I’m not gonna lie, this shit is hard.  My body is perpetually in flight or fight mode, which seems a bit counterproductive, but how do you relax when it’s YOUR body?  It’s easy for other people to say “stay positive!” “people live through cancer all the time!” “my cousin went through it–you’ll be fine!” “have you tried meditation?”  But when it’s actually in YOUR body, and there’s nothing you can do other than be patient as you’re being a patient being put through traumatizing torture, it’s really hard not to shit your pants.  

        “Traumatizing.”  That’s the word.  At every turn, there’s another traumatic event.  Starting with the first biopsy (I’m not even going to count the mammograms, which are exhausting enough).  I was trying not to worry about it, but how do you not?  Then the MRI-biopsy.  I’ve already said my piece about that Guantanamo Bay-style torture chamber.  Then the amputation.  I mean mastectomy.  

        About two weeks ago, I finally got both of my plastic testicles castrated…I mean my drains removed.  I was finally cleared to take a shower a little over a week ago.  I was so excited, I actually gave myself a panic attack.  I’ve never had a full-on panic attack before, but apparently this year is full of firsts for me.

        Last Monday was my heart echocardiogram.  That should have been easy, but it dawned on me that my heart is directly under my mastectomy side.  After that panicked shower, I felt myself getting worked up by the thought of an ultrasound wand pushing all around my tissue-expanded amputated breast.  The echo tech (she corrected me–I called her an ultrasound tech and she said “echo tech”--she ONLY does the heart) had a slight accent, and when I asked her how long she’s been doing this, she replied 17 years.  I asked if she’s been at this same hospital.  She said for 10 years.  Then we got to business.

        They like for you to lay on your side for a heart echo, but I can’t really–not with a numb and injured arm from the mastectomy.  And not really with the mastectomy (I already had a nightmare that my breast slid off my chest).  But it’s no problem–she has me angled slightly, but nothing uncomfortable. Until she starts using the ultrasound wand on my chest.  At first it’s just awkward.  She started on the top part of my chest, which was weird because it was pushing a little on the tissue expander.  Gave me the shudders.  Ooh Lord, though, when she moved to my breast bone, I wanted to cry.  You see, I’ve gotten used to waking up every morning feeling like I’ve been in a bad car accident–as if my ribcage, sternum, and chest cavity in general have been badly bruised.  And because I have to sleep on my back, my backbone (which I don’t have to say, but I’ll say it: attached to my ribs) adds to the discomfort.

        As the tech was pushing on my breastbone, I tried to focus my attention on all the questions I wanted to ask her.  Where were you for the 7 years prior to being here?  What made you want to do heart only?  Where did you go to college?  Anything to keep my mind (and stomach) off the cringy pain.  

        Then she moved to below my breast.  It wasn’t painful, though still uncomfortable.  She was kind of lifting my breast, which was making me nauseous and start to sweat, so I again tried to focus on all the questions that I was going to ask this lady when she was done shifting me into panic mode.

        Finally, she was finished!  I let all my questions fly and she was happy to answer them all.  She grew up in Kuwait.  She used to live in Nigeria.  She was born in Oklahoma.  After finishing high school in Kuwait, she completed college at Georgia State University with a business degree.  But she couldn’t find a job and she wanted to start a family, so she completed the tech program, choosing to focus only on the heart.

        My CT scan was the Saturday before.  I didn’t know they do scans on Saturdays.  But apparently they do.  I’m starting to feel right at home in this hospital waiting room.  They are always playing This Old House, which was my dad’s favorite TV show.  It makes me smile.

        Speaking of doctor and hospital waiting rooms, have you ever noticed that they are ALWAYS playing home renovation shows?  Or “My next house” type of shows?  Always HGTV.  There was only ONE time that a doctor’s office wasn’t playing a home remodeling show.  That was at my breast clinic.  I sat down in the waiting room, directly underneath the TV and pulled out my book to read.  I heard a familiar narrator voice float from the TV and had to crane my neck to look.  It was The First 48.  Murder show.  I started cracking up, because, though I find murder shows to be very soothing, I’m not sure if other patients find comfort in murder and true crime.  Especially when they’re sitting in a doctor’s office.