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“It is so good to see you.” She opened the door and Julia walked inside. “I wish it was under different circumstances. How long has it been?”
“I’m not sure. The last few years have been busy.”
“I’m sorry to hear.” Her smile faded–her ringless finger caught in the headlights.
“Thank you.”
What do you say to an apologetic statement like that? What is the correct response to diffuse that type of awkward situation? It’s like when someone dies and all you have to offer is, I’m so sorry for your loss. Well, no shit.
Everyone is sorry and you hear it over and over until the very words grate on your last nerve. You know people mean well. You know they are just trying to comfort you in a time of need, but there’s no comfort when a piece of your life disappears. There’s no comfort in words or actions. They need the time and space to pick up the pieces left and figure out a new way that they can fit together.
Dr. Rosel led Julia into a small, stark room. The lights shone brighter than the Florida sun, reflecting off-white walls to a point of almost glowing against the pale-yellow curtains.
“So, take this gown.” She handed Julia one of those thin, pale green excuses for a cover up. “Put it on and let us know when you’re ready. We’re going to do an examination, and then some imaging. It shouldn’t take long and it’ll be relatively painless.”
“Okay.” Julia nodded, her already cold skin forming goosebumps beneath her clothes.
Relatively painless?
She dressed and then the nurses came in to take her vitals. They went over her body, asking about tenderness and normality, when the lump was first noticeable, if she had any other symptoms. They noted her fatigue, nausea, and headaches–all normal occurrences. They checked her eyes, ears, throat, and every other orifice they could shine a light into.
And then they took her into another room, even colder than the last, her grippy hospital socks sticking to the glossy floor as she walked down the hallway. She walked in and saw the machine standing before her. It was tall and stark white, just like the walls and everything else.
She had to open her gown, press her breast against the cold plate, and hold her breath as it felt like life was being squeezed out of her. It pinched and stung, throbbing even after it was over. Those few minutes, the coldness absorbing into her skin, was more traumatic than the drive over. As the mammogram machine x-rayed her tissue, it began to feel real.
She got dressed alone, slowly pulling chilled clothes over her goosebumps and gurgling stomach. Isn’t it funny how nurses leave you after an invasive exam to get dressed? As if they didn’t see the most personal parts of you sprawled across a sterile exam table under fluorescent bulbs?
They told her it would take a few days to get the exam results, but not to worry. It could be nothing. It was probably nothing.
She contemplated going to work when she got home. She even pulled a dress from her closet and hung it on the back of the door. She pulled earrings from her vanity and placed matching navy shoes neatly on the floor. She had every intention of going. Almost.
As she stripped down to her bare skin, she couldn’t take her eyes off of her slightly pink, swelled chest. Her breasts were red with irritation–poked, pulled, squished in ways they shouldn’t be contorted into.
She couldn’t go. She couldn’t walk into that brick building and pretend everything was alright. She couldn’t smile at anyone while she fought the urge to throw up. She couldn’t see Keegan and lie and say everything was fine, because she really didn’t know anymore. There was something looming in the distance. There was the feeling of Erin disappearing before her.
Instead, she wrapped herself in fuzzy sweatpants, a pullover sweater, and laid on the couch with all the blinds in the house still closed. She turned on the television–not that she was watching it–as a sound buffer to fill the emptiness that radiated from still walls. She pulled out her phone, running through excuses she could use to avoid work in her head.
Julia - 6:38 p.m.
Hey! I’m not feeling well, so I won’t be in tomorrow. Please cancel my morning meetings and reschedule them for next week.
Keegan - 6:39 p.m.
Awh! Did that stomach bug get you? Ben wasn’t feeling well after dinner. Food poisoning?
Julia - 6:40 p.m.
Maybe. Hopefully it all passes soon.
Keegan 6:40 p.m.
I can bring you some of my famous chicken noodle soup.
Julia 6:41 p.m.
Thanks! But I’m okay. I think I just need rest.
Keegan 6:43 p.m.
