They called my name.
The room I entered was different than the ones I’d visited before. For one thing, it was private. It included a small closet for my clothes and the Machine. All very self-enclosed. It made me nervous. Why this room? I was at once grateful not to be changing in a tiny stall with only a curtain for privacy, and disconcerted by the special attention. It made me apprehensive in a way that I hadn’t been only seconds before.
The tech walked in. “You found a lump? In which breast?” Dove right in, no seconds wasted.
“Right breast.”
“How long ago?”
“Three days ago.” She scribbled something on her pad.
She walked over and said, “Show me where.” I did. “Hmm. Okay, lets get started.”
At the beginning, she took the usual pictures. Left breast ... lean this way ... don’t breathe ... arm over here ... lean forward more ... tighter. Then she moved to the right breast. Again the routine was the same. Then we got to the lump.
“We’re going to take a closer look. This might hurt a bit.” This was an understatement. In order to take clear photos of the lump she had to make my breast practically paper-thin. Not easy. I felt like a pale Belgian waffle. Finally she was finished. “Be right back.” When she returned she had news. “We’re going to send you for an ultrasound. We’ll squeeze (no pun intended, I was sure) you in today, just go back to the waiting area and we’ll call you in as soon as possible.”
“I have an appointment scheduled with my gynecologist, in a half hour... down the hall...” I said.
“Perfect. Go to your appointment and we’ll come get you there.” A sense of urgency had unexpectedly entered the room. Like a low-grade current it made my hair stand on end.
The ride had begun.
©2006 Annelise Pichardo
To be continued...
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