Big thanks to Barbara who sent me the link to this blog. This entry is called "The Business about my Breasts", and the writer is Susannah Breslin. Here is an excerpt and then the link:
2. The Problem.
I get a call. The tissue in my right breast is dense. Not dense like slow to learn, but hard to see. I have to go back and get another mammogram. This one will have more angles.
I go back to the Breast Center. I put on my smock. I go in the mammogramroom. I tell the woman I am anxious. Step up to the machine, the woman says.
The machine smooshes my right breast from one side, from the other side, from the top, from the bottom. My breast is a pancake, a flesh flapjack.
Afterwards, a woman tells me to wait in a room. A few minutes later, she gets me. She takes me into an examination room.
This isn't good, I think. The door opens. A doctor in a white coat and a woman who is maybe a nurse
walk in the room. This isn't good at all, I think.
The doctor is pretty, and small-boned, and serious. The nurse is black, and heavy-set, and has short hair. The doctor starts to explain what's wrong, and immediately I panic. The doctor hasn't even said what's wrong with me yet.
I can't deal with this, I announce. The nurse gets up, grabs my hands, and leans into me. Just listen to what she has to say, the nurse says.
The doctor says there are calcifications in my right breast. There are three kinds of calcifications, she says: good ones, bad ones, and we-don't-know ones. I have the we-don't-know ones. It's like my right breast is a black hole, and no one is entirely sure what is going on inside.
I need a biopsy, the doctor tells me. I leave.