August is a Slow Month

Having gone through every hoop you can imagine to obtain my precious MRI's, it is with great joy I receive the copies into my sweaty little hands. It only took twelve phone calls from me and four from my doctor's office over the course of five business days before the center could manage to print out a set for me. I suppose it being the depths of summer, there are much better things to do than print films and reports for women wondering if they are in imminent danger of losing superfluous body parts. No, I am not referring to my appendix. And this being Orlando, the depths of summer cover from May until December, dissimilar to Camelot, that's for certain! I am thankful that the young man at the reception desk was mortified at the records room's the lack of follow-through and made it his personal responsibility to get me the copies.
I open the file to gaze upon my insides. Grey blotches. It looks like my mammographies. Grey blotches. I read the report. Incomprehensible except for one line: No significant masses detected. Does this mean there is such a thing as an insignificant mass? Or that I may have masses, but they are not detected? Or do I have insignificant masses which are detected? It makes no sense to me, four pages of gobbledegook. I slide the films back into the oversize envelope and wander out into the rain.
The next day, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, I meet with the specialist. Hand over the various photos of my insides and await his decision. Dr C shakes his head sadly. Turns on the sonogram and gels the wand. Slides it over the surface of my breast, around the edges, eyes inches from the screen. Back and forth, slowly.
"Fascinating. This confirms it."
"Confirms what?" What the hell is he looking at? All I see are more grey blotches.
"Your breasts. Your breasts are dense."
"Dense? My head is dense. What do you mean, my breasts are dense?"
"It means that despite eight years of breastfeeding, the hormone breakdowns resulting from the approaching menopause and just plain age, your breasts are young."
"That still means nothing to me. My breasts are dense?"
"Breast density is related to age and child bearing. Your breasts do not indicate either."
"Bet you say that to all the patients."
"Only the cute ones. In any case, your breasts are 25 years old. The rest of you is forty-eight. So while they're having a fine time, you need your rest. And geritol."
"Oh. Cool. So I can leave, everything is alright then?"
"Oh no, I'm not done with the examination. There is still the unexplained growth on the anomaly."
Oh fuck. What's he talking about now?
"Anomaly?"
"Yes, this growth. It should have been removed years ago, but better late than never."
"Why? Why remove it?"
"It's politically incorrect to leave it. Remove it before it becomes a problem. It has gotten larger. It'll get rubbed and irritated where it is. Off now while it's a piece of cake."
"Any idea what's involved with this?" Thinking to myself, how much is he going to make from this procedure? What's the BC/BS pay scale?
"Honest, you could do it yourself with a paring knife or a scissor, but you'd pass out before you did the dirty deed..."
"Fine. Let me consider it a physical enhancement."
"This week. We can do it this week."
"I need time to waffle."
"No waffles, no pancakes, no grits. This week."
Why is he in such a rush? What is he not telling me?
To be continued....