It started innocently enough. Time for Sweetie’s annual mammogram. For the uninitiated, a mammogram involves having your breasts compressed by a mid-Victorian machine that, according to Sweetie, was designed by men who never had the pleasure of the experience.
For more years than I care to count Sweetie has been subjected to mammograms, some of which have been followed by needle biopsies, breast sampling and related invasive procedures. Luckily, none have discovered evidence of the big “C”. In fact, it’s been many years since a breast exploration required anything more than the squishing by the mammo machine, followed by Dr. Jim’s all-clear pronouncement.

Off we went to Ojai Community Hospital. A calm and unhurried place it is. Coffee is provided to those of us who must sit and wait while our loved ones are prepared, poked and prodded. Java and Joe’s has nothing to worry about but a cup of hot liquid helps to pass the time while one reads every word of the free, frequently inane Ojai and Ventura View…twice.
Ah, there she is, finished being squished. “Piece of cake…let’s get some breakfast at Eggs and Things.” she says. No sweat. Routine.
Two days later the phone rings. Nurse Barbara asks for Sweetie. “Hi, uh, they found something unusual on the mammogram. They want you to have an ultrasound. No big deal. Better to make sure. I’ll ask the hospital to call and set one up.” And they do. For a week later. No sense rushing things. Let’s not get excited. But we do.
We arrive. “Hi, I’m Ralph. I’ll be doing your ultrasound. Right breast, correct?” No need for a female attendant. I’ve elected to sit and watch while Ralph explores my wife’s private parts. I view the monitor as the hills, valleys and undersea gardens appear on the screen. I think every ripple bodes ill. I scan Ralph’s face for clues. None. He’s good.
“All done. But before you get dressed, let me get the radiologist to take a peek at things.” Dr. Bob enters the semi-darkened exam room. He peers at the snapshots that Ralph took. I watch his face for clues. None. He’s good.
“Uh, you see this shadowy area. Right here, above your nipple. I can’t be sure what’s there. Probably nothing. But I think we should do a needle biopsy. Hopefully, it’ll be OK.” Sure it will. Let’s not get excited. But we do.
Coincidentally, Sweetie’s annual physical with Dr. Jim is scheduled two days later. We arrive. Dr. Jim is concerned but calm. “You know, with your family history, we really should do the biopsy. Better to be sure.” I suppose I’d hoped he’d say “Forget about the biopsy. What does that guy know anyway? You look the picture of health. Go home. See you in a year.” We schedule the biopsy for a week later. Let’s not get excited. But we do.
Jan the hospital nurse greets us, escorts us to the outpatient area and prepares Sweetie for the biopsy. ”You’re lucky. Dr. Julia is doing the procedure. She’s done it a million times. I’d pick her to do mine.” Ah, I think. We’ve got the breast queen. Lucky us.
I’m shooed out to the lobby. “Wait here. I’ll come get you when it’s all over.” Sure she will. I picture myself dehydrated and covered with cobwebs. “He waited too long”, they will say. I read the same Ojai and Ventura View without understanding a word.
She comes and gets me. So far so good. “It’ll be about five to seven days before pathology has any results.” I calculate. It’s Monday morning. Five days takes us to Friday. If we don’t hear by Friday, the Memorial Day weekend starts. That takes us to Tuesday, next week. Crap. Let’s not worry. But we do.
The week passes, very slowly, as in a fog. By Wednesday, I react every time the phone rings. When we are away I constantly check for messages. I try to hide my anxiety from Sweetie. She’s doing a lot better than me, a whole lot. I marvel at her composure. But I know what’s going on inside.
Thoughts race through my head. What if? I’m nicer than usual. I don’t need to be asked twice. I pick up after myself. I don’t leave the paper on the table. “Whatever you want. Sure, that’s great. You’re absolutely right. What can I do for you. Here, let me do that. You look terrific. I love you.”
Friday morning. “Uh, maybe you should call Nurse Barbara in Dr. Jim’s office. Who knows, maybe they got the results.” Sweetie, hesitates. Then dials. She’s caught in a telephone loop. She hangs up. Crap.
It’s mid-afternoon. “Uh, maybe you should try Nurse Barbara again.” Contact is made with Dr. Jim’s receptionist. ”Hi, I had a breast biopsy on Monday and I wonder if you got the results yet.” I sense the woman on the other end of the line picturing herself in Sweetie’s skin.
In a nanosecond, Nurse Barbara is on the line. “Hi Ila, I’d be a little surprised if the results were in yet, but let me get your file.” An eternity passes. “Well, here it is.” I watch Sweetie’s face while she listens to Barbara reading the results. Her mouth slowly molds into a broad smile. She gives me the thumbs up. “Thank you Barbara. Have a wonderful weekend.”
Her eyes moisten, so do mine.