Could it get any weirder than this? Me, alone in a padded cell in the basement of a medical imaging centre, typing up my own mammogram report? I stopped the tape in the Dictaphone machine and rewound it to make sure I hadn’t misheard. Nope, there it was again, as clear as the first time. My own name, spoken by the radiologist.
When the technician said, “You should apply here. We need someone for evening work,” I just fell into it. A little extra cash would sure come in handy. When I heard my name on the tape through the headphones, I laughed – not for long, as it was a timed test – and clacked away as the radiologist droned on for another two pages. I was not familiar with the terminology – my expertise was in traumatic injury, not disease processes. At the end of the report came the BI-RADS code which rates how serious the results are.
Sometimes an idea enters your brain unannounced but feels so right it’s as if you’ve always known it: My mammogram report had not been normal. “That’s the attitude we like to hear,” she answered absently, her attention on her job. That was when the first frisson of fear leapt along my spine. “What did she say?” I thought. “Attitude? Attitude! Shoot, do I need to have a flipping attitude?!”
Every cancer patient will tell you that people are curious to know whether cancer is actually a gift in disguise. Did it make me more grateful? Was I finding new purpose and meaning in life? Did it strengthen my faith?