Open Letter...

Dear Radiology Office -

For future reference, it's probably not a good idea--after calling a woman back to the office or follow-up pictures because you saw something on the original films -- to take approximately one gazillion pictures of the offending breast, say you're going to go show them to doctor, and then put said women in an inner-office waiting area -- without any hint of what was or wasn't in the retake photos and for almost 30 minutes -- where the reading material consists of nothing but literature on living with and beating cancer. By the time the ultrasound technician retreived me from that waiting area, I had already mentally re-arranged the next six months of my life to account for the surgery and chemotherapy I was sure I was going to have to have. (Yes, I went there... I am a planner.)

Thankfully, the ultrasound technician dropped the word "cyst" while she was doing her exam, which sounded a little better to me than "mass" or "tumor," and allowed me to relax (a little) while she left to show THOSE results to the doctor. After several long minutes, the doctor and the ultrasound technician returned and informed me that I have three cysts.

Nothing sinister. No cancer. They may grew. They may shrink. They may disappear. They may not.

Nothing that needs to be done.

Except. Breathe.

The next six months of my life... instantly back to their normal crazy.

So, back to that waiting room... would a People Magazine or two be too much to ask?