My tits my boobs my lumps

As women, we’re all aware of the big BC—breast cancer. We’re told, warned, and advised to regularly check our breasts for lumps, bumps, or anything unusual. Once you have them, you should be checking them. And I always did. But as a young woman (32 as I write this), I never actually expected to find anything.

One day, after a lovely warm bath, I checked my boobs as I always do (I enjoy my boob appreciation time). But this time, to my surprise, I felt something different. A lump in my right breast. I had always assumed boobs were naturally a bit lumpy anyway, so how would you know if you had an actual lump? The key, ladies, is to regularly touch, feel, and familiarize yourself with your own breasts. That way, if something unusual appears, you’ll recognize the difference. And I knew—this was definitely different.

I didn’t panic right away. Many of my young friends had found lumps before, got them checked out, and it turned out to be nothing insidious or worrisome. My sister is a doctor, so I called her first. She reassured me that it was probably nothing, but deep down, I was a little worried. As much as I didn’t want to admit it—to anyone, especially myself—I knew I needed to get checked. So I asked her to examine me. Having a doctor in the family is very useful, and she’s used to family and friends seeking medical advice. I don’t usually fall into that crowd, but this time, I was grateful I could turn to her.

I went over to my sister’s house—the family doctor—where I spent some time with my four-year-old niece, who is always so pleased to see me. Then came the moment of truth. My sister examined me, felt what I had felt, and told me it was probably nothing, but she advised me to book an appointment with a non-related doctor right away. So I did.

I live in the UK, and we have the glorious NHS. I called my GP and got a referral appointment for the following week at the breast clinic.

The day arrived—just four days after my 32nd birthday. Not exactly the birthday surprise I had hoped for. I went in thinking I’d just get checked, receive a specialist’s opinion, and be reassured that everything was fine.

So here’s what happened. I’m sharing my little story partly for my younger female friends. It wasn’t terrible, but I wasn’t prepared at all. Hopefully, this will offer some help and comfort if you ever find yourself in a similar situation.

The first doctor I saw was a male surgeon. A lovely, butch-looking nurse with short, pinkish-red hair escorted me to the room and stayed with me as I lay on the table, topless, with my arms raised for the exam. I felt completely safe and comfortable. The doctor confirmed that he could feel a lump in my right breast. Then he revealed something unexpected—he also felt another lump in my left breast.

Two for the price of one!

What next?

Honestly, I wasn’t sure how to feel. I just wanted to be told that everything was fine.

Next, I had to go to another part of the hospital for an ultrasound. A different nurse called my name and led me to a room where two female doctors were waiting. They were professional but not particularly warm. To be completely honest, I started to feel like a piece of meat—just laying there, waiting to be prodded.

This nurse, older than the previous one, wore a mask, but I could see the kindness in her eyes. As she instructed me to remove my top, she complimented my bright pink bra. I smiled and said, “Thank you! I like to keep things light and bright.” She smiled back.

I lay sideways on the bed as the doctor poured gel onto my breast and pressed down hard with the ultrasound scanner. On the screen, I saw my boob—not a baby, which I found funny. It wasn’t painful, just a tad uncomfortable. Then they scanned the other side.

Finally, it was over. The two doctors muttered to each other as if I wasn’t there, then told me it was time for a mammogram. They said they’d see me again shortly.

I had heard of mammograms before but had no idea what they actually involved. Turns out, it’s basically an X-ray machine that takes pictures of your breasts. Or as I like to call it—the “squish-your-boobs selfie machine.”

Now I was in a hospital gown, sitting in a little waiting room, starting to feel sorry for myself. Another practitioner, a kind woman, explained the process. She warned me that I’d feel the pressure of the squish. I thought, I’ve had kinky boob play—I’ll be fine.

But my breasts, being young and full of glands, were what the practitioner called “dense,” making it harder to get a clear image. So we had to take extra pictures. The mammogram hurt a little on the left side, and then… the tears followed…

What came next was the part I wasn’t prepared for at all—a biopsy on both lumps.

I won’t go into the details, but I will say this: I didn’t feel a thing during the procedure, but I was left bruised and in pain for about a week.

Then came the waiting. A week of anxiety and distractions, all leading up to the phone call. The doctor was scheduled to call at 2:15 PM. As I write this, it’s 1:31 PM. I’ll be back in a moment…

The moment happened. The phone call came. The results were in.

It’s all fine. Not the big BC. Lucky for me.

A wave of relief washed over me as the doctor spoke the words I had been hoping and praying to hear. I was left with nothing but gratitude—for the doctors, the nurses, and, of course, my lovely lady lumps.

So, to all the women reading this—don’t be afraid. If you ever find something, don’t panic. In my case, it was nothing more than hormonal changes in my glands. But if it had been something serious, early detection would have saved my life.

So, touch yourself up, ladies! Big boobs, small boobs, all boobs.