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Chapter Thirteen
“Welcome to the imaging center. Your name?” The woman at the front desk greets me as I approach the counter. I push the sanitizer dispenser, and it squirts out onto my hands. I rub it in, “Danielle Johnson, I have an eleven-thirty appointment.” She checks her computer and then grabs a clipboard and pen.
“Fill these in, sign, and return them to me when you’re done.” I take the board and find a seat in the corner.
It’s the normal doctor's office form until I get to the last one.
The reason for my visit: I check the prescription and write what it says. Mammogram with ultrasound diagnosis N63 stands for an unspecified lump in the breast, and the code R22.2 is for localized swelling mass and lump.
As I sign the last form, I think about my aunt and how devastating it was to hear a few years back when she discovered she had breast cancer, and like the warrior she is, she took charge and is still with us today, cancer-free.
With a deep breath, I place the clipboard on the counter and retake my seat, hoping that if this turns out to be positive, I have the strength to fight it and live a long and happy life.
Why do most doctor’s offices have fish tanks? I think as I watch the angelfish swim back and forth.
“Danielle Johnson?” I glance up and stand. “Follow me, please,” the nurse says. We walk around the corner and down a hall. “If you can step inside, remove everything from your waist up and put the gown on with the opening to the front.” I nod, acknowledging her instructions.
A few moments later, I stepped out of the dressing room and was escorted to the room. I chuckle to myself when I see the machine with the plastic attachments and think of my mother saying, “they flatten them things out like a pancake.”
The nurse comes over and asks me to expose myself, “Are you at least going to buy me dinner first?” She giggles but, trying to be professional, clears her throat. She reached out, placing these Band-Aid-looking markers under my left armpit, where the doctor felt the lump and one over each nipple. Talk about weird things.
After a few other instructions, and deep breaths, I can confirm: they really do flatten them like pancakes, it’s not that it hurts, but it is very uncomfortable. The way the machine holds one boob while you stand squared off with a machine, slightly turned yet facing forward. As the nurse steps on the pedal, a thick arm comes down, and it makes contact with your breast and squishes! Pancake.
“Hold still and take a deep breath,” she walks away, presses a button, and the machine takes its images.
“Okay, one more side to go. Are you okay?” I nod, just wanting it to be over.
Once she is done positioning me the way she needs for the best image results, the machine releases my breast, and I step back. My arm slides back into the gown, and I hold it closed while we step out of the room and down another hall into a private waiting area where a different technician stands holding a folder.
“Danielle Johnson?” I nod, following her into what I assume is the ultrasound room. I take a seat on the bed, “Please lie down, open the gown and pull out your left arm, please,” she instructs.
“You get to fondle my goods without even taking me for dinner. No flowers or nothing, huh?” She shakes her head with a smile. The bottle of the gel makes a farting sound as it squishes out onto my breast. It takes about five minutes of her moving this magic wand around under my left breast. Then she concentrates on the arm-pit area. I watch as she stares at the screen, clicking, typing, and coding whatever it is she sees. Once she seems satisfied, she tells me I can use the gown to remove the excess gel and get dressed, but not to leave just yet.
With the gown in hand, I remove the gel and toss it into the bin labeled laundry. I remove the markers and put my bra and shirt back on with a quick yank.
My legs hang from the side of the bed, swaying back and forth while I wait patiently. About ten minutes go by when the door opens, and a doctor comes in.
“Hi Miss. Johnson, I’m Dr. Gordon. I’m an oncologist.” He takes the short round chair, rolls it to the side of the bed, and sits.
“Hi, you can call me Dani,” I say and reach out my hand to shake his.
“Thank you, Danielle. As you know, you are here because your primary doctor felt something during your physical. The good news is, she was right. Whatever it is, it’s small. The bad news is, we won’t know more without a biopsy.” He pulls the monitor over and uses his pen to show me on the screen.
Not wanting to believe this is cancer, I gulp down the shock and take a few deep breaths.
“When? How soon can we schedule this?” He checks his appointment book on the computer to the left and turns back in my direction. “Next week, Tuesday at eight-thirty a.m.”
I agree and take the card with the time, date, and location as I walk mindlessly through the halls, past the reception area, and out to my car.
Once I get inside, the tears begin to fall before I can even put my keys in the ignition.
This can’t be happening. I’m only twenty-six, for fucks sake. If it’s cancer, I’ll probably have to do Chemo. I could lose my hair, my boobs. Fuck that- I could lose my life!
With my face resting in my palms, I cry uncontrollably. I’m not sure how much time passed before I calmed down enough to drive. I grab a tissue from the box on the floor and blow my nose, and with another, wipe the tear stains from my cheeks.
All I can think about is wanting my mommy. As soon as I’m stable, I start the car and pull out my phone. I sent a quick text to Keni and Nicki, asking them to meet me at our family home. They quickly respond. I’m sure they have been waiting to hear from me.
I drive across town, and I’m parked in my parent’s driveway before I know it. Pulling the lever, I open the car door, feeling numb, but I make my way up the short path.
