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“We saw a shadow.” Tech-woman said. “We’ll need to take more pictures.”

“No problem.” I managed to choke as I clutched my hospital gown closed and retraced my steps to the mammogram room. Um. I’m growing shadows?

“Take your right arm out of your gown.” She said, absentmindedly, as she positioned a big, metal machine in front of my right breast.

I obeyed immediately, silently begging the shadow to evaporate.

Tech-woman tacked my x-ray onto a wall monitor. “See this?” She pointed to a long, black smudge on the image. “We want to get a better look at this dark area. Sorry to call you back in.”

I bit my lip and stared at the smudge that had the power to change my life. The outcome of this day, this week, even this year would come out of this next series of mammograms”

“Ok.” She cupped my breast in her cold, rough hand. “Lean forward.” It made a plopping noise as she positioned my flesh on the cold, hard platform of the giant x-ray machine. “I’m so sorry my hands are cold. I’ve just gotten off my break.”

She does this for a living. What a sucky job.

“Sorry to have to do this to you again. But we need more information.”

I gritted my teeth. “Whatever you need.” All of her ‘sorry’ apologies were starting to wear on me. Perhaps I could teach her some conversation skills while I was here? Example: ‘I would rather have a pet cat than a pet rattle snake. How ‘bout you?’

She started to tighten the top slab of the machine onto my breast, flattening my flesh, pancake style. “Sorry, but this is going to get a little tight. Sorry to make you do this again.”

I sighed. “Actually. My black bra’s tighter than this. This really isn’t so bad.”

She laughed. “Girl. You need a new bra….”

The machine squeezed my breast into a bear hug as she clamped the top metal platform down all the way, removing any chance of wiggle room.

“Hold your breath. Sorry to make you do this. Here we go.”

After a series of beeps the machine released and I was sent back to read an article about how to make cherry flavored popsicles.

The shadow would have bothered me a lot less if that had been the reason for my visit. But. It wasn’t the reason. I had found a lump. A haunting lump that appeared out of nowhere last Friday night and laughed at me all weekend.

Ever the procrastinator, I dealt with the new addition to my breast in the usual way. I ignored it for a few days, then planned on talking it over with friends for a few more days, before I considered calling a doctor. But the first friend I mentioned it to immediately dialed her doctor’s office which gave me an emergency appointment the next day.

I started getting scared. The next day? Normally I’ll be bleeding into the phone with advanced gangrene before I could get a doctor’s office to graciously award me an appointment six weeks away. Why the next day? Just for a lump?

That gynecologist didn’t show any concern till she felt the lump herself. I guess she didn’t believe me about that bumpy growth? Then she started filling out prescriptions for tests that had to be performed immediately.

Yeah. I know. That’s when I started to cry. No. Not fear. My vacation. Florida. She wanted me to cancel my long weekend at the beach, insisting time was of the essence. It made no sense to me. If they had to cut off my breast, shouldn’t I take it for a holiday first?

Ok. She changed her mind. I could get tested the day after my return.

Man. All this strife. All for a bump. A lump. A little addition to my breast. I mean. Cancel travel for extra flesh? Man. What is this world coming to?

And. So. Now they found this little, smudged shadow. Yeah. I should have made it very clear that I only wanted them to look at the bump. Nothing else. Nothing more. Why chase shadows? What if they found out I had not only cancer, but a rare Disease that required lots more tests? I really hate hospital gowns.

After the x-rays had been developed, the breast doctor sat down next to me. “Do you have any questions?”

I clutched my gown closed. Is this how they do exams here? Oh. Man. Ok. Will I lose my breast? Will it hurt? What’s the recovery time? Will my boyfriend ever get used to the scars? Will I? “Um. So. How ‘bout that shadow?”

“What shadow?” She asked, flipping through charts.

“Right breast. In the back. Extra x-rays?”

The doctor flipped through my charts again. “When did you have extra mammograms?”

Note to self: Find a new doctor. “Today.” I said, evenly. “They did extra mammograms today.”

The doctor flipped through more charts. “Oh. Right. The shadow.”

Note to self: Maybe shadows are easier to live with than hospital gowns that open in the front and doctors who don't know.

“Well. The shadow ended up being a false alarm.”

“I have a fake shadow inside me?” Note to self: Get a second opinion.

Doctor laughed. “No. You don’t have a shadow at all. What they saw on the first mammogram was just a line from positioning.”

“You’re sure?”

Doctor put the charts down and looked me in the eye. “There’s nothing.”

My smile grew to the size of my head. “No shadow?”

“No.” She laughed. “Now, for your lump…”

Bye smile. Nice knowing you.

“It’s a cyst. Nothing to worry about. But we’re glad you came in to have it checked out. We’ll see you in a year for your routine exam.”

Hello smile. Really nice to see you again.

I stopped mentally sawing off my right breast. Ok. It could stay, now that I knew for sure it wasn’t spreading disease through my body. Man. Who ever thought breasts required so much work and attention?

The doctor put my chart down. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“Yes.” I said, hopping off the table. “Um. Can you recommend a new home for an old, black bra?”

Wanna try another column? How about #169: High Heeled Snow Hike, about wearing the wrong shoes on a wintery day.

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