A simple procedure to check off the
list, I headed in last week for a mamo/sono combo. No worries felt,
I checked in and was quickly whisked back by a charming nurse named
Marie. I remember a fleeting recognition as that was my maternal
grandmother's name. Such an old school name. She graciously kept
conversation light during such an awkward procedure and we bonded
over Eastern shore roots. No concern voiced, she carried quite a
poker face. Tidied up and directed onward to the mammogram portion
of the office, I changed into the next colored gown...pink. How
appropriate. Trying to lift the tension with the other two waiting
ladies, I joked about our lovely pink gowns. Tough crowd. Thoughts
spin towards the reasons for their visit. We wait patiently for our
names to be called. The nurse passes and calls, “Elliott” and I
start to rise, but remember that's my maiden name. Reclaiming my
position, I explain to the true Elliott that I once carried that
name. Still no smile. Oh well...strange coincidence except I don't
believe in coincidences.
Finally hearing “Weigard”, I
follow the nurse down the hall towards our machine filled room. The
nurse is distracted, chatting loudly with other nurses on our path,
accidentally poking me in the neck with her gesturing hands. Let's
just get on with the squish. Cold hands, awkward stance, robotic
words , “Don't move, Don't breathe”. Then, “My name is Linda”.
And it hits me. There in the squish machine, tears start to fall.
At first from the pain, then from the realization that I had not one,
not two, but THREE God sightings. It takes me a bit longer than most
to pick up on things. Thank goodness He's patient with me. The
nurse notices my wet face that I can't seem to wipe because I can't
move and I can't breathe. Asking if I'm okay, I quietly explain
that my mom died of breast cancer...still oblivious, she brushes me
off explaining that her sister is a 20 year survivor and medicine has
changed so much. Super. I breathlessly add, “but her name was Linda”.
Another laugh...no...I slow it down for her. My Mom. Who died of breast cancer. Her name was
also Linda. And she gets it. Finally free of the machine, I seek out
tissues to sop up my face. Joking that she'll have no more clients
if I leave looking like a prize fighter, I try hard to gather myself
together. Trying to make her feel better, instead.
Heading back to my little closet to
ditch the wretched pink robe and more tissues to dab the waterworks,
I throw on my sunglasses so I can walk out in disguise. Once in the
safety of my car, the flood rebuilds. Thankful for the sightings,
but wondering what they mean...is there a diagnosis I should fear?
Praying for comfort, answers...hearing that still small voice say,
“I'm here, I'm always here. I've got you”. So regardless of
result, I'm good.
Update: Clean mamo, sono found 4cm
ovarian cyst. Calling it simple, normal. Just waiting for it to pop
and dissolve. Had to dig for the kids ruler to measure 4cm..an inch
and a half. Still no worries, praying for a pop! Grateful for sightings as a sweet reminder to always be on the lookout for more.
