Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Phantom Limb

There's been a lot of talk recently on the many subtle components of what constitutes the WORST DAY EVER. For example, if you hit your funny bone on a door frame and burst in to tears, perhaps the onlookers will think "sure, that looked like it hurt, but is it really worth sobbing over?"

Sometimes, yes. Yes it is. Because maybe those onlookers don't realize that before hitting your elbow you also got splashed by a garbage truck on a side street, dropped your cell phone into a toilet (with POO in it) got fired from your job and missed the bus. So you hit your elbow and that was the straw that broke the camels back, but really it could have been anything.

So I had kind of a shitty day today because I was late for an appointment, got the wrong building entirely, ran into an acquaintance who apparently works in the office I was never supposed to be in in the first place (which was embarrassing because of the personal nature of said appointment) hit every single fucking red light on the drive over and was trapped in the above ground parking garage behind an ancient woman driving a massive car at such a slow speed that it did not even register on the odometer as movement. And cost about $5 in parking time just finding a space after she gently tucked her heaving beast of an American car into a spot so slowly I am convinced time stood still so as to avoid distracting her to the point of complete and utter inertia.

But that wouldn't have sucked so much or been so annoying if I hadn't spent the time I did today on a paper covered bench having a dour Russian ultrasound technician harumphing over the massive breast lumps projected on her screen.

Now I do recall hearing stories of people discovering anomalous growths (malignant or benign) in their body and feeling a sense of disconnect. Of not recognizing the things existence and/or wanting it gone.

I didn't feel that way.

Seeing those big black coal like lumps on the screen was a highly personal moment. Feeling so helpless looking at your insides and knowing that you're there alone and you'll leave alone and you're lying there (and maybe you forgot to shave your armpits for a week) knowing there's no point in worrying because you can't know the results yet but finding yourself worrying anyway because what if you're looking at a death sentence and maybe the ultrasound technician is being professionally stoic or maybe she's just concentrating and that's why her features are so composed (and maybe this is just my worried self projecting,) but WHAT IF SHE ISN'T SMILING BECAUSE SHE'S LOOKING AT SO MUCH CANCER SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY SO SHE JUST KEEPS TAKING FUCKING PICTURES WITH HER FUNNY LITTLE MACHINE???

There's blue gel in my armpits and I wanna go home.