A couple of years ago I noticed a bump on my hip. The shallow secret is that when I first saw it, I thought it was that I had lost weight and it was a bone that could be seen. The hollow-eyed, calorie-counting, laxative-popping, over-exercising girl that I was for a few years in college got excited. The addiction to weight-loss and control whispered in my ear, “You’re doing it, keep going.” I pushed that thought aside because I knew it wasn’t safe. I can’t diet like some people, when I begin to eliminate certain foods or to count calories I am right back on the high wire which takes perspective away putting me at risk.
I was in a health center getting checked for something and I said to the nurse practitioner, “What do you think this lump on my hip is?” She pressed her hands along my hip and said, “That’s just a part of your body.” I kept asking people, from my family, to other medical practitioners and fitness professionals. No one knew and their response was always more curious than alarmed.
Over the past year I have begun to establish myself with a Nurse Practitioner, named Jackie, for my primary care. I trust her and as a result of that I am managing my stress better and really considering the value of my own health as it pertains to my family and my work. My cheeks flush that I needed someone else to make me a priority, but it did.
“Can you take a look at my hip?” I asked her. It was about 3 months ago. She called another doctor in, who like everyone else kind of raised his eyebrows. She ordered an ultrasound. The ultrasound person said, “There is definitely something in there that doesn’t belong. I am going to recommend an MRI.”
They put me in the MRI chamber (I don’t know if that’s the right term, all I know is that the 45 minutes I spent in it pressed every claustrophobic button I had).The next day I got a call that I needed to go for a biopsy. My hip lump had everyone puzzled. I rubbed the egg-sized protrusion through my skirt as I was given directions to the surgical center. An hour later I got a call from Jackie.
“I shared your films with a friend of mine who is an oncologist at the hospital.” Cue all the terror. I was standing in the middle of the office and I felt dizzy. “He thinks you should forgo the biopsy and go straight to an orthopedic oncologist in Albany.” I was quiet. “Are you ok?” she asked. I wasn’t. I was legitimately terrified into a mute state.
The next hour was a whirlwind of phone calls and scheduling. The specialist was leaving for a two week vacation so they shoehorned me in the next day. I had to reschedule a meeting and postpone something I had promised the girls. That night Sean had a stomach bug that was so violent he burst vessels in his eyes and could barely move from the fetal position. The girls were needy, I felt guilty for leaving. Sean insisted on getting dressed in slacks and a tie and accompanying me and my mom on the 45 minute drive to the appointment. He moaned in the back seat.
I have been incredibly lucky to have very little need to see specialists or spend time in hospitals, which is to say that I was pretty terrified being in such a place. It reminded me of being in a plane and realizing how very tiny I am and how little beyond my own emotions is within my control.
More than 2 years, I thought.
Two years I let whatever this thing is fester inside of me.
Everyone had said that the slow growth was a good sign, but I felt pummeled by the message I’d been sending over the years, which was “My health is secondary to everything else.”
“Have you seen the screens?” the doctor asked me. I shook my head. “Come on, let me show you.” We walked around a corner, the people in the hallway moved out of his way. I walked toward the illuminated rectangle and stared. He traced the oval shape and explained that it seemed straight forward, then he rotated the image and the oval shape split and snaked around something else. “It’s almost like a tail woven in your gluteal muscles.”
I didn’t know what to say. I think Sean asked a question, then we walked back to the exam room. I appreciated that the doctor got right to the point, “We can biopsy it, that will either tell us it’s benign or malignant, the only difference in approach would be with the latter we might radiate you before surgery. No matter what you are going to want it out, right?” I nodded. “I say we put you on the schedule to have it removed at Albany Med, rather than here in my practice. That way it can go straight to pathology, but I am 90% certain we’re talking about a benign growth.”
