Needle Biopsy: A Snapshot of Fear and Strength
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Before I share this story, I wanted to acknowledge that this is my personal experience, and everyone’s journey is unique. In this post, I’ve chosen to offer an honest look at what my needle biopsy was like— not to create fear, but to raise awareness. My hope is that in sharing, someone else might feel seen, supported, and a little less alone in their own experience.
The morning of my needle biopsy is forever etched in my memory—Not just because of the procedure. It was also my son‘s 5th birthday. What should have been a day filled with celebration and anticipation for the festivities ahead—Instead, It began with a deeply unsettling experience.
“In the days leading up to that morning, I had spent countless hours at the imaging center, moving from mammogram to mammogram, then to ultrasounds.”
In the days leading up to that morning, I had spent countless hours at the imaging center, moving from mammogram to mammogram, then to ultrasounds. What started as a single suspicious lump (which I had to convince my practitioner to offer a referral for), spiraled into the discovery of multiple tumors.
What began as lighthearted banter with the ultrasound technician shifted in an instant. Her tone became serious as she turned to the screen, carefully measuring the irregular circles on my left breast. As I think back and remember this moment in time, I can still feel that abrupt shift and energy in the room. It was unsettling.
It was clear— Something wasn’t right.
The next step was inevitable: A needle biopsy. That day, Three areas would be sampled and sent to pathology—The two initial lumps discovered, Along with an irregular lymph node under my left arm.
When the radiologist entered the exam room, She didn’t bother to introduce herself. She rubbed her eyes as if from a long night. There was no warm warmth, No attempt to connect— Just a cold clinical demeanor. I felt reduced to a nameless and faceless patient. Just another body laid out on her table.
Quite frankly, This experience was traumatic and violating. Because of the density of my breast tissue, She was unable to administer the numbing agent to its full capacity. So I felt everything. She went in with the needle 8-10 times. By the time I left, I was completely drained—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. When I got to my car and close the door, I instantly started to weep. The whole experience felt inhumane. Never mind, the fact that I would have to wait to see what pathology would say.
When I got back to the house, I explained to Chris what happened. I felt the undeniable call to walk straight into the studio, pick up a camera and create. Looking back on that portrait—The first in our series documenting this journey—I see a depth in my eyes that words alone can’t fully convey. Fear and strength live there together. And that dark moment became the catalyst for creating something beautiful.
Even in those darkest times, beauty can still be found.
In that gaze, I see the violation and the terror of the unknown, But also the unshakable strength and resilience. Even in the most heroine and inhumane moments, The golden threat of strength remains and still continues to guide me.
Images by Chris Fain & Kaitlyn C. Fain