said I can get an MRI first, then a biopsy, and I didn’t have to wean for either. He said the vast majority of lumps that have pain are benign. He also said, “Standard protocol when there’s a palpable lump that you can feel and I can feel, is that we biopsy it.” This was a change of tune. No avoiding the biopsy this time.

I’m glad I don’t have to wean Ava, but the thought of nursing with a 1-inch incision centimeters away is not exciting either. Should I wean for the biopsy, to save myself the pain and inconvenience? At 15 months, she could wean fairly easily, forgetting about the whole affair within a week or two. She’s only nursing twice a day, once at bedtime and once during the night. The latter’s the feeding that strikes fear in my heart, the fear of the Screaming 5-a.m. Ava, She Who Will Not Be Denied. For Brian and I, the whole scene is like a nightmare that’s really happening.

It has crossed my mind to wean her on the afflicted left side only. But, my right breast is already bigger than the left one. If I stopped nursing on the left only, I might tip right over.

So what do you think? Should I endure brave, post-surgical nursing, or undertake appropriate-yet-traumatic weaning? Even now I keep thinking, Maybe I won’t need the biopsy! But it’s been two years. I need the damned biopsy.