Somewhere In Between - Lifehouse
The sidewalks were still ice covered from the rain that fell after a few centimetres of snow. I walked in the tracks of the sidewalk plow because the tracks left groves for the boots to try and grip as I tentatively put one foot ahead of the other. And then it occurred to me that it was a good thing I was nearing the hospital should I slip and fall. This close, I could drag myself to emerg.
My destination was a huge complex of hospitals and clinics and university medical schools. Google wasn't too much of a help in finding the correct building or even entrance so I meandered the halls trying to get a lay of the land and get my bearings. It was so early in the morning that most of the staff had yet to arrive. As much as I dreaded this appointment I didn't want to miss it and be forced to re-schedule. The lead up was way to emotional to suffer through again.
Someone saw that I looked lost and although the jug of ice she carried told me that she probably had other places to be, she nearly took my hand to guide me and navigate the maze. I'm sorry for whoever I made wait for that refreshment.
Two elevators and several long halls later, I arrived at the appropriate reception desk. (clearly I came in the wrong doors and into the wrong building). How I would ever find my way back was the least of my worries.
There was a steady stream of women collecting their numbers to wait their turn. Some came with partners, some of us alone. I had walked a tightrope of fear all the way there and sitting in front of that receptionists giving her all the details of my next of kin, I felt like I was ready to snap like a frozen dead twig.
Strip to the waist, wash off any deodorants and powders, put the stripped gown on first open at the back. The solid blue goes over top of that. Keep your purse but you can put your clothes in the locker. There was a sign in the change room that said that Aluminum can cause false readings. That's when the anger kicked in. God-damn it, I was the one who preached to anyone (male and female) who would listen to not use anti-perspirants. My mother used to tell us that if God put it there, there was a reason for it. At the time she was talking about tonsils - she felt that doctors were too eager to yank them. I agree with her. Maybe the tonsils are the garbage pail of the body vulnerable to every bug that passes, but what if they weren't there. The bugs don't leave, they just find somewhere else to settle.
No I am not a doctor, I don't even like science. But I took that reasoning which seemed logical to me and applied it to anti-perpirants, the use of which increased as women entered the work force in greater numbers. Why does sweat smell? Bacteria perhaps? And if we stop the sweat from leaving our bodies in a natural way, what happens to it? The only thing I know for sure is that the rates of breast cancer in women when up with the increased use of anti-perspirants. To be fair, at the same time that women went back to work, they also were less inclined to breast feed their babies. But still...
I thought I was doing the right thing. I would spend extra money (that I didn't have) on a dedicated deodorant in the natural health section or go without before buying a mass marketed anti-perspirant/deodorant combination. More than double $9 vs less than $2. But my health and principles could not be compromised. Maybe I was wrong but why take the chance.
So, am I angry that I am dealing with this now? Damn right!
Cry On My Shoulder - Gowan
We sat like fraternal twins. All dressed the same, like soldiers waiting for our turn to face the enemy. This time was different for me, because it was like I only had one breast. All this expensive machinery was there to probe only one breast. One mass. One that betrayed me.
The first test was like the one before but with added angles. The pressure is less than I remember from years ago and quick for as soon as the image is taken the machine pulls back on cue and you can breath.
But this is a exploration mission so the surface plate is then swapped out for one that is much smaller. Like a tea cup saucer vs a turkey platter. Putting the same pressure on compressing the breast it like putting your finger in a vice and leaving it there while someone tightens. You wanna scream "Make it stop". But without permanent damage it stops alone very quickly.
The wait for the images to be assessed by the radiologist is interminable. For some people this is the end and you are free to go. For others, an ultrasound is the next course of action. I honestly did try to remain positive because if I didn't I would have been awash in my tears. The music helped but 4 songs passed before I was called again.
The radiologist still had some concerns...that my weak knees held me up and continued to carry me down that hall and into yet another exam room still amazes me. I was grateful that the same radiologist was going to do the ultrasound. It's hard to be modest after someone manhandles your breast like it's a bag of jello (with a rock in it) but it was still oddly comforting. My hands trembled as I tried to remove the cover gown, she was quick to help and kept her hand on my elbow as I went to the bed. Move this way, put your arm here. It was all mechanical motions and I didn't process any of it. Fear was all I felt. I couldn't stop myself when she positioned me to face the wall and started by applying the warm gel the tears fell out of my eyes. It seemed like forever that she ran that "mouse" on my breast. If I didn't know where my enemy was lurking before there was no mistaking it now.
Now, the wait was in a dark, silent room. I was afraid to move. The arm above my head was cramping but I didn't trust myself not to run away screaming if my feet touched the floor. I stayed completely still aware of only every tear that rolled across my cheek. The technician said that ultrasounds results are operator defined and the radiologist may want to do the test herself.
The problem with having a positive attitude is the fall that comes when you are let down. When the radiologist came in and introduced herself, I couldn't even look at her. I was crushed. She saw nervousness and tried to be reassuring. Her exam was brief, her explanation wasn't. It's everything she wants to see to say non-cancerous but...
A letter will go to my doctor and I will be informed of my next scheduled date. It will be more invasive she says. Don't worry, she says. It's just to prove to you and me that my diagnosis is correct, she says.
I'm tired, I say. But no one heard me.