I had to wait three weeks, three weeks and two years really, because I didn’t even let myself rate as far as prioritization of need. I can get two daughters to orthodontist appointments, all three girls to the eye doctor, they take voice lessons and go to camp. I match socks and rinse the recycling bin with more focus and dedication than I give my own health. I clucked my tongue and committed to not spiraling into a storm of what ifs.
Driving down for surgery the fear finally came. Tears leapt from the corners of my eyes and I tried to take deep breaths. I only allowed it for about two minutes, then I shifted into a positive place and decided to keep that approach straight through to being discharged. I joked with the nurses, let Sean crack me up about how I looked in the surgical hat, said yes to heated blankets and imagined I was a self-satisfied house cat. Sean sat with me and as the anesthesiologists walked toward me I understood how very fragile every minute really is—how fragile we are and how the decisions we make, and even the decisions we don’t, actively steer us toward one thing or another. They had me remove my wedding ring and say goodbye to Sean.

The tumor was removed Tuesday. My mom and FAB have been incredible caretakers, along with my mother-in-law and our cats. Sean tries to hide it, but I catch him looking at me with the vastness of what the worst case scenario could hold. The most generous thing I can do for him, for the rest of my family, and for myself is to slow the eff down. I take the pain pills and drink the water, I stay prone in bed, I don’t dive into work emails or fixing the world.

I have about a 5inch long wound. We’ll find out at my follow up appointment a week from today if it is benign or some form of sarcoma. I’m still believing in the best, but I will say that as my world has been peppered with words like mass and malignancy, growth and excision, I see how my indifference to my own health has been a threat in and of itself.
I need to pay attention. I need to care. I have to treat my life with some degree of pacing that doesn’t criminalize taking time for myself.
I am grateful for this chance to reevaluate the choices I am making and what they all mean. I’m also grateful for the people who have written and asked me if I’m ok. It was not my intent to turn this into something big, but if you are out there trucking along like I was, handling everything but yourself stop.
Make the appointment. Ask the question. Do the things you would do for the people you love, you are every bit as deserving of care as they are. You might be surprised by just how much your family wants to and is able to do for you.

Sending love and light and healing thoughts. I hope you get the best possible pathology report.
Thank you! I am so sorry about your stroller. I hope someone has a change of heart!
Sending love to you and Sean and the girls and your family. Get well soon.
You’re a doll, thank you.
I have sat with this same not-knowing, mine took months, and I want you to remember to take good, long, deep breaths. No matter what happens, the outlook is good. It really is.
I believe this, thank you.
So sorry to hear, and right along with you, with chastising myself for letting something go, also. I am healing, slowly, still on watch with the Dr., but had this been with one of my children or husband, I would have taken action. What is this about, Amanda, why do we do this??? (get better soon, my friend) all the prayers and love. xo
It is a failing of ours, bordering on arrogance, cousins with recklessness and we’ve gotta knock it off. Xxoo
What do I think? (I’m responding to the prompt above this comment that I’m leaving.)
I think you write bravely and vulnerably and it is something to behold. I think you love hard and deep and feel just as much and it is remarkable. I think you will be fine and healthy in no time and I want to be right about that so much so with these words come an influx of love for you and hope that it will all be true. Love to you, Amanda. So much love.
Wishing you only good health from here on out. And those girls of yours–kudos to them for being the strong hearts they are as they help you heal.
Oh Amanda. I am so glad you are writing in this spot. I really appreciate it. When you are all recovered, I’d love to talk to more about this experience. Until then, know that I hold you and the girls and Sean, your Mom and all your caregivers in beautiful warm sweet enoughness-time, healing, each other. xoxoS
I am currently going through something very similar. Enlarged lymph nodes in the upper quadrant of my stomach. Many tests, blood draws and now biopsy. I will pray for “US” and continue to be positive, think positively and learn to take care of ourselves without feeling guilty. God Bless.
I’m holding a vision of optimum wellness for you, dear friend. Avoiding the dark imaginings through the “wait-n see” is exasperating. Faith, trust and pixie dust will see you through.
