I’m not embarrassed to admit that I am a hardcore 90210 fan. But I’m more of an old school fan of the Brenda and Brandon years. And sure, I totally tune into the new episodes. I mean Kelly Taylor raising her son while baby-daddy Dylan is off finding himself. And her baby sister Erin Silver becoming *just* Silver. And Little Miss Perfect (aka Annie) not only getting drunk on prom night, but then driving and then running over some random dude and killing him. Bravo! I mean, how can you not tune in?
But back to my 90210 - I’ve seen every episode more times that I can count. I can quote the lines. I know all the love triangles. The random guest stars. In some cases I can even tell you what the characters are wearing or what song was playing (REM’s “Losing My Religion” for Brenda and Dylan’s first break-up). The fact that the show premiered when I was in high school gave it instant appeal. But add in Jason Priestly, who I fell head over heels for in that crap show Sister Kate, where he was part of a group of orphans living with a nun. (Say what?) And then the pièce de résistance - Shannen Doherty.
I kind of have a bit of a Shannen obsession that dates far, far back. I related to her as the pesky little sister in Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. Was oddly intrigued by her in Our House (even though Gus was a total creeper). And then she totally won me for life in Heathers, which I can also quote all day long. And maybe it’s a bit of the brunette solidarity sister, but when Shannen’s Heather took the Westerburg throne in the original mean girls movie, I rushed out to get myself my own red scrunchie. Shannen inspired me to be the bitch I am.
Veronica (aka Winona): "Why do you have to be such a mega-bitch?"
Heather (aka Shannen): "Because I can be."
And then came Brenda and a major case of envy – the hair, the clothes and the boyfriend with the sexy sideburns (though my heart was truly with Brandon, but if he and Brenda got together that would have been a whole different kind of show). And I longed to have Brenda moments – to spend a summer in Paris, to find a diary under a window seat in my house which would let me live out someone else’s life in the sixties, or to have an epic romance with the coolest dude in my zip code.
And then it happened to me. I had a full-blown Brenda moment a few weeks ago. But not one I longed for.
I went in for my first, and what was supposed to be my routine baseline, mammogram, and they found a lump. And no lie, as I sat in the waiting room during my second appointment, to have a sonogram (isn’t that for pregnant women?) I was replaying the 90210 episode when Brenda, Donna and Kelly are supposed to be studying for the SAT’s, but like any typical teens they are procrastinating. Kelly was reading a fashion magazine (clearly becoming the future West Bev guidance counselor wasn’t event a blip on her brain at this point) while Brenda quizzed Donna on SAT vocab words. Autodidactic. Apotheosis. “Like, Patrick Swayze is the apotheosis of adorable,” Kelly said with a giggle.
But it’s all downhill from there. Kelly’s mag has an article about doing a breast self exam which the girls decide is more fun than studying (“The SAT’s aren’t going to save your life.” God, Kelly. You are just pure brilliance in this episode.) Then Brenda feels a lump, which totally freaks her out, but she keeps her mouth shut. And the episode, still in its Season 1 after school special mode, takes a turn for the serious.
Me? I never felt a lump. Never had any flags from any previous doctor appointments. I booked my mammogram without a second thought. The same way I grab the newest People Style Watch from the checkout line at the Food Emporium. But I never expected something to be wrong. Yet there I was, waiting to hear Brenda’s diagnosis - that I would need a biopsy, or worse, that I would need to have surgery to remove the lump (Brenda’s biopsy was inconclusive, so it was surgery for her).
I knew statistics were on my side – gratefully no family history of breast cancer. But I’ve also been having a bit of a rough year so my inclination was to expect the worst. Even my new doctor – my radiologist (which I never thought I’d have) – told me I was getting quite the first-timer education. She was optimistic that my lump was a fibroadenoma – pretty much an innocent ball of fiber and tissue, which seemed a bit odd to me. Why does fiber and tissue come together to form a ball in my boob? Though not quite as odd as good old Jim Walsh’s explanation – “maybe it’s an ingrown hair”. LOL! Oh, Jim. Time to go back to your keyboard to play some “Great Balls of Fire”.
But back to me doing my best Brenda. Last week I went back for my own needle biopsy and I just kept reminding myself that Brenda was fine, so dammit, I would be too. And I know there have been a lot of medical advances and technological improvements since Brenda’s biopsy in 1992 (oh, and yes, her’s was fake because 90210 was not a reality show). I got shot up with some novocaine – and kept my eyes tight shut – while my radiologist took multiple biopsies. Each sample sounded like a stapler clicking. I can’t even explain how surreal it was to know it was happening. To hear it happening. But to not feel a thing. To feel a bit like I’d been watching someone else’s life for the past few weeks. And to actually wonder, what if. To honestly try to get my head around what a literal life-altering change might lay ahead for me.
About 30 hours later I got *the call*. It was a fibroadenoma. (Insert full tears of relief while sitting at my desk at work.) The game plan is to leave it be for now and to watch it with annual sonograms. Just like that, life goes on. I’ve learned there’s actually a lot of debate about removing benign fibroadenomas, though the more I read the more freaked out I got. So for now, I’m listening to my doctor and for now, it’s staying a physical part of me. And for a few fleeting weeks I got to be a little bit Brenda. (I still would have rather had her summer in Paris.)
I debated even writing about this, but my forever encouraging and championing friend told me to give it a go, even if I didn’t post it. But at the end of the day, and with a week of time and space between me and my biopsy, I have some perspective. I also still have a needle mark and a bruise on my right breast, but know those will fade. But I realized I wanted to share, because I was the first amongst my friends to go through this and longed for someone, who wasn’t a fictional character, that I could relate to. And as I found out the hard way, I was so uneducated about mammograms and so embarrassed to know so little. I’m certainly not going to spew statistics or medical info – that’s what doctors and the internet are for – but if there’s anyone out there who feels all alone in getting mammogram results with an undetermined “finding”, you’re not alone. And it’s okay to be scared and anxious and nervous. I was all three. In spades.
My mom keeps telling me that she believes there has to be a reason for all this – a meaning that I may not have figured out yet. Maybe it’s about being pushed to your limits to see how strong you are. Something about not being handed more than you can bear. Or maybe it’s just life and the universe’s weird way of telling me it’s time to spend a day watching Shannen Doherty movies. I’m bummed that her epic made-for-TV movie Friends Til the End is nowhere to be found on iTunes or Netflix. Shannen as a sorority girl meets singer in a band meets psycho girl who tries to take her place in her life. Heaven. But until Lifetime replays that keeper, I’ll watch some Brenda and just be grateful I didn’t get mixed up in that whole radical "Animal Rights Now!” group or get creeped upon by Roy Randolph. Now that could have a total disaster.
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