I visited this wonderful and essential Edinburgh clinic to face my health fear

Anyway, that is not how my recent results arrived. They were by regular postie. He wasn’t particularly furry - as far as I could tell.

I’d been waiting for this message, as I had my first routine mammogram back in December.

I’d expedited the test, since my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer in September, my mum has had the disease, and I’d hit the big 5-0, when you automatically go on the list for these scans, which take place every three years between the ages of 50 to 70.

As advised by my GP, I phoned the South East Scotland Breast Screening Clinic at Ardmillan House, and they slotted me in swiftly.

It was an easy-ish experience, though it’s not the easiest job to scan minuscule boobs like mine. I could compare it to squashing a grape between cymbals.

I had to contort myself - bum out, shoulders down, feet flat, knees bent, arm stretched, ra-ra-ra.

As a newbie, it’s not the most pleasant experience, but the discomfort, when they clamp down like they’re closing an industrial toastie machine, is over in seconds.

I was quite casual as I waited for the results. After all, I have felt no lumps, seen any skin changes, or had any symptoms.

Anyway, the letter came through, a couple of weeks ago, to say my mammogram was ‘unclear’.

I think that’s very clever terminology, because it doesn’t plunge you into immediate dread. Apparently, 1 in 10 are called back, so it’s quite common. I convinced myself that it was probably a technical issue. That would make sense, as I’m always the one who has my eyes closed in photographs.

I didn’t get too nervous, until the day of this week’s appointment.

It may take the whole morning, the letter had said, and it did. We sat in the waiting room, along with other women and their hubbies and partners.

Once they called me through, they initially said they’d spotted some calcification on my scan.

They showed me the picture, and it resembled grains of salt. This is usually harmless, and can just be from previous injuries, ageing or inflammation. These specks are most often benign, but can also be an early sign of cancer. The nurse gave me a further exam, which involved firm patting like she was enthusiastically constructing a sandcastle. Nothing to feel. Thank goodness.

After a spell in the waiting room, next up was the ultrasound.

As I lay on the examining table, I watched the screen, and it was like trying to decipher an unknown language.

I don’t know what they’re looking for, in all that grey-brown fuzz, with undulating layers like rocks in the Grand Canyon.

After moving the probe around, she found the aforementioned calcification, and was on the cusp of giving me the all clear, when she spotted something else - a ‘blob’.

She thought it could be a benign fibroadenoma, but didn’t want to take any chances, with my family history. I could see it on the screen, and it reminded me of one of those angler fish on the bottom of the ocean. Damn.

Now, this is the bit I was dreading. It had mentioned something on the leaflet about a potential biopsy, but I was hoping to dodge that bit. I’d heard a woman in the waiting room talking about how sore it was. So, as they started unpacking equipment that looked like garden tools. I froze and adopted a facial expression that made me look like bad taxidermy.

I needn’t have worried. They gave me a whopping dose of local anesthetic and I didn’t feel a thing. It was easy peasy, and there was a lovely nurse who gently held my hand through the whole experience. (And she gave me tea and two shortbreads afterwards, so win-win).

It must be said that the nurses and doctors are total angels here. They make you feel so supported.

One of them said she recognised my name, and that she enjoyed my restaurant reviews in The Scotsman Magazine.

We talked about food, which was a nice distraction.

“You’re not going to be reviewing this, are you?” she joked. Well, em, funny she should say that.

Anyway, after taking a sample from the blob, they placed a metal marker - the size of a sesame seed - in there, for future reference, like a bookmark. Its insertion is also painless, but the gadget makes a loud clicking noise, like a staple gun, as it goes in. This element is just routine, and something they do in case you need future treatment, or just so they can monitor the exact area. You don’t feel this alien grain, and it doesn’t bleep when you go through airport security.

There was another mammogram - bum out, shoulders down, ra-ra-ra - to check its placement, then another brief ultrasound to take some pictures. Then I spoke to my initial nurse, who helpfully went over everything that had been done that day, and told me how to look after my biopsy site.

I brought my husband in for that bit, as I tend to go completely blank when I’m in adrenalised situations. I don’t absorb anything. I just want to get out of the building and sprint down the street, with the nurses chasing me like a Benny Hill fantasy.

I’ll be going back for my results in about 12 days.

I have slight ‘scanxiety’, as they call it on the web.

If it’s negative, and 80 per cent of breast biopsies are, I will be mightily relieved.

However, if it’s anything malignant, I’ll be very grateful to have found out now and not later.

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