I had a 5.5 month cancer scare a couple years ago. Wasn’t cancer but it sure changed my life. Thinking of you and your awesome family during this time. Looking forward to hearing good news.
I love you and am there for you, whatever you need — now and always. xo
Sending you all the NAPIER LOVE , AND LIGHT … I have …. my beautiful cousin !
I am so grateful for you !!
I love you -whisper
Happy you aew well ❤❤❤❤
Amanda I truly hope you are feeling better and that your news will be positive. Your writing is amazing and your story so often the story of many women. I don’t know what in us that makes us think we do not need to pay more attention to our own needs. Time after time family always comes first when, in fact, if we are not looking after ourselves we are not doing any good to our family. It is indeed hard and I have done it over an over again as have many other moms. I’m glad you realized how important you are to care about you. Good vibes coming your way and much love. Your family is awesome ❤️
Praying, hoping, & believing the best of news is ahead. Longing to give you quite the hug. But that might not feel awesome, so probably the virtual kid will have to do 😉 ❤️
Thinking of you. Thank you for sharing, maybe it saves one of us from going through the same. I very very much hope it is benign!
Yakima is rooting for you! what a beautiful family you have, surrounded with love and support. Thanks for sharing your heartfelt and honest emotions, Amanda.
I just want to wrap my arms around you until something fills us up so full, up to our eyebrows, that makes us feel like we’re priorities to be handled swiftly and diligently.
Because we are. We are too important to this world. We are too needed.
Thank you for being a loud reminder of that. I’m thinking of you, every second.
Sending lots of healing thoughts. Really hope it’s benign.
I’d love to give you the biggest, most beautiful hug… As always, you write so bravely, with such truth and love. In my heart of hearts, I am believing you will receive good news this next week and I’ll be rejoicing with you. I have been down a similar road, putting my health as a secondary concern and a doctor I trust offered me a valuable piece of advice, “treat yourself as you would treat your daughter”. Love to you, my lovely friend. And gratitude to Briar and the rest of your family for keeping us updated on you. Xoxo
I was captivated with your experience as it is relatable to most people. Loving, healing thoughts are being sent you way You are an amazing person!
Thinking of you, always, and sending love. You’ve got this.
Thank you for sharing. Take care
Ah, shit. First off, I feel like a gigantic asshole for not catching this until now (damned Facebook’s selective sharing).
“Sean tries to hide it, but I catch him looking at me with the vastness of what the worst case scenario could hold.” That leveled me; I spend too much time in that vastness. I hope Sean didn’t. I’m so glad you have your girls and your family caring for you like you care for them.
Sending all my love.
xoxo
Oh Amanda, sending love and light and hope. I’m like this too and only recently began making my appointments. My thoughts are with you and your dear family.
Wishing you health, an easy recovery from surgery, good news from pathology, and lots of time to soak in the love around you. This was a very moving and relatable read for me.
Happy healing & a sweet shift in making you a priority.
Dear Amanda,
You’ve been on my mind since we emailed, non-stop. I hope you get news, and good news, very soon. I’m sending you all my love and light and wishing there was more I could send. xox
Wishing you lots of love and light. xo
You’re so right about us not putting ourselves and our health paramount, as mothers especially. I am sending healing thoughts and hugs. xoxo
Wishing you the speediest recovery and just wanted to say that your experience could really save someone’s life. It’s such a good reminder to get things checked and not feel like we’re bothering people by making appointments, etc. Thank you! Hugs and love to you, Amanda.
It is hard to make ourselves a priority – or rather it’s hard to remember to make ourselves a priority. Sending you healing thoughts! xo
Things will get better. Thank you for sharing your story I have felt so similar- I know that this is a pivotal moment in your life. Breathe. Take care.
Thinking of you and sending love and light.
I’ve been thinking of you often and just wanted to pop in to tell you so. Love the good news that followed this, love your perspective, love you. So freakin’ glad you’re ok. xoxo