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I still remember the abject horror of finding a lump in my left breast aged 31. Outwardly, I was trying to project a sense of calm – trying to convince others and myself that it was nothing and everything would be fine. But inside I was feeling a cocktail of panic and fear.
Had it not been for the fact that cancer is so prevalent in my family and I had witnessed loved ones suffer and die from various forms of the disease, perhaps I wouldn’t have been so spooked. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom – or the fear that, inevitably, it was my turn.
I booked an appointment with my GP as soon as possible (it was one of the rare occasions I was actually permitted to go into the practice in person), before she confirmed there was, indeed, a lump, and referred me to a specialist. Things were then surprisingly quick – I had a slot at King’s the following week with a specialist who had been in the field for over 20 years. That specialist was a man.
Before I undressed, he asked me if I’d like a female chaperone in the room, then proceeded to check my breasts with his gloved hands. He listened to my concerns and reassured me that I was in the right place and his team would take good care of me.
The experience was, of course, far from ideal. It felt weirdly intimate, even though there was no sexual or romantic element to it – he was incredibly professional the whole time. Yet I couldn’t help but awkwardly avert my eyes as he touched me and wince as he pressed a particularly sore part. Still, it was over in a matter of minutes – and I have no doubt I would’ve felt the same level of discomfort had he been a woman.
He then sent me to have a mammogram and an ultrasound, which were carried out by two female healthcare workers. But to be honest, that was the less “intrusive” part of the whole thing – it felt much more clinical. For one thing, by that stage, any crumb of embarrassment I had previously felt had completely disappeared.
For another, physical contact was minimal. I just stood topless by the machine as they positioned each breast on plates and took two x-rays. Admittedly, the ultrasound was a little more involved, as they passed the wand over the area with cold gel, and then had to take a biopsy – which hurt for a brief period, but it was over before I knew it.
I got over my personal hangups by breathing, closing my eyes and focusing on what mattered: my health. (And to be honest, as a woman, I am used to being prodded and poked – I’ve had smear tests and male gynaecologists doing far more invasive exams.)
This unpleasant but entirely necessary experience is why, on hearing that specialists at the Society of Radiographers (SoR) are calling for male healthcare workers to be allowed to perform breast screening examinations, I’m shocked that there’s even a debate over the matter.
There should always be checks and safeguards in place – and we should always be given the option of having a woman present (or a woman to carry out the screening if a patient feels particularly uncomfortable); not least when there are vulnerable adults or those who have experienced sexual or physical abuse. To have a fixed policy that prevents male healthcare workers from doing these checks, though, seems antiquated and, well, dangerous – regardless of Kemi Badenoch’s personal preference.
According to Cancer Research UK, there are more than 55,000 new cases of breast cancer each year and 11,499 deaths from the disease. Although the survival rate is 76 per cent, 23 per cent of cases are preventable. Experts at the SoR have also indicated that the vacancy rate among mammographers who specialise in breast exams is just 17.5 per cent – and by changing the policy around who can perform them, waiting lists can be significantly reduced, the burden on the NHS decreased – and lives can be saved.
I was lucky in that everything worked out for me in the end and I was given the all-clear, but for those who aren’t so fortunate – if there are delays in being seen, receiving a diagnosis, prognosis and treatment– it could literally be the difference between life and death.
Surely that’s more important than who’s carrying out the screening?
English (US) ·