One-sided Harmony

Every six months or so, I go in to see the doctor for what they refer to as a ‘control’ visit.  It’s basically just a check-up to be sure I’m doing okay.  The visit unnerves me a bit because of its pure simplicity.  The doctor talks to me, does a brief exam, talks to me a bit more, sends me home.  No complicated scanning procedures or tests.  But, here’s the thing, I WANT the tests.  PROVE to me that I’m okay, damn it!

So, on my last control visit, I asked them if and when they would ever do some sort of additional testing or scanning.  As it turns out, 2 years after the initial surgery is when they do a mammogram and thus, it was scheduled.  Keep in mind that the last time I had one of these tests, it was because I had found a lump, and the day of the test went downhill quickly as my worst fears were realized.  I was hoping for better results this time around.

I arrived a bit early for my test and figured I’d have to sit and wait awhile, but as it turns out, they were ready for me.  Really?  In a hospital?  No waiting?  Score!  The nurse (or whatever they call the person who runs the machine) did her thing, squashing and shoving my one remaining boob between the plates to get the pictures. 

I wonder, if I had to pay for any of this, would it be half price? 

After the pictures were taken, I was led into the next room where the doctor would examine me, so up on the table I went.  And now I had to wait.  But this wait was understandable because now some doctor somewhere was looking at the pictures to make sure everything was okay.   After a bit, the Doc arrived to do some ultrasound tests.  I don’t know if this is something everyone gets or if I’m just special because of my history! 

Up until this point, I was doing really well using my Danish and not using my English.  I was quite proud of myself, that is, until the Doc said something completely incomprehensible at which point I just had to tell him, in Danish… “I cannot understand you”.   Given the importance of the proceedings, there comes a time when perhaps switching to English is a good idea, and this was that moment.  And then he told me, in English, what he had said…

“Your breast tissue is harmonic.”

Hmm.  Really?  I mean, I know I grew up with two music teachers for parents, but I had no idea their influence reached far enough to make my breast tissue harmonic!  So yes, ladies and gentlemen, you heard it here first… my boob can sing.  Top that.