By Ashley J. WennersHerron
CNN Medical News Intern

Breast cancer runs in my family; even my dad had it. I routinely do self-checks, always terrified that I'll find some indication of my worst nightmare.

Two weeks ago, I did. I found a lump the size of a pea buried in the skin between my right breast and my armpit. I paled, I cried, I panicked about the future, and then I did the sensible thing. I searched the Internet. Typing "Right Breast Lump and 20-Year-Old Woman" into Google didn't reveal anything. Neither did "Breast Cancer in 20-Year-Old Girl." I fruitlessly searched every site I could think of, turning up contradictory results.

An hour into my self-diagnosis, it occurred to me to call a doctor.

Living away from home and my usual doctors, I called my insurance provider. After 45 minutes on hold, an operator listed four doctors in Manhattan that would accept my insurance. The first three were booked through November. The fourth could see me the week before Thanksgiving.

The thought of not knowing for nearly a month was unbearable. Tears welled up in my eyes and fear was obvious in my voice when I confirmed a time with the receptionist. She must’ve heard how scared I was, she told me that they could squeeze me in early the next day.

The next morning, after arriving an hour early, I was told that the doctor’s office was out of network for my insurance. They’d take me, but I’d have to cough up almost $200 just to be seen, and I’d have to pay out of pocket for testing –up to $3,000.

I was shocked. Something was wrong with me and I was getting it checked. I was being responsible. I had called my insurance company, thinking they would send me somewhere I could afford. Not only was I worried about a potentially serious health problem, I was also concerned that I wouldn’t be able to have it looked at because it was too expensive. It turned out that the doctor’s office was willing to work with me. Maybe they just wanted to get me, crying and hyperventilating, away from their other patients out of their waiting room. But they took me; they didn’t turn me away.

The doctor examined the lump and sent me for a battery of tests.  After being poked and prodded and monogrammed and sonogrammed, I waited.

Eventually, I was told the good news—a benign cyst and an inflamed lymph node. Two completely harmless conditions that I could have agonized over for weeks and weeks, if I hadn’t known what it could have been.

If you are truly concerned that you might be sick, get it checked out.  A lot more doctors’ offices than you might think are willing to work out payment plans. It’s worth knowing what you are facing.

Hopefully, it’ll end up being nothing, but if it is something worse, catch it as early as possible.

Have you ever ignored a health problem, because you thought you couldn’t afford to get it looked at? Are you putting off going to see a doctor because you don’t want to know if you are sick?

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