I resented you
- Surviving Breast Cancer
- 7 hours ago
- 2 min read
On the suspicious mammogram that led to my diagnosis
By Ashley Muspratt
Diagnosed with breast cancer at 46
I resented you when you told me
It was over the phone
A doctor’s work is in person but mine was out sick
So you were a voice on speaker phone
A land line, actually, one with a long coiled black cord – a relic of bygone technology in this state-of-the-art institution
Without pretext, or context, or fanfare, you announced, from a hospital 100 miles away, that there was an “asymmetry” in my mammogram
To be fair, this wasn’t a complete surprise
You’d directed a return trip to the mammogram machine and two trips to the ultrasound table over the course of this visit
But isn’t it funny, the human audacity to hold out hope?
Hope is fragile and fleeting though, and you’d barely gotten the words out before my eyes welled over and I’d already concluded that I had cancer
Rendered speechless by tears
I went silent
And so did you
During that pregnant pause, I pictured you thumbing your own desk phone’s cord, unsure what to say
And I resented you
The nurse, signaling her assistant to pass me a tissue, moved the conversation to next steps
The two of you discussed the biopsy equipment available at our community hospital
I stared at the mauve vinyl covering on my yellow oak chair, resenting the designer who chose to doll up this ugly institutional furniture with faux soothing colors
I heard you briefly debate the merits of an MRI, but that would “light up” given the density of my breasts
So it was settled: a stereotactic biopsy for me
I could read all about it in the tri-fold pamphlet slipped into my hand
“Do you have any questions?” came your voice through the speaker, inviting me back into the conversation
I managed a stifled, “What does this mean?”
“We have a low threshold for biopsies,” was all the comfort you offered
And I resented you
Too distraught to speak, I quietly dissected your passive prose
I waited for, I yearned for, you to tell me that everything would likely be fine
For you to tell me that I was at the low threshold and that you almost decided to forgo this step
But you didn’t
And I resented you more
And now I’m on the other side of a double mastectomy and I have nothing but gratitude for you
You, who got me diagnosed
You, the only doctor who hasn’t gambled with reality to put a temporary stop to my tears
Who didn’t tell me not to fear the worst
Who didn’t tell me that most biopsies come back negative, and that surely my lymph nodes would be clear, and that this would all be a blip
I resent you no more
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