The Walk-In Doctor and the Rough Edges

I am fighting with the walk-in doctor. He is casual with the fact I am refusing to have a mammogram. I won't have a mammogram because "if you put a plum between two boards and smash down, you spray the wet contents everywhere. I want an ultrasound instead."

His hand is on the doorknob to leave the examining room. "I will record that you refuse a mammogram and that will delay the whole process of getting an ultrasound," he chatters, in an infuriatingly casual patter. I go over to where he is.

"Your hand is on the doorknob. You are saying I am delaying matters, yet I do need the ultrasound as soon as possible," I say. "Can I at least have more than forty seconds of your time?"

I realize he has all the cards and I am beggared by comparison. I change my tune and act all conciliatory with him. He doesn't have any intention of explaining anything to me. He has measured the lump and it is nine centimeters in diameter. "It is the size of a plum," he has said.

After I have made him feel better, he promises to write "urgent" on the request for the ultrasound. He throws in the generous offer of the state of the art Breast Clinic at the Civic Hospital. He tells me that Merivale Medical Imaging (which I recall from two and a half years earlier) staff will be "extremely cross with you for refusing the mammogram and these women are extremely busy, and don't have time for things like a patient refusing the correct protocol." He says if I want, I can try to find the Breast Clinic on the internet, and see if they will kindly ultrasound me instead.

I walk out with His Worship's ultrasound requisition. I phone Merivale Medical Imaging, and indeed, they point blank refuse to ultrasound me without a mammogram first. I look up the Breast Health Clinic at the Civic and they ask me to fax the requisition.

I walk over to the convenience store from where I have previously faxed stuff. The lone Korean worker has no English. With sign language I point at the fax, and with sign language he tells me he has no idea how to work it. I offer to try. I fail. I sign to him that he can phone the boss for help. He does. They chatter in Korean back and forth, and voila, the fax goes through.

I phone the Clinic and they tell me yes the fax has arrived. Later that day they call with an appointment. It will be the next Monday. "That is soon!" I say, and am starting to get very nervous. It is an uncomfortable weekend.

I have already decided mine is indeed the round, liquid filled cyst kind of tumour. I do not have breast cancer.

Well it turns out I am wrong.

I am lying on the table while the radiology technician and I watch the screen. The ultrasound is clear. There is a gigantic tumour and two satellite tumours. She is measuring a tumour in my armpit. "Are those the lymph nodes?" I ask. "Yes," she replies.

Bummer. The edges are jagged. Rough edges after all.