She Was Nervous; I Hope She Was Okay

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She was nervous.

She joined us in the waiting area. We were the mammogram brigade, sitting in our shapeless hospital gowns (open toward the front) and waiting to be called back or told we could go home, flipping through old issues of In Style and Better Homes and Gardens.

She told us she had found a lump, but she didn’t think it could be anything. Her nervous laughter, however, revealed her hidden angst.

Her daughters, especially her oldest, weren’t worried, she said. Her son, though, had been acting out and had been unusually quiet lately. Her face lit up when she spoke of her children.

“He’s worried about you, bless his heart,” the grandmotherly lady to my right commented.

We all nodded our heads and smiled. I told her I had found a lump almost two years ago and that everything had been just fine.

I told her in all likelihood she was just fine, too. Most lumps are nothing to worry about, I reassured her.

“It’s better to get checked out,” I said. “But it’s hard to wait.”

She was nervous.

“Breast cancer doesn’t run in my family … and I breastfed all three of my babies.”

A nurse walked around the corner and called my name, interrupting our ladies chatter; a group of women diverse in age and race. She told me I could go home and that I didn’t need to schedule another mammogram for another year.

I drove home and I thought about her off and on all weekend.

She was nervous.

I hope she was okay.


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