By

Dr. Sherman N. Miller

9/23/2007

In 2007, I went for my annual physical. Dr. Carl Turner started to examine my chest region, and then he slowed down as he checked one on my breasts. It was obvious that he had come across something of concern.

Dr. Turner started to press deeply into my breast. His actions heightened my concern. I wondered what he had found. Dr. Turner shared that there may be a lump.

Our conversation turned to the medical history of my late parents. Dr. Turner had treated my father, so he was well aware of my father's battle with cancer. He had not treated my mother because she had died long before he became a doctor. However, I shared that my mother had a very serious battle with cancer. These two facts meant that Dr. Turner felt the need to get me checked ASAP.

Dr. Turner and I became friends at the University of Delaware in the early 1970s when I was a graduate student in physics and he was an undergraduate student in premedical studies. Our friendship has been maintained over the years, so he became our family doctor. Hence, Dr. Turner knew how to get me to accept the medical tests he had in mind knowing my macho persona.

Dr. Turner recommended that I take a mammogram and an ultrasound on my breasts. His recommendation ran counterpoised to my tough male image. My mind was doing mental gymnastics looking for a way to share my potential condition with the public for I always thought of breast cancer as solely a female disease.

Of course, I consented to take the tests. However my discomfort was very high as I walked into St. Francis Hospital in Wilmington, Delaware to get these tests. As I approached the area to get the mammogram, my mind was consumed with the thought that I was the only male coming to get this test. There appeared to be ladies everywhere staring at me walk through their testing area.

The female mammogram technician had me remove my shirt and underwear shirt, and then she offered a gown. My male ego was now seriously being challenged. The ladies in the test area attempted to offer comfort sharing that men can also get breast cancer.

Since I had gotten this far, I shifted my attention to convincing myself that the test was not that difficult. I recalled the pictures I had seen on television of ladies just raising their arms in front of a machine that appeared to be taking a picture. I got a rude awakening when the female technician grabbed one of my breasts and put it in what appeared to be a vice.

This vice started squeezing down on my breasts and the technician took a lot of pictures. The mammogram was a very disquieting test for it felt like someone had put my breasts in a vice grip. I learned to have a lot of compassion for women who needed to take this examination on any regular basis.

Then I had to face taking an ultrasound test. I was imagining all sorts of things happening as once again I am walking through an area laden with female eyes peering in my direction. The female technicians were doing all they could to calm my stress. An African American technician appeared to be stressed by my reluctance. This African American lady intimated that African-American males, such as me, might not take full advantage of tests until it is too late to help them.

The hospital doctor read my test results. He shared that they found no lump in my breasts. I also got a letter from the hospital telling that my results were okay.

When I went back to see Dr. Carl Turner, there was a video on his television in the waiting room that spoke of men having breast cancer. This video made me feel a bit silly for being macho when a potential life threatening disease might have been on the horizon. Nevertheless, I shared my ordeal with Dr. Turner.

Dr. Turner, too, told me that they found no lump. However, Dr. Turner commented that if more men took those tests they would come up with better tests.

Initially I only shared with my wife and my daughter that I needed to take mammogram and ultrasound tests out of fear that my macho image might be tarnished. In pondering Dr. Turner’s comment and my test experience, I felt it incumbent that I share my ordeal to help other men who may be trapped by macho personas clouding their better judgment. Hence, I know the African-American technician was right to feel stress that I could not fully appreciate the life-saving effort that she and her associates were offering with the female typecast mammogram and ultrasound tests.