What I Learned After a Call Back from My Mammogram

Some words grab our immediate attention—like cash (yes, please!) and cancer (no, thank you!). The big C is something we all hope to avoid, yet it lingers in the background of our thoughts.

Since the root cause of cancer remains largely unknown, many of us feel like sitting ducks, powerless against it.

But that’s not entirely true.

We do have some degree of control—if we choose to use it.

One of the simplest yet most powerful ways to protect ourselves? Getting a mammogram.

A Rude Awakening

I had my first mammogram at 40, simply because my gynecologist told me to.

"It’s a quick, simple exam," she said. "Won’t take long."

She was right about one thing—it didn’t take long.

But simple? Not quite.

The technician barely made eye contact as she adjusted my breasts into a cold, mechanical vice—a contraption that looked more like a torture device than medical equipment.

Then came the squeeze.

It pressed down so hard on my breast that my eyes watered. I winced, gripping the sides of the machine, praying for it to be over.

"Lean in."
"Stand straight."
"Hold your breath."

Her voice was detached—no warmth, no reassurance. I was just another body to position. Just another scan to complete.

The room was freezing. Her hands were cold too. I stood there—half-naked and vulnerable, being flattened like a pancake under the weight of the machine.

Then came the next test.

"Because you have dense breast tissue," she said, adjusting the screen, "your doctor also ordered an ultrasound."

Wait, What? Dense breast tissue? My doctor had never mentioned this to me.

I wanted her to explain why this extra test was necessary.

But I was already over it. The sooner I got out of there, the better.

The Ultrasound: A Second Round of Discomfort

She squeezed a thick, cold, jelly-like substance onto my chest, then pressed a handheld device into my skin, moving it around with clinical detachment.

It reminded me of a pap smear—except this time, it was external.

And somehow, just as invasive.

I lay there feeling exposed, uncomfortable and humiliated.

Then, she finally said, "All done. Do you have any questions?"

I wanted to ask if dense breast tissue meant I was at higher risk.
I wanted to know if I should be worried.

But I was already off the table, reaching for my clothes.

"No questions, thank you," I said, hurrying for the door.

I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

Later, after a frantic Google search, I learned the truth:

• Dense breast tissue appears white on a mammogram—the same color as tumors.
• This makes it harder to detect abnormalities on a mammogram because everything blends together.
• Dense breasts are common, but most women don’t know they have them until a mammogram picks it up.

Just Another Chore

For the next few years, I went in for my annual mammograms with trepidation.

I knew what to expect, but the experience was still uncomfortable and impersonal.

I treated it like something to check off the to-do list.

I wasn’t worried. There was no history of breast cancer in my family—or so I thought.

Until my mother died.

The Secret I Found

After my mother passed, I found a lot of her journals tucked away throughout the house.

I started reading, not knowing what to expect of her private thoughts. Her journals revealed a lot of things I didn’t know—like her battle with breast cancer. I was shocked. This was something she never shared with me. I learned my mother had undergone chemotherapy and radiation and even had one of her breasts removed. She had faced the unimaginable—without ever telling anyone.

She wrote about the weakness that washed over her after radiation treatments, the bone-deep exhaustion, the days spent alone in the house because my father—a truck driver—was gone from dawn until late into the night.

They had a long, complicated marriage.

They slept in separate rooms. And in those rooms, she had fought cancer alone.

I was so angry.

She hadn’t trusted me with this. She didn’t let me be there for her.

And then, a year later, I got the call after my own mammogram.

The Call That Changed Everything

"We need to take a closer look," the lady was saying.

She was calling from women’s imaging center where I’d had a recent mammogram. I was confused and immediately scared. I was 46 and all of my previous mammograms had been normal.

Now, I didn’t know what to think.

Ladies—you want to talk about something that keeps you dripping with anxiety. It’s a call like this.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my heart racing. Was this how it started for my mom? I was even angrier with her now for keeping her illness from me. I needed her wisdom, her experience, her presence.

But she was gone.

I had to go through this alone.

I Was Lucky—But Many Aren’t

Thankfully, my ultrasound didn’t reveal anything serious. The abnormality they saw was a small calcification that eventually resolved on its own.

After that scare, I considered skipping mammograms altogether.

A friend had sent me a YouTube video by Dr. Felice Gersh titled “Why I Stopped Torturing My Breasts, Body, and Mind.”

She questioned whether the benefits of annual screening outweigh the risks.

It was tempting.

But deep down, I knew my answer.

Why I Keep Going—And Why You Should Too

During my mammogram a couple of years ago, I met a technician who completely changed my perspective.

Her name was Laura. She looked to be in her 30s, so as she adjusted the machine, I gently asked, “Have you ever had a mammogram yourself?”

"I have," she said without hesitation. "I’ve been getting them for a few years because my family carries a gene linked to an increased risk of breast cancer."

"Oh," I said, caught off guard.

She nodded. "Mammograms aren’t scary if you go every year. Skipping them is when things can go wrong. Late-stage diagnoses don’t happen overnight—they happen when women miss screenings."

I hesitated, then asked a question I’d always wondered about.

"But wouldn’t I feel something in my breast if I had cancer?"

"Maybe," she said, "but not always. Breast cancer can start as small as a grain of salt. You might not feel it. You might not have symptoms. And here’s the thing—breast cancer doesn’t care."

As she prepared for my ultrasound, I braced myself for the usual discomfort. But then, something small—but significant—happened.

She placed the jelly-like substance into a warmer before smearing it on my bare breast.

It was such a simple act of kindness—one I hadn’t experienced before. And in that moment, I realized something: compassion matters.

"The one thing I always tell women," Laura said as she moved the ultrasound wand across my skin, "is don’t panic if you get a call back. Sometimes it’s nothing serious. But the only way to catch it early—the only way to survive it—is through screening."

A New Approach

Now, I turn mammogram day into a self-care ritual. I try to include something I enjoy like a relaxing lunch or a fresh manicure. I see it as an act of self-respect. My health is my most precious gift, and I refuse to take it for granted.

Even though I have to skip deodorant and perfume that day (pro tip: they can interfere with the imaging), I still wear something that makes me feel confident and powerful.

It’s an act of love—for myself, for my daughter, for the life I want to keep living.

Share Your Story

We all have different experiences with mammograms—some terrifying, some empowering, some frustrating.

Have you ever received a call back after a screening?
Has a mammogram ever saved your life or someone you love?
Do you dread them, or have you found a way to make them easier?