After I hung up I realized I hadn't asked what they saw and did it seem serious. I dismissed the thought knowing that the no-nonsense voice on the line was not going to divulge anthing. She could neither assure me of the spot's banality nor alarm me of it's potential malignency. It was up to me to decide to remain calm with a wait and see attitude or panic in terror. In most cases I take the latter route, but this time I felt amazingly indifferent. After all, wouldn't I know if I were being ravaged by a voracious disease? Mostly I thought the inept mammogram technician- in-training who had reduced me to tears at the routine check up had botched the job.
The appointed day arrived and after a hectic drive negotiating traffic, missing the exit and having to backtrack, I arrived at the check-in station breathless, only two minutes late. The woman behind the desk efficiently collected my co-pay and shuffled the necessary forms attaching a hospital I.D. band on my wrist. I stared at it thinking that was a bad sign, did they think I would somehow lose my faculties and need the bracelet to be identified? At last she gave me directions "go to the end of the hall and turn right, go through the door with flowers and once you're in the tea room, go to the back and to the right to the dressing room and undress from the waist up. Put your things in a bag you'll find there". My mind tried to follow her instructions. "The T room?" I asked, "yes, that's what we call it" she answered with a smile. OK, I can do this, I thought, in a half hour the indignity will be over. I headed down the hall that ended with a window, sun streaming through, and turned right at the door with the flower cut outs pasted in place. I swung open the door and two women in gowns glaced up, smiled and nodded as I confirmed "so this is the famous tea room". I knew then that we were talking about the beverage "tea" because the words TEA ROOM were emblazoned on the wall ahead of me. I found the dressing room in silence, donned my gown which after useless contortions I could not tie in the back. I gratefully accepted the offer of one of the room's two occupants to tie it for me. I grabbed a magazine and took my seat. I feigned absorption in reading between furtive glances around the room. The two other gown-clad women had magazines of their own and I noticed right away we were all over weight. Hmm, I wondered, does that have something to do with problematic mammograms?
The room was painted a peaceful celadon green adorned with wall hangings of chinese characters. I imagined they said peace, harmony and good health. In the corner was a tea service, not biscuits or crumpets though. In the back a door led to another room that emmitted a soft humming sound and dim light when the door was opened. The minutes passed and the magazine was not holding my attention. The worried looking woman accross from me, the one who had tied my gown, smiled tentatively and I mentioned how long it was taking. It turned out her appointment had been thirty minutes before mine and I started getting agitated. "Lord, I don't care how long it takes as long as they give me the all clear" announced the woman seated near the door in a tone straight from a revival meeting. "Amen" I thought just as the dooer burst open again and the next patient entered with a surprised "oh, the tea room". After the mandatory strip to the waist she settled in the chair next to the worried woman and to my chagrin was called out immediately. Again I protested to indifferent looks. I wished I hadn't left my cell phone in the car, and that I hadn't illegaly parked when my eye fell on the blue paper the receptionist had handed me. I found my reading specs and looked over the information about the upcoming procedure. The message was upbeat, they just wanted to check something they saw in my mammogram. I wouldn't leave here today without speaking to someone about the results..well, good, I thought, enough of the mystery... and if deemed necessary a biopsy would be performed today. I read that part again- now I really needed my cell phone, I was due at work, I couldn't spend all day getting biopsied, I'd already been waiting a half hour. I looked around at the other women, like cattle being led to slaughter, I thought. The door swung open and the woman who had just been called was back complaining about the indignity of breast smashing. Oh no, I thought, not this again, I didn't think an ultrasound would require more breast smashing like the mammogram. "Are you done now?" I inquired. "Im just waiting for them to look at the results", "Sweet Jesus, just let it be OK" interjected the revivalist. "Amen" I whispered. Still puzzled, I wondered aloud why I was still waiting. "oh, you haven't gone in yet?" they asked, surprised. "no, and I thought the results of an ultrasound were immediate". "Oh, I had a mammogram" she explained. It was then I noticed that the other women clutched pink papers with the letter M in bold type while mine was blue with a bold U. "I was here last week and they called me in again to make sure what they saw was just a shadow or something". "They just want to be sure" added the revivalist. I started to get worried, these women were all here for mammograms to confirm or dismiss the results of an earlier mammogram. I wasn't asked to repeat mine, I was sent straight to ultrasound, do not pass go, do not collect $200.00, surely an ominous sign.
Another woman came in and the worried-looking, gown-tying woman was called out. The door swung open and closed as women passed in and out. One woman even needed yet another mammogram. A newcomer, after studying her pink paper josked that the tea room was referred to as the "breast waiting room". We laughed nervously and I quipped "yes, some of us are waiting for breasts, but I could donate some of mine" remembering the unpleasant mammogram procedure which is more uncomfortable in proportion to size.
Finally my name was called and instead of going throught the door with flower cut outs, I was led into the dimly lit room in the back. I was marched to a machine next to a cot and a technician asked which breast I was having checked. Unsure and annoyed I that she didn't know I asked "Aren't you supposed to know?" Yes, she assured me, she had to go get the film and then she would find out. She drew the curtain around my cot area and left me to stew about why they weren't prepared when they called me in. She returned a few minutes later with the x-ray picture showing the spot in question. Attaching it to the light box she explained that I had a very tiny spot on the left side that they wanted to check. Tiny is good, I thought, and sure enough, it looked the size of a pearl. With a hand set tool resembling a geiger counter she proceed to search my body for the offending spot. She explained that while the mammogram gave them the big picture, the ultrasound gave specific detail. She went about her task with little luck and I hopefully remarked that maybe it had disappeared. Eventually she managed to get a bead on the spot and typed in some numbers which I assume were the coordinates of the locations. She marked the spot on my breast with a sharpie and called the doctor in. A young asian man entered introducing himself and without examining me pronounced "looks like you have a little cyst, nothing to worry about". Nothing to worry about? I've done nothing but worry for the last two hours, why couldn't they have given a hint that's what they suspected? The doctor officiously explained the nature of the cyst while he examined the spot with the handset and after all his medical speak I gathered the cause was "hormones". "We'll check you again in six months and see how it's doing" and with that he was off. I was instructed to dress and to expect their call in a few months for a follow-up appointment.
Relieved that I wouldn't need my cell phone and hopeful that my car wouldn't be towed I exited through the tea room glancing around for those familiar faces. I wanted to give them a thumbs up and say "halleluiah" to the revivalist, but they had been replaced by new faces so I counted my blessings and walked down the hall past the reception desk. I had almost made my escape out the door when behind me a sharp voiced called "excuse me, ma'am". I turned around, wondering now what, did they know my car was parked in the doctor's lot? "Let me take your wrist band off" she said holding up scissors and I gladly surrendered.
It was one of those lucky days...no biopsy, no breast cancer, no cars getting towed, but if the karma wheel really does turn, then I'm in trouble. I snagged the magazine I was reading from the waiting room and the guilt is killing me!
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