I’m exhausted.

What’s with the pink?
There were pink walls, pink robes (the ones that tie in the front), and pink plastic bags.
There was pink wrapped candy if I cared to pick any up.
The pictures where ugly pink flowers.

Pink. Pink. Pink. Pink.

I get it.   Breast cancer awareness is a pink ribbon, but wouldn’t all that pink trigger some sort of societal shaming, blaming, or whatever?   I mean, people who are women but don’t think of themselves as women may be offended.

Pink. Pink. Pink. Pink.

I saw a lot of that today.

Eight a.m appointment.   I was called in about 8:15, which I don’t really get since I was the first appointment of the day.

I was called back for an ultrasound, then dumped into the gowned waiting room, then did another mammogram… dumped again… ultrasound… dumped….   Rinse, cycle, and repeat for about a little over two hours.

It got to the point that I’d ran out all of the energy on my smartphone games and started doing something dangerous —  reading about lymph nodes and breast cancer.  That’s what I was in there for, so I may as well study up on it a bit.    Maybe if I seemed knowledgeable, the doctor wouldn’t sugar coat it.

Hate it when doctors do that.
Don’t be a coward – give it to me straight.
I’m a big girl, despite all the pink.
I seriously doubt that any woman who walks through that door for additional testing hasn’t thought about the worst case scenario.

Well, that wasn’t me – for today.

Apparently, I have an enlarged lymph node that’s just in the right spot to be considered cancerous.  But… as all of their testings proved to them… it’s not receiving blood.

No blood, no cancer.

But, I have another series of wonderfully time-consuming tests in six months.

I know I should feel relieved.   Maybe I should even be happy, but I’m not.
Anyone else probably would have awarded herself in some small way with ice cream or Starbucks.  Maybe she’d do a little shopping and call all of her friends and neighbors.

Well, people don’t call anymore.     She’d text, tweet, and Facebook.

Not me.
No ice cream.   No Starbucks.   No self-congratulatory victory party over an unseen enemy.

Nope.

I just returned to my usual mentally exhausted state.

Except, this time, I really, really, really pushed myself at the gym as a type of punishment for some unknown offense.

Either way, I’m hoping I’ll sleep well tonight without a sleeping pill.

The staff at the breast cancer place seemed to be something else.
Amber, the ultrasound tech, gave off vibes of being a little full of herself.

When I questioned Lynda, the mammogram tech, about the huge machine I was becoming exceedingly intimate with, she went on the defensive.   All I did was query her about poundage and how women of different sizes underwent the test.  Lynda immediately started apologizing for my discomfort… which wasn’t the point at all.   I was just trying to learn what was happening to me.     She became so upset that I apologized for asking some numbers meant.

The ringmaster, Dr. H, breezed in between tests and didn’t really give me an opportunity to ask anything.   My prognosis came out in a rush of words that wouldhavebeentypedlikethis if she was a cartoon character.

Whatever, I guess.

I need to refocus on Florida.
That’s this coming Friday.

Peace. –