The Infamous Sneeze

I report to mammogram part deux on January 3 at the hospital. At this point, I'm thinking we are just redoing the left breast because of the sneeze during the film from a week ago.

I'm given a locker key, my choice of front tie kimono, and shown the lounge where Nancy Kerrigan is on HGTV with her son to revamp flea market finds, some sort of game show where she is pitted against another Olympic medalist and her mom.

They are refurbishing when I'm ushered to another room.

I'm taken in the room with all the cool high tech equipment, and the tech is working efficiently to get me ready for imaging. I chuckle over the sneeze, and she says to me in all seriousness, "it wasn't the sneeze."

Oh.

The usual squashing happens, and I'm ushered back to the lounge, where Nancy and company are now selling their refurbished things as an antique market.

The doctor will see you now.

I never see who wins the challenge.

I'm taken back into the room with the machines and technicians and I hear the word "cancer" uttered for the first time. Complete and utter shock, I am struck numb.

Slight backpedaling, I'm told it could be nothing, and in most cases it is nothing, but we have to be sure, what I have looks suspicious and they have to rule it out. They're not in any hurry either, did I want to wait until the cool, new equipment comes in?

Tears rolling down my face that is still in stun mode, I nod.

The next thing on the agenda is a biopsy in two weeks. I'm given a pamphlet and time to pull myself together. I walk out to my car and sit there, staring across the lot at the strip mall across the street, with the realization that everything has changed.

Is this something, is this nothing?

We will find out in two weeks, I guess.