Susie Schwartz Shares: From Mammogram to Biopsy, Why Medical Support Companions Matter

I thought it couldn’t happen. I truly believed that after everything I’ve endured medically, my ‘expertise’ meant I was exempt from certain rules. I was wrong.

Tip for today?
Take someone with you to your appointment.

I’ve said this many times before. “Take someone to your appointments” is one of my most repeated pieces of advice. And yet… I didn’t follow it myself.

I’d had my first mammogram (welcome to 50!), and then came the letter: I needed further tests. “You’ll need more mammograms, maybe an ultrasound, and possibly even a biopsy,” they said. Don couldn’t come with me—he had his own medical appointment that day.

“Do you want me to come with you?” my friend Nic asked.
“Nah. I’ll be fine. They’ll either give me good news or I’ll have a biopsy, and I won’t get results that day anyway.”

So off I went, alone.

After the mammograms and ultrasound, I found myself in the inner waiting room, awaiting a biopsy. That’s when I overheard two friends chatting—one there to support the other. I’d already noticed the shift in tone from the excellent nurses and techs: the careful cancer language—gentle, deliberate, reassuring. Suddenly, I felt as if I’d stepped into an alternate universe.

Was I on a cancer journey?

Wrapped in a blue gown, shivering ever so slightly, I watched those two women and thought, I feel so alone.

The shock of that feeling hit me hard. I remembered Nic’s offer. Why had I been so determined to be independent—too proud to accept help?

Normally, I preach taking someone with you so they can help process information, ask the right questions, and act as your second brain when conversations go beyond “you need antibiotics” or “take antihistamines”.

But there’s another, equally important reason:
Support.

How comforting it would have been to have Nic there—each time I returned to that waiting room—offering not just logic, but laughter. She could have told me the latest antics of Stanley, her hilarious Tibetan Terrier floof. What a glorious distraction that would have been—from squashed boobs, looming needles, and whispered medical euphemisms.

The biopsy came back clear, thankfully. I’ll simply need regular mammograms to keep an eye on things. Gratitude doesn’t begin to cover it. But lesson learned. (Surely this time, right?!)

Being a hero is pointless… unless you get a Marvel movie deal out of it. (Deadpool and Wolverine, anyone?)

Next time, I’ll take the support.
Will you?

Less health stress, yes?