Learn from my breast cancer scare... go get your boobs checked - like, now!

Don't get me wrong. They're one of my most favourite body parts. Not too shabby at all, for 55, if I do say so myself. But I've never paid much attention to them. I could count the number of times I've done a self-examination on one hand, thinking to myself my GP will give me a quick once over after she's done the pap smear and all will be good.

When I turned 50 I booked my first mammogram at BreastScreen ACT. Nothing like that bowel cancer screening kit arriving in your mailbox to remind you that there's a whole lot of testing you should be getting done now you're of an age. Results from that initial test were all clear.

When The Times moved into the city recently, my morning walk from the light rail stop to the office took me past the ACT Health building where BreastScreen ACT is located, and it was a good reminder that it had been five years since my last test; it's recommended you have one every two years over the age of 50.

So I booked an appointment. Mammograms are never pleasant. Yes, it's like getting your boob stuck in a vice. The first appointment was all very efficient. In and out in less than 20 minutes.

And then I got a call back. The doctor had noticed "something that wasn't normal" in both breasts and they wanted me to come back for more testing.

How worried should I be, I asked the nice nurse on the phone. She was very reassuring, telling me that out of 1000 people from the initial screen, they call back about 45, out of that about 39 are all clear.

The odds were good. I have no family history that I know of. But we all tend to think the worst when we're told something isn't "normal", don't we?

So here we are. This is the special screening day for all the call-backs. There are about eight to 10 women in the waiting room. I want to start up a conversation, it seems odd that we're all just sitting there, trying to ignore each other and the situation. We sit there in silence, alone, even though in some way now, we are all connected.

The first test today is a 3D mammogram. Once again the girls are squeezed into the vice. We're here for double the fun and both breasts are checked. I have to do this mammogram twice. My breast tissue is quite dense apparently and they have to squeeze it extra hard the second time around.

From there, it's an ultrasound. I haven't had one of those since the children were in utero, when we were searching for life. I'm trying to see the screen as the radiographer moves the transducer over my breasts. I have no idea what I'm looking for, half expecting to see a heartbeat and a baby. The gel is cold. And this really hurts.

All of a sudden I am overwhelmed and I'm fighting back tears. I'm thinking about all the things you shouldn't think about. If I have it, does that mean my daughter will have it? Who's going to look after me? How sick am I going to get?

But I take a few deep breaths. I focus on, of all things, the pictures on a computer screen in the corner of the room upon which I can only assume are my mammogram images. My boobs look fantastic. Round and full, like some intergalactic moons full of shifting layers of grey. Hey there, girls. We've got this.

Once that's done I'm told the doctor needs to see me. They had warned me that a needle biopsy might need to be done at the end of the day. That's never good. He comes in and gives me the all clear. It was the density that was the issue. I almost hug him.

Statistically, I'm lucky. One in seven women are diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. Odds are someone in the waiting room that day didn't get good news. And I'm thinking of you. More than 3000 Australians will die from breast cancer every year. And while the survival rates are increasing, so too are the number of diagnoses.

Go get yours checked now.

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