It’s 3:30am and I’m angry.
It is the boob squishing season.

When I went in the mammogram office
I teased:
“Can we just ultrasound the right one while I’m here so I don’t get called back?”

I tried to tease my anxiety away.

Anxiety had been my enemy throughout the eviction season.

Attempting to prevent a significant cardiac event through the use of humor.

The technician laughed my concerns away.

The next night, the results came in the dead of night.

Reading them, I expected a call the next day from my doctor’s office.

When the call came, I jokingly repeated, “I told them to do the ultrasound while I was there, but they didn’t listen.”

My “joke” was ignored. The nurse didn’t want the responsibility of anything but informing me to call an additional number.

For the additional test.

Once again, it is in my court to schedule a test I’ve had many times.

On my fifty first birthday, was the first abnormal boob call.

When I answer a phone calling me by my legal name, that’s always the first disconcerting moment.

The second is the “there were concerning things in your mammo” moment.

My late night question is if it is so concerning, why didn’t they listen to me when I told them about it before the first test?

I remember when I was young. I always knew the bewbs were an issue. People talked about cancer and calcifications, about heredity and how it manifests.

Last week I learned breast cancer invaded the body of the aunt my body resembles the most.

She’s on the opposite side of the family where most of the cancer grows.

She and I could be mother and daughter from the heredity we display.

For the first time in my life I feel confirmed. I want the test. I need to know.

The Bracca 1 and 2, do I carry either?

Have I passed the chance to my daughter and grands?

I want to know.

How long will these gelatinous globes reside on my chest?

How many seasons until the troublesome vessel cluster shows an actual, actionable, lump in its midst?

When will the season of the leaving of the bewbs commence?

How old will I be then?

As I lay here, angry, in the middle of the night, I wonder how many seasons of squishing between now and then.

March 9, 2023 3:30am