3. Shall We Go Through?

I knew where to go simply because of the pink balloons and decor covering the radiology department's check-in desk. I think the receptionist was a tad shocked to see I was not (yet) gray haired and wrinkled, as was the case with the majority of the women seated in area three check-in. As instructed, I took the clip-board and proceeded to fill-in what would be the first of at least seventy-five identical medical history forms I'd have to fill-in over the next few years. Date of birth, birth location, time of day when born, mother's maiden name, name of first pet, first boyfriend's name, etc. (I jest, but only a little. I really should have made note-pads of my medical history questionnaire and just tore one off each time I was handed the clip-board.)

As the women of Downton Abbey would say, "shall we go through". They, of course, would be referring to the next room from the dining or sitting rooms. I however, proceeded through to the changing room. I was told to wipe off my deodorant, put on the gown, remove my necklace and place it in the locker, then wait in the seat until you are called. I assumed my finger printing and mug shot were next.

The stories of what a mammogram entails always included squishing, smashing and pain. Toss in an abundance of embarrassment and the stories are spot-on accurate. I stood there, breasts exposed and being positioned and repositioned only then to have the machine smash them down while it took digital images. Hold the position, I was told, and don't move. Um, wasn't planning on going anywhere, for if I elected to bolt out the door, I'd have to leave my girls pinned in the machine as I ran. Needless to say, I didn't breathe.

Back through to the waiting room I went and was told to sit and wait for just a few minutes while the radiologist reviewed the digital images of my breasts. I naively assumed this would be the end of my day in radiology and I would be back at work by 11am. 

"Sherry? We'd like to get a better look at some areas we saw on the films and we'd like to do that with an ultrasound. Can you come through to this room. You can leave your magazine," the nurse said. I was so grateful they were talking to Sherry and not me! Whew. Dodged a bullet there. Oh, wait, that's right ... nobody ever knows how to pronounce my name. I should have been more observant and realized she was talking to me as I was the only person in the wee waiting room.

The only experience I have with any type of ultrasound equipment is from what I've seen on television and in the movies. However, in every one of those instances, they techs were looking for a heartbeat, not a mass. The radiologist began on the left breast and could not seem to locate whatever it was he had been searching for. On to the right breast he went and voila, see there, now that is what we were thinking we'd see. Really? Did I need the play by play? Back through to my ever-familiar wee waiting room I went. My seat was still available.

"Sherry? The radiologist would like for you to come in so he can review the ultrasound findings with you. Follow me please," the nurse said. This time, I knew I was Sherry.

"See these small, white blotches? Those are micro-calcifications and that is what we are concerned with. Here on the right breast you'll see much more clearly, " the radiologist said. If the image hadn't been so obviously a breast (nipple and all show up on these things), I'd say I was looking into outer space. 

"I'd like to do a biopsy on each breast to confirm," he continued. Sure, why not, let's dig a needle into my breast and pull out some tissue, see what we get - that's what I said to myself. To the doctor, I instead said, "Sure, works for me. But let me ask you a question. Do you think it's cancer?"

If his expression hadn't been clear enough, he replied, "I can't say for certain just yet, but if I was a betting man, I'd put my money on it." 

 I was allowed to get dressed, reapplied my jewelry and sprayed on some of the Secret Powder Fresh Scent deodorant they keep in the lockers for after mammograms. (Women, always thinking ahead. We couldn't be expected to continue our day without deodorant.) I headed back through to the main receptionist's desk to schedule an appointment for the first (of what would eventually be three) biopsy. It was now about 10:45am, maybe 11am. Before I got to her desk, though, I stopped one of the ladies who had been with me since the moment I checked-in. I smiled and asked her if she thought it was cancer to which she replied simply, "well, IF it is, it's early." Okay then.

"How's 2pm today work for you?" the receptionist asked of me. Seriously? Today? You want me to drive back to work for a couple hours, then drive back here to be stuck with a needle? Haven't you done enough to me today? 

"Sure, 2pm is great. I'll be back," I replied.