Just Not Feeling It

This seems to be the week for medicinal blog entries and I have one of my own to add to the mix. I've had a lump under my arm for about a year now; I discovered it when I was putting on my coat one evening and my fingertips pressed into my armpit. Okay, I admit it -- I was scratching. Discretely. Anyway, the lump was small and I wasn't too concerned, but mentioned its existence to the nurse practitioner when I went for my well-woman check-up.

"Lift up your arm and show me where it is," April, the nurse practitioner, said.

I did as she asked and pointed to the general area.

She prodded my armpit, focused on locating the lump. Then she stopped and directed me to prod it myself and let her know when I found the lump. I shifted position and located the lump; it's a shy lump and doesn't want to be found by just anyone, I guess.

"It's under my thumb," I told April, and she slid her fingertips under my thumb, but judging from the look of concentration followed by frustration I could tell she still wasn't feeling it. Then she poked around a little more and nodded her head. "Ah, there it is. I don't think it's anything to worry about, but I'll set up an appointment for you to get an ultrasound of it, just to be safe."

A few days later I went for the ultrasound. The nurse led me to a chilly room lit only by the soft glow of a monitor. "Take off your clothes from the waist up and then lie down, the technician will be here shortly," she said, handing me a sheet to cover myself and gesturing toward the gurney. A few minutes later a girl walked into the room and introduced herself as the technician. I'm sure she was older, but she looked to be about 15 and it wouldn't have surprised me at all if she had broken into the hit song from High School Musical.

She slathered my armpit with the gooey liquid used to help the ultrasound wand slide over the body and at first I was comforted by her professional handling of the wand. She slid it over the surface of my armpit and gazed expectantly at the ultrasound monitor, its screen a series of shadowy peaks and valleys that resembled a charcoal sketch of sand dunes. Around and around she moved the wand, clicking the mouse at various points on the screen, her gaze growing more perplexed with each pass. Then she stopped. "I can't find the lump," she said and handed the wand to me. "Here, you try it." So much for her professional demeanor.

Picture me lying on my right side with my left arm lifted up above my head. I'm a good sport, so I did my best to sweep the wand under my left armpit with my left hand, a feat that even Houdini would've found impossible. Then I switched the wand to my right hand thinking that might work better, but with most of my weight resting on my right side you can imagine the difficulty I had with that attempt as well.

I shook my head and handed the wand back to the technician. She sighed. "Okay, let's try moving you to a different position," she said, and had me half-recline while she swept the wand under my armpit again. The computer monitor glow revealed her relieved expression as she moved the wand and clicked on the monitor; I thought she had found the lump but in retrospect I realize that she must've noticed the timestamp on the monitor screen and realized it was five minutes to quitting time.

She finished up and told me to get dressed and head home, and that I'd find out the results in a few days. Sure enough, three days later I got a call from April, the nurse practitioner. "The ultrasound scan results are negative," she said. "They couldn't see the lump, so there's nothing to worry about." Hmmm. That's easy for her to say, it's not her lump.

Anyway, here I am a year later and I still have the lump. It's a little bigger now, and when I went for my well-woman check at my new doctor's office, I told Lori, the physician's assistant, about the lump.

"Hmmm, let me feel it," she said, and started poking around under my armpit. "Here we go again," I thought, noticing she was having trouble finding it. And just like last year I ended up having to locate it for her. "Yes, I can feel it now," she said. "I don't think it's anything to worry about, but you should get it checked." Then she swung the office door wide open as I sat there nearly nude from the waist up, and beckoned me to follow her. I guess she was in such a hurry that she didn't realize how exposed I was, or she was just so used to seeing people in various stages of undress that it didn't phase her. I nudged the door closed with my foot and hurried to put my clothes back on before any of the other patients out in the waiting room could catch a glimpse of me in my Hanes undershirt. They might not have been able to see the lump under my armpit but they were sure getting an eyeful of the rest of me.

I went to the new imaging place today and guess what? My lump proved too elusive for them, too. I'm making progress, though. This time the technician could feel the lump, though she didn't refer to it as one. "It feels like a cord to me," she said, her sleepy eyes barely open in the morning light. "Maybe a ligament, maybe a muscle, but probably not a lymph gland," she added as she ushered me out the door and on my way.

I should be glad that it's apparently nothing serious, but at the same time I would like to have the mystery of the lump solved. For my next check-up I'll make it easy for them -- I'll draw a bulls-eye around the lump so they'll know exactly where to feel.