Inner-Space Junk

Six month check up, again. The receptionist didn't hassle me about "only the left breast" this time.  I believe she had other complaints, and after all , this IS breast cancer awareness month.  Someone must of clunked her upside her head. I was welcomed with  "any changes?" instead. I assumed she meant personal information and/or insurance and shook my head and sat down. For the third time I picked up the BHG magazine and read the same light dinner recipes taking mental note of the ingredients, measurements and oven temperatures, knowing I could do this without ripping out the page.  Good information, I tell myself. For the life of me I can't remember what the recipes was for. Something light.

My name is called and I'm instructed to wipe this, hang that, wear this, sit and wait.  My new dilema Where (or how) to place my breast? I can't hang the bra on the hook and the little wall shelf isn't wide enough.   I fold my bra neatly, one cup inside the other creating a little Pope Hat. I sit in my chair behind the curtain, hands folded with my breast on my lap like a Catholic girl waiting for confession. My name is called. The Pope hat is transfered to the chair. I smooth out the wrinkles and there it sat. Neat. Waiting. A small plush Breast Cancer Awareness icon.

Time to step up to the plate. After about 6 angles I'm instructed to return to my curtained waiting room but  to not get dressed "just yet". How could one little breast create such a stir? I didn't know I had that many angles. I'm called back into the room. Just 2 more pictures. I smile, I'm polite, I'm scared. I'm told there is something of interest (oh Geeze, here we go again). The doctor is looking at the film, he wants some more angles.  Well I could stand on my head, I'm thinking. The film is taken. I return to my chair - as I draw the curtain, there is my little breast. Waiting patiently.  I decide not to panic and emulate that little icon. The clinician returns.  "They" want a sonogram. And I wait again.

Everyone is all smiles. I get the feeling this is a practiced response. I imagine  the staff have a silent alarm that singles "We have a potential runner here, everyone smile, be happy".  All heads are turned toward me, they smile, nod approvingly and go on with their business. Heads down their eyes follow me as I am escorted to the sonogram room. There I recognize the technition.  She was pregnant the last time we met. She greeted my like an old friend.  The process wasn't as simple as it should have been.  She was having difficulty finding the area of interest.  It kept moving, or something.  Pressing deeper into my flesh she was sure it was there somewhere. " Ahh... see, there it is.  See that shadow?" My heart sank. Yep, I see a dark blur, some grey and white, stuff moving a bit. I didn't have a clue as to what I was seeing, but it was non the less scary.

Satisfied the tech instructed me to get comfortable, but "don't get up".  OH, they have my blouse and my breast, I can't leave.  Comfortable? I kicked off my shoes, curled up in fetal position, tempted to suck my thumb. I've been here for over an hour. The great invisable wizard  is checking my film, examining my video, looking deep into my very being. How would you like THAT job?  Cheerfully the tech returns and explains that everyone agrees that this is probably the "markers" that were placed inside me during my last visit and some scar tissue from the biopsy.  Soooo... man made, like space junk.

I get dressed, exit the back door and run to my car.  While at work a voice message on my phone tells me to call my oncologist.  Holy Smokes!! I think.  It's too late and the office is closed for the day.  I have to wait until morning to connect with the oncology nurse.  Tom and I slept fretfully. I called first thing in the morning and after a few transfers was told that . . . . . "oh, yes, it says here that everything looks fine".

It's breast cancer awareness month - - - Oh, I'm aware, alright!