I grew an egg.

It's true,

On Easter Sunday morning, I woke up and the Easter Bunny had left a lump on me the size of Cadbury Creme Egg.

Or perhaps you could call it a third boob.

Medically, it started as a 'lump on right chest wall' before it progressed to a 'possible soft tissue tumour'.

From that moment, my brain went wild. It floated to the darkest of darkest places you can imagine.

I was instantly propelled from my doctors rooms to ultrasounds, CT scans, MRI scans, thallium scans, injected with radiation and contrast dye and underwent a biopsy, all in a few days.

As I sat in one particularly unpleasant MRI scan with the contrast dye floating around me and with the straps pulled tight over the barrier holding me still I tried to get myself to write a blog post in my mind. They needed me to remain still, stiller then still and my breathing was causing too much movement. As I mentally wrote the blog post I wondered what other people think of when undergoing MRI scans. I doubt many write blog posts in their minds to try and remain calm. I thought I 'd to write a post that would suggest people take in an eye mask. It's squashy in there, but if you can't open your eyes, you can pretend you are on a plane, floating above the earth flying anywhere you wanted. You can't even take the eye mask off if you want to because your arms are strapped down under the shield across your body.

Thallium Scanner contraption, this one is not scary at all.
Without the eye mask you can not trust yourself to not open your eyes. Even if you don't feel claustrophobic, once you open your eyes you are back in a medical procedure and your mind is at risk of floating to all those places that you don't want to visit. A mind in a dark place can be hard to get back to the light.

At one stage when the narrow bed was brought out of the tunnel, the nurse asked, 'Are you ok?" I replied with the only answer possible. "No, but I have to be, shove me back in the tunnel and let's get this over with."

Because you have no choice when your body grows eggs and lumps and third boobs.

After about 20 minutes I couldn't think of anything else to write in the blog post in my mind, so I decided to sing myself a little song, only I couldn't think of anything to sing, so I ended up with a chant, "Better then dead, better then dead..." Mr H suggested that next time I try something more upbeat, like "Stayin' Alive!"

After 30 minutes, it was over, not really all that bad after all, I just needed to get my mind focussed on the task and keep reminding myself that this is not going to last for long. If you need a chant for your head, I suggest using...'It's nearly over, it's nearly over.' because it really will be.

You get to wear special jarmies in your MRI.

Behind the scenes, outside of the medical rooms was my cheer squad, sending me text messages and funny images and links to make me laugh. At home there were cards and flowers and food and picking up my kids and keeping me company. There were people who did little things that made big differences.

Today I went to see my specialist who gave me buckets of good news. He confirmed that the egg is benign. Lumpy is not Cancer. But, the third boob has got to go.

I need to head back to the hospital and have some surgery across my chest. My bikini days might be officially over for good (just in case I didn't think they already were) and I am going to be going through a couple of weeks of discomfort, but really, that's ok, it's gonna be ok.