#9 Angie goes to a radiology appointment
I knew it was nothing, but I was terrified. The air seemed to disappear as I entered the white and yellow room. Maybe it was me, but judging by the woman's face on the couch by my side, it was a shared experience.
Some cherry blossom paintings were on the wall before me, but they seemed so fake that they annoyed me. Fake plants hung from the ceiling, with extremely flimsy hooks holding them to the panels above. I could only think, "When are they gonna fall?" I sat one meter apart from one of the vases and looked at it every five seconds. Behind me, there was another image of flowers. I looked at the collection of plants around me: one on a table, two on a divider wall, and three hanging from the ceiling. They were all fake. There were two bigger plants in vases on the floor with green twisted leaves and dried points. Those were natural but seemed to be decaying. The furniture was cold, and the doors had that uninviting yellow color someone should have removed from the paint section by now. No way anyone thought that was a good color for people to look at. I just wanted to run out of here, but I needed to wait ten more minutes until my appointment. My heart was racing. I was all nauseated. I felt like I wanted to throw up. I hated it. I really hate it.
I waited and noted the playlist for patients in the radiology waiting room:
Angie
Rescue me
That's the way ( I like it)
I couldn't stop thinking about what Angie would feel if she sat there. Life was difficult enough to, on top of it, have to spend time in this kind of place. Indeed, I needed someone to rescue me, but no, I didn't like it. When the third song finished, and a man started to speak about the news on the radio, a woman in a white coat called my name and invited me to follow her. "There we go," I thought. I stood up, smiled at her, and followed her steps, considering all possible scenarios for my condition. I knew I should stop, but it was stronger than me. I am a sucker for anticipation and contingency plans, but I had no idea of what else I could do but follow that white coat in front of me.
The pain started two weeks ago. At first, I thought it resulted from a stupid and playful fight with the kids and the dogs, but it was still there after three days. Four days later, I called my doctor to have a quick checkup. I had touched the area so many times that I could not feel anything anymore. I needed a second opinion, an educated judgment. Unfortunately, she seemed to be as puzzled as me. Something was there, but she was not able to tell what. That's why I had to come to this place. That's why I followed that woman: to tell me what was wrong with me.
I entered a little room and was asked to remove my clothes and move towards a bigger area. Feeling cold and vulnerable, I crossed the doorstep and saw the machine.
"Have you ever done this test?" asked the woman behind the computer.
"Not that I am aware," I replied. I don't know why I do that, why I try to be friendly and funny with everyone. Why couldn't I say a simple "no"?
She stood up and walked to me.
"We'll do four photographs, maybe six. Try to relax; it will be over soon."
She touched and moved me, pushing me towards the machine and placing my arms as necessary. It hurt, but I lowered my shoulder, elevated my chin, and stopped breathing whenever she asked me to.
"It will be over soon," I kept repeating in my head. I thought I was about to faint, but I didn't. I held that machine dearly as if it would grant me a good result.
Four photographs later, we were done, but not really.
"I need you to move to the next room to do an eco," she said.
I covered myself with my bare arms and walked where she told me. She handed me a hand towel and asked me to lie down. Once more, I did as she told me.
We waited for the doctor. When he arrived, he started the examination. There was silence. My thoughts screamed at me while I tried to understand the shadows and lines on the screen. There was more silence. I waited. A few minutes passed. The man cleaned the equipment and told me there was no clear explanation for my pain. He had seen nothing that could be related. I felt relieved.
"But..." he said.
"Sh@#%$!" I thought.
"I've seen something on the other side. There should be nothing, but we must do more tests to be sure. Do you agree to do more tests?" he continued.
I stared at him, slightly annoyed by the question. Of course, I wanted to do tests, and of course, I wanted to know what was wrong!
"Sure, I agree," I said while smiling. Someone should nominate me for an Oscar for my outstanding performance at that moment: "The calmest while outraged."
The doctor smiled back at me, wished me luck, and said goodbye. The technician, the woman who had been with me since the beginning, stayed in the room.
"We need to schedule an MRI. I will give you a card, and you must follow the route to the Oncology department to take care of the appointment."
I nodded. I smiled. I grabbed the card while holding the hand towel against my chest.
"Good luck," she said.
"Thank you," I replied while entering the little room to get dressed again.
I got ready and left the room, following the route until I arrived at my next destination. That morning, it looked like a quest: " In pursuit of the magical machine and the final diagnostic."
I waited in another waiting room, this time bigger and brighter, with natural plants. There were women holding hands with husbands, mothers, and daughters. I felt alone. I looked at my mobile phone's screen but did not see anything. I couldn't. Then, another wait coat called for me.
In a five-minute consultation, I shared my clinical data. I enumerated the deaths in my family due to the big C, and the lady in front of me typed it all into her computer.
"We'll schedule as soon as possible," she said.
I thanked her and left the room to speak once more with someone else who smiled at me. I was tired, but I smiled back—I always smile back.
"In two weeks," she told me. "is that okay for you?"
"Of course, thank you."
I left the waiting room and walked the corridors until I found the exit door. It was raining outside, but I did not run. Slowly, I walked into the parking lot and called my boyfriend.
"It is going to be okay," I said, letting the rain fall over me.
Angie would have liked it. The rain. I liked it.
