Surgical Specialists Wing

This is where I met a man named Niles at reception. His nameplate gleamed under the soft lobby light as he greeted me and asked for my name. I was forty minutes early……pacing at home had done little to pass the time, so I left home just to get this visit over with.

Niles took my last name and handed me an iPad. The screen walked me through the usual verifications before unfolding into a detailed health questionnaire… women’s health, menstrual cycles, pregnancies, family history of cancer, vision, urinary issues. It felt like a full-body audit. Nothing out of the ordinary for me.

I took a seat in the waiting area, opened the book I’d brought, and briefly glanced around. Six other women waited quietly, all lost in their own thoughts. My husband sat among them, the only man there….steady, patient, supportive. When they finally called my name, I stood and gave him a quick glance. “You’ve got this,” he said with a smile.

The nurse took my weight, asked the standard questions, and measured my blood pressure: 120/68, same as always, I think. Then came a few more questions… prescriptions, smoking history, family cancer cases? She then asked me to change into a gown: “Opening in the front. Uma will be in shortly.” and she walked out of the examination room.

The gown was pink, actually, No, it was fuchsia. I remember the color, because I once had a middle school teacher who drove a fuchsia Saturn and was relentlessly teased for it. Yes, this gown was the same exact lilac pink shade.

Five minutes later, Uma walked in. Petite, maybe around my husband’s age, fluorescent pink Crocs, white coat. I stood to greet her and shook her hand. She apologized right away.
“I’m sorry…. you were probably wondering why we said everything was fine at first, then called you back in.”
“Yes,” I replied, “but no need to apologize. I wasn’t sure what was going on.”

She explained that ultrasounds are most reliable when a radiologist is on site, apparently, the center I’d visited no longer had one since being sold to new management. She opened the mammogram and ultrasound images and began reviewing each slide with me.

“You have dense breast tissue,” she explained. “Both sides are full of cysts.” She pointed out dark circles on the screen, showing which were fluid-filled and which were harder. Then she compared the solid ones to….of all things……..cement.

The word caught my attention immediately. “Cement?” I echoed in my mind.

She explained how a hardened cyst can cause pain when surrounding tissue shifts against it……“like when a cement filled nodule starts to move among other things” I smiled, finally realizing she meant concrete or perhaps even mortar.

A common mix-up. I didn’t correct her, of course. She was kind and thorough, describing every image, each black-and-white swirl gradually taking form in my mind.

Then she paused on one particular area. “This gray wall here, between two dark circle. We can’t be certain what that is. We’ll monitor it closely. I recommend every six months.”

Next came the actual physical exam. “So,” she said conversationally, “what do you do for a living?”

I laughed. “Funny you should ask. That cement analogy? Pretty fitting….. I actually work in the cement industry.”

She burst out laughing. “No way! and here I was, guessing you were an accountant!”

We both laughed as I stepped on to the examining table. Then she began the exam…..right side first, No issues.

Then the left. I tried to stay calm as she pressed firmly, but a few winces gave me away to a noted pain and discomfort.

“I noticed that upper side’s gotten larger since this past September” I said.
“Yes,” she nodded. “That’s the fluid-filled cyst. But this other one—this is the one we’re keeping an eye on.”

I thought….”Of course, that’s the same one I have been complaining about…. the one I’ve had since last November…. the one that appears to be getting more firm and painful.”

She returned to her computer chair and sat. “We’ll order an aspiration for the fluid-filled cyst that has enlarged since last September. While we’re there with the needle, we’ll also look at the one in question.”

She asked me to get dressed and stepped out of the room.

A few minutes later, she returned with my risk assessment. “Because you’re over thirty and haven’t had children, that increases risk slightly. And since your paternal aunt had breast cancer, that adds more. Altogether, you’re considered high risk.”

She recommended adding an MRI screening, alongside ultrasound and mammograms. “Of course,” she said, “this could change once we have the aspiration results.”

Before I left, she mentioned she’d be retiring in January. “Don’t be surprised if your contact changes,” she smiled. “I’ve been doing this since the seventies……started at Trinity Health when I was seventeen.”

“Wow,” I said, genuinely impressed and for a moment, I thought about how many patients over the decades had heard her cement analogy and how many probably imagined little sacks of gray powder like I did.

All jokes aside, she had incredible bedside manner. I felt safe, informed, and oddly very calm.

Now, I wait… for the radiology team’s call…… for the next test…….for more data.

Still, I can’t help but wonder…….. Why did she picture me as an accountant?