“The Waiting Room” by I.V. Greco

Photo by Felipe Cespedes on Pexels.com

“Go to the 12th floor,” the silver-haired elderly woman at the information desk said. “Use the elevators in the very back. It will be quicker.”

I thanked her and made my way through the main floor, passing a gift store, a coffee shop, a cafeteria and other boutiques. The hospital has certainly changed since I gave birth to my two kids here over three decades ago. If it wasn’t for the more-than-usual number of people in wheelchairs, one would think they were in a crowded shopping mall during the holiday season.

For the most part, the pandemic requirements and restrictions were gone.  When I walked in, there was a station for sanitizing hands and providing surgical masks for the taking, if one was there to see patients. But it was voluntary. Very few people walking around wore masks. I did. I wasn’t quite comfortable in crowded hospital settings. In my mind I saw germs – I saw germs everywhere.

Noticeably absent also, were the screening lines that had been set up during the pandemic where people coming in were asked a series of questions to make sure they did not have an illness that could be spread to others.

I was here for a mammogram. Five years earlier, I had this annual procedure done at a neighbourhood clinic, but the last time I went there, four years ago, they found an “abnormality.” My family doctor called me within a couple of hours to inform me that they spotted something, but quickly added not to worry. Still, he recommended me to a specialist, “just to confirm it was nothing to be concerned about.” 

Of course, I worried. A doctor doesn’t call back so quickly if there is nothing to worry about.

The specialist called the very next day. Again, I noted how quickly that happened, and to me, that was another indication to worry. The appointment with the specialist was over the phone since it was during the height of the COVID pandemic. She had the images showing the “abnormality” and said that she would set up an appointment at the hospital where they were very good and thorough regarding diagnosing breast cancer. She reiterated what the family doctor had said, saying, “Just to confirm it was nothing to worry about,”

I didn’t want to hear the “C” word again, having gone through stage 4 uterine cancer years earlier. The thought made me sick to my stomach. But all I said was, “Okay.”

I didn’t want to talk about the past diagnosis, but she had my records and she became more and more concerned and even fascinated as she asked questions and I answered what I had been trying to bury in my mind ever since the last chemo session, which at that point would have been six years prior. I wanted to change the course of the conversation and informed her that my oncologist said the cancer I had previously did not put me at a greater risk for breast cancer. But it was no use. I didn’t like the urgency in her voice, so I kept my answers short, trying to speed up the phone appointment. She asked about genetic screening of DNA and I said, yes, I had that done and it came back inconclusive, meaning they could not tie the cancer back to genetics or family history. Still, she asked to see that report as it was not part of my medical record.

“I may still have it if you want to see a copy?” I said knowing I had kept all my records from that time.

She said she did and if I would get in touch with another specialist to see if there have been any further developments in the genetic screening area. I could not say no to this even though that was exactly what I wanted to do, so I agreed, reluctantly. All I wanted was to get this follow-up on the abnormal mammogram done and move on.

I was on the phone for almost an hour answering her questions and satisfying her curiosity. In truth, normally, I wouldn’t mind going over that scary event, but in this case, in the back of my mind, the possibility of it happening again loomed large and going through the past occurrence was causing me great anxiety at that moment.

But the wheels were finally set in motion and the appointment was set up to do more imaging. Within days, I went to the hospital and they did ultrasounds and mammograms. When undergoing image tests, I look to the technician for any clues as to what they may see on their screens. In the past some technicians might have revealed some small insignificant information, and if I asked they always said the doctor would look over the images and get back to me if there were any concerns. But I am on high alert to any comments they make or if I can see, any facial expressions of concern. They are usually very good at not giving anything away. This one was no different. Actually, she was cheerful and I dared myself, for just a quick moment, to think everything was fine. But as I am a bit superstitious and not wanting to jinx myself, or get my hopes up too high only to find out it really was cancer, I went back to worrying – I was almost beside myself with worry. In addition, unlike previous occasions where I was told to go and they would contact me if there were any problems, on this occasion, I was told to wait while the doctor looked over the images.

It did seem like an eternity and I felt like running away, but the doctor finally came in smiling saying everything looked fine. She said, “It was probably normal calcification, but let’s check it again in six months.“

I was relieved to get this good news, but I knew in six months I would go through the same agonizing worries again. Since I was diagnosed before with cancer, I never accept these follow-up appointments as “routine” anymore. I’m always aware it could happen again and I fear the worst at each “routine” assessment. I’ve accepted this is how it will be from now on – I will worry to the point of almost being sick.

So, here I was again, my “routine” follow-ups back to just being annual. As I walked into the large reception area, I noticed at least seven women sitting in gowns waiting to be tested or possibly waiting for results. Five were close to the entrance and two were further down the corridor sitting together – one in a gown and the other appeared to be a friend accompanying her. I gave my name at the reception desk and they said to put on the gown and I would be called when they were ready for me.

After emerging from the change room, being the germaphobe that I am, I sat in the waiting area where no one was in at the time and waited… and waited.

My thoughts wanted to go there and worry but I managed to stay fairly calm. I checked my phone repeatedly for the time. Almost an hour had passed since my appointment time when I finally heard my name called – mine and another woman. We were told to follow the technician and we ended up where the two women I noticed earlier were sitting. The other woman went in and I, once again was asked to wait.

I sat in a chair and my mind wandered to a rather unusual thought, or maybe it wasn’t. I began to wonder: out of all these women waiting here, if any would be… I stopped. Even to think it was too difficult and made me wince, especially since now I saw faces and some were very young women. I adjusted my thoughts to, I hope for all it will just be ‘routine’ today.

As I continued to sit there waiting, I thought it couldn’t be much longer now and then I looked over to the woman in the gown sitting with her friend. She was very nervous and agitated while her companion seemed to whisper words of comfort to her. Both appeared to be in their thirties or early forties. My heart went out to the one in the gown. I thought she might have already received devastating news.

Then someone, a doctor, came out to talk to her. What the doctor told her made her break down in uncontrollable tears and sobbing. I thought the worst again and tears welled up in my eyes at this emotional scene. 

But then, I heard the friend’s voice say, “It is the best news.”

The doctor smilingly agreed and hugged the sobbing woman. I still wanted to cry, but now from an overwhelming feeling of relief and joy for this unknown stranger. The woman in the gown hugged her friend and after a few more moments, went off to change out of her hospital gown. Her friend made a couple of phone calls and then noticed me sitting close by, probably with still glistening eyes and said with a smile, “Good news.” I smiled back and said, “Indeed. I am so glad.” And just as I said this, I was called into the imaging room.  It was my turn.

Copyright © 2024 I.V. Greco. All Rights Reserved

This memoir first appeared here.

I. V. Greco’s Avatar, her painting “The Nervous Tree”

I. V. Greco is the author’s pen name. She has been retired for many years and is a cancer survivor living in Canada. She enjoys writing, reading, painting and music. Proceeds from her first novel, The Cross We Bear, goes to cancer research. She has a passion for writing poetry and musings on life.

Submit to MasticadoresUSA and subscribe for more great reads! 

About Us and the New Submission Guidelines