The mammogram

The mammogram was a week ago. I went to the mammogram appointment after a particularly stressful moment at work. So when I went into the X-ray room and I felt tears stinging my eyes I couldn't decide whether it was the stress of work or the probability of cancer. "You're still young, you've got a good chance", said the radiologist, as she proceeded to take photo after photo after photo. Two huge tears hit the deck. She didn't seem to notice. It felt good to let the tears go, so I stopped holding back. The radiologist seem immune to them. She just kept asking for different positions, and kept taking photos. You don't take that many photos if you don't suspect something.

By the time I went in for the ultrasound, the tears were coming thick and fast. I had become a waterfall worthy of tourist attention, by Australian standards anyway. The ultrasound technician seemed just as immune to the tears. And what hurt me the most was not the fact that I might die. Because I won't die. Not from this. It wasn't the fact that I might lose a breast. (Although maybe that childhood game of being an Amazon was a bit tactless). It was the fact that there might never be another baby. And even if there is, that baby will never feed from that breast.