Schrödinger’s Boob: A Thought Experiment

by Sharon Kayne

I had a needle biopsy on my left breast recently. I don’t recommend it. The results that came back were good—benign—but it was an unpleasant experience. It all began after I had my annual mammogram (which is also an unpleasant experience). Shortly thereafter I got a call telling me to come in for additional screening. This is the second time I’ve gotten such a summons. The first time, the additional screening was an ultrasound, which is a much more pleasant experience than being squished in the jaws-of-life-like contraption that is the mammography machine. I assumed this time would be the same. I was wrong.

Turns out, there are attachments they can put on the jaws-of-life machine so they can get a magnified view of the breast. I’d say this made it more like an iron maiden, except that the attachments were plastic. But they squeezed my boob so tightly, I couldn’t breathe. Then, after I was dressed, they had me go into a “consulting” room so I could talk to the doctor. That’s never good news. Turns out, I had little areas of calcification in my left breast, which looked like tiny white dots on the film. These calcifications can either be read by the radiologist as benign, malignant, or indeterminate. Mine were, of course, the ambivalent kind. That meant the doctor recommended a needle biopsy, which is where they suck the little white dots out so they can study them more closely.

Maybe it’s the editor in me, but when someone says, “a needle biopsy,” I believe they are talking one jab with one needle. Turns out it was four jabs, which should technically be referred to as “multiple biopsies.” See how the “ies” on the end of the word indicates that it’s more than one? That is how language works. But I digress.

While the biopsy itself is no picnic, the lead-up to it is also pretty bad. I decided ahead of time that I was very likely to faint. I’ve fainted twice in my life, and both times were in doctor’s offices. Fortunately, they not only have a chair for you to sit in during the biopsy procedure, but they wedge you in there real good. They pretty much have to have a chair because, for my particular procedure, my breast was squished in the jaws-of-life with the iron-maiden attachments the entire time: while they took a picture to make sure I was positioned correctly; while they numbed up the breast with a local; while they waited for the local to take effect; while they jabbed me with the needle (four times, did I mention that?); and while they inserted the tiny metal marker that would indicate “you were here” in future mammograms.

While the procedure was unpleasant, I must say that the three women who were in the room with me—the technician, doctor, and nurse—were not only wonderfully professional, but they were caring and helped put me at ease. Well, as much at ease as one can be when one’s breast is being crushed and skewered.

The recovery period was also unpleasant, although not with the all-the-time throbbing sort of pain I expected. It was an unexpected, sharp-and-burning pain I’d get when I’d do something like bend over to make the bed. I’ve never been tasered, but I imagine that’s what it feels like. Except all targeted on just one boob.

I found that having gone through all of this pain and angst gave me a rather unnatural desire to “get something” out of the procedure. And, in fact, when the doctor called to say that the results were benign, I wanted to say, “you mean I went through all of that for nothing?!?” Not that I want to have breast cancer. In fact, I most assuredly do not want to have breast cancer! But the results still felt like sort of a letdown. How dumb is that?

I decided I needed to think about the whole experience in terms of “Schrödinger’s Boob”—in that, the calcifications were both benign and malignant and the only way to force the calcification to decide which it was is to jab it with a needle. Of course, I’ve never really understood Schrödinger’s thought experiment. The cat is either dead or alive. It can’t be both. And the status of the cat has nothing to do with the information anyone outside the box has privy to. So I asked my husband about it. He told me Schrödinger’s Box was highly misunderstood and has to do with the actions of subatomic particles and whether or not they are being observed. Not being a theoretical physicist myself, I can’t imagine that  said particles have the self-awareness necessary to care whether they are being observed, let alone the desire to act differently. In fact, I seriously wonder if theoretical physicists really understand this.

At any rate, the thought experiment didn’t really make me feel any better. If future mammograms indicate any new calcifications, I suspect I’ll undergo the wretched biopsy again. Hopefully, I won’t have the bizarre feeling that it’s only “worth it” if the results come back bad.

I post to my blog every Sunday. Follow me on Facebook or Instagram, or sign up for my monthly newsletter (here) to be informed of my new posts. Also, please follow me on Amazon, Goodreads and BookBub.

Buy my historical romances, This Restless Sea, The Green Silk Gown, and Variations on a Romance, at Amazon.