The ceiling tiles in Radiology Room 2 appear square at first glance. Upon further inspection, while laying on my back for an hour, I calculate they are a little given to a rectanglular shape.
I have entered for a routine ultrasound. The sonographer is pretty and sweet and kindly informs me of the procedure, “I will perform the ultrasound on your neck. If there is any reason for concern, I have orders to perform a biopsy.”
I am waiting. Waiting on the head of radiology to come and perform a biopsy. A feeling runs down my cheek. I am fighting for stoicism. What is it that wells inside me? I push with all my strength to keep from thinking, to keep from thinking of what it all could mean.
What is the worst that it could mean? And I have achieved it. Not the stoic emotion I was fighting for, something beyond that. When I ask the right questions, WHAT IS THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN?
The worst is that I would not feel what is happening. The worst is that I would not feel the comfort of my husband when he takes me out to the dinner of my choice. The worst is that my heart will not smile when my eight year old slides her hand into mine.
And a feeling of happiness rolls down my cheek.