Well, maybe it won't thrill you. But like I said, I find the medical world to be fascinating. And so, in search of answers to the Case of the Mysterious Lump, I return to McFarland Medical Clinic. No, not the same one as last post. This one is much closer. And though I didn't really think of it when I went through the doors, I had been there before. It's funny how memory can sometimes cling to places that seem so inconspicuous. But I shall explain that in a moment.
I made my first gaffe as I was chaining up my bike. Somehow, I scraped my finger in the process and even a good rub against my pants didn't make it go away, though it got ride of a bit of the dirt. So by the time I was checking in, I had to grab a tissue. I figure hospitals and clinics frown on uncontrolled bleeding.
Then they told me I had checked in and it was like I was dismissed... but I was still in the lobby. "So...?" "Oh, go down that hallway to Radiology." I suppose it did say radiology on my appointment card, but it's not like a frequent the place. I don't know procedure. Then I had to check in again once I got to radiology and then I popped out my book. Hmm, on thinking back to it, I probably should have read some magazines. There's been an issue of National Geographic I've been wanting to peruse, but checkout time at Wal-Mart doesn't take long enough.
So finally someone called my name and led me back into the bowels of radiology. Or something more attractive than bowels. What do you call the twisting depths of a department that has some natural lighting, wood paneling, and soft yellow recessed lights?
Now for the memory. We passed a hallway that didn't look out of place in any way, just two doors to small rooms containing large equipment and some seating along the side. I surprised myself by remembering that was the hallway where I had sat for what seemed like forever waiting for David to come out of one of those rooms, watching as a nurse hurried out to later hurry back in. Why the hurry? He's just getting his neck x-rayed or something of that nature. It started to get so long that I was worried they had kidnapped him and were trying to sanitize the crime scene or something.
But all that was just a flash as we passed the hallway. The nurse/radiologist/whatever... you know, I'm going to call her Judy. She reminds me of a Judy. Judy led me to some familiar cubbies and found another shapeless hospital garment and then to some familiar dressing rooms with wood curtain doors. She called the garment in question a cape and I considered informing her I needed a large, but didn't. Which was good because it apparently was a cape. Or poncho. It just draped around my upper body and tied in the front. And I got to leave my pants on this time.
Judy came back for me and put me in a darkened exam room with an ultrasound machine and then proceeded to ultrasound my boob. Did you know they warmed up the gel? It was quite nice.
We also had a detailed talk on breasts. She apparently had a soapbox about women who complained about mammograms, as that was an important factor in the detection of cancer. "Isn't a limited amount of pain worth the greater benefit?" she asked. "I tell them they should just women up and do it."
"I suppose it would have to be worth it," I reply, "otherwise nobody would voluntarily conceive biological children." This was probably prompted by a discussion I'd had earlier that day about childbirth. Then I went on to talk to her about Angelina Jolie and preventive mastectomies and how even though I couldn't fault her for it, I didn't really hail her as the hero of all women when she came out about it, and with that, Judy and I agreed.
Then she went to find a doctor because that's how it goes. She takes the pictures, and then a doctor looks at them and tells us what we are seeing, and he came in and talked to me. Apparently, I have no reason to worry. Nothing about the lump seems anything but benign. And normally they'd tell me to watch it and come back in eighteen months, but since I kinda have been putting off this appointment for a long while... well, I don't have to come back. It might have grown slightly, but we can't really know that because you can get slightly different measurements with different people doing the ultrasound, the difference being only 2mm.
At some point during this conversation, another gaffe. I discovered that I may or may not have been jutting from my cape somewhere... and in front of a male doctor! I can only hope that with the low lighting, he did not see anything, nor my following blush. Although, if he is qualified to look at pictures of lumps in boobs, I can only assume he's seen far more than my meager endowment.
And with that, I dressed, wound out of the radiology warren, complimented the groundskeeper on his grounds, and was once again free.
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