Exotic yet ordinary

The first test of the morning was simply finding exactly where it was that I was supposed to be at 9AM. The emergency room was not where my brain last left it, so my original instruction to enter at the emergency room and walk straight back to the elevators was of little use. Armed with a new set of directions, I bumbled my way up to the second floor, announced my presence at the front desk, was fitted for an outpatient bracelet, and hunkered down in a chair next to Justin to wait - something I would be doing an awful lot of that morning.

I was called back for the mammogram around 9:30. I changed into a hospital gown and was given a questionnaire for busy work while the tech situated the machine that would soon be mashing my breast. Two uncomfortable squishes later, I found myself in a little room the size of a closet while the films were taken to be read.

The tech returned and announced that the doctor thinks the lumpy-something is benign (yea!), but wants an ultrasound, you know, to be sure. So, I was shuffled to a smallish waiting room while the ultrasound tech readied herself. I've found it is more difficult to be upset or worry while singing silly children's songs, so I did the sensible thing and started singing. Quietly. I made it completely through all fifty nifty united states alphabetically, BINGO, the alphabet song, Boots!, Monster Boogie, and several Sesame Street Songs before Kelly the ultrasound tech finally came to fetch me.

I spent the next fifteen minutes or so on my back, squinting up at a monitor in a feeble attempt to make something, anything, of the images from the ultrasound. Periodically, I would glance over at Kelly for the smallest indication of how things were going, but she betrayed nothing. Eventually, she covered me back up and handed me a towel to wipe off all the blue goop. She gave me permission to get dressed and then disappeared to consult with the radiologist. So, I dressed and waited. And waited some more. I read every readable thing that was visible at least twice and tried not to put too much thought into the signed picture of Laura and George Bush neatly pinned to her bulletin board.

Finally, the doctor came in, plopped down in a chair across from me, smiled, and introduced herself as Dr. Aerosmith. I smiled. She smiled back and promptly told me she didn't see anything scary. Things sort of became a foggy haze of relief after that. But, the gist of it was that the lumpy-something was just some dense tissue. No worries. Go see my doctor if something develops. And with that, the whole breast-smooshing, film-reading, diagnostic extravaganza was over.

Happy Valentine's Day to me! It's benign!