PTSD Awareness Month
And Why I Quit Twitter/X
Four and a half years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was caught early during a routine mammogram, and after multiple surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, and hormone therapy, I was cancer free.
At the time of that mammogram, I had no history of any cancer in my family, no history of breast cysts or benign tumors, and not a single symptom. The day the malignant tumor was cut out along with a lymph node, myself and my doctors still couldn’t feel it upon exam. The only reason it was discovered was because of that routine mammogram I’d been so diligent about getting every October since I’d turned 40 (a life-saving promise I’d made to my bestie Jenni).
The mammogram worked. My treatments worked. I’m still alive.
Which, oddly, leads me to PTSD awareness month.
Until last year, I’d never suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder—a mental health condition that can develop after experiencing or witnessing a traumatic event, with symptoms like intrusive thoughts, nightmares, flashbacks, and avoidance of triggers related to the trauma, often accompanied by a variety of physical symptoms.
Even though I’d never suffered from it myself, I knew what PTSD was, and knew people who genuinely suffered from it.
Then one afternoon, I was scrolling through the social media site Twitter/X, and a Tweet appeared in my feed from a young woman proclaiming how horrible mammograms are, that its a barbaric test invented by a man and the patriarchy, and that she’d made the decision to boycott getting one until a more humane breast test is invented, or a different test becomes the norm.
I was not only astonished by her Tweet, but even more astonished by the hundreds of replies to it. Woman upon woman agreeing that they, too, find mammograms torturous and have vowed to never get one again.
As I was reading these replies, my breathing started to change, growing rapid and shallow. I began to feel light headed, my hands shaking. I set my phone down after my chest had grown so tight and my vision so fuzzy I thought I was going to pass out.
I was, I now realize, experiencing my first panic attack triggered by that tweet and replies, linked to the trauma of my cancer treatments, which I thought I’d so effectively moved past.
Because of COVID restrictions at the time, I completed the majority of my treatments alone. Totally by myself. Patient guests weren’t allowed in most medical facilities. I even drove myself to my all-day chemotherapy appointments, and drove myself back home. I counted myself lucky my spouse was at least allowed inside a waiting room for my surgeries. I knew one woman whose partner had to wait in their car in the parking garage during her COVID-era breast cancer surgery.
I don’t tell this part of my story because I’m trying to pump myself up, but to instead emphasize that my annual mammogram in the fall of 2020 was absolutely, unequivocally the least of what I went through. Compared to the dozens and dozens of blood draws and IVs with needles endlessly digging around for veins, lengthy ultrasounds and biopsies that left me with massive bruises and a permanently severed nerve in the back of my arm, and facedown breast MRIs that took nearly an hour and were so unexpectedly miserable the techs warned me not to eat ahead of time because women commonly vomit during them.
Mammograms? Comparatively no big deal. Roughly five minutes of discomfort that saved my fucking life.
All this is to say: seeing that Tweet and hundreds of vitriolic responses demonizing a mildly uncomfortable test that takes minutes caused a tsunami of terrible memories and my first and only experience with PTSD.
For several days after, I returned to Twitter/X as usual, only with a sense of dread. My stomach in knots. Finally, I realized I didn’t want or need to be in that digital space anymore because my triggering experience.
So I quit Twitter/X forever. I deleted my nearly decade-old account with thousands of Tweets and followers, and haven’t missed it. The second my finger tapped the “deactivate” button, I felt better.
I learned the hard way that PTSD is unpredictable, and no one is immune. We may think we’ve dealt with something and are doing fine right up until the moment we’re not, and it’s difficult to know or predict what may be a trigger. And we may only have one incident in our lifetime, or one incident a day.
Regardless, if or when it does happen, we must give ourselves permission to eliminate our triggers wherever and however we can (and ladies, still get our yearly mammograms.)
I’d love to hear from any readers willing or able to share their thoughts or experiences with PTSD.
I’m a member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative with my “Minding the Gaps” column.
We’re a group of writers from all around the state and contribute commentary and feature stories of interest for those who care about Iowa and beyond.
I admire your courage. I feel gratitude on the day each year I have my mammogram. No history of breast cancer in my family, either. There was a time, early in the technology, health insurance did not cover the test.
Thank you so much for sharing your experience with us! Thanks for being here.