It was another frigid Michigan afternoon in January 2005. I pulled my wool coat tighter over my bulging belly, as the wind slapped the drifting snow into my face. My husband squeezed my hand as he guided me into our untrasound appointment at the hospital. Warm, clear gel over my body, gentle hands touching me. Beautiful baby sucking thumb. I see the heart beating...I feel my own heart beating, melting into tiny butterflies. "Everything look greats," the tech whispers.
Oh happy, joyful day.
It was another frigid Michigan afternoon in November 2007. I pull my leather jacket tighter across my chest, as the wind whips the freezing rain into my face. I clench the lab order from my ob/gyn tighter in my fist, wanting to toss it into a puddle. "Mass--L breast," is written in black ink. First the mammogram. Strange hands touching, squeezing, pressing into cold, metallic machine. Then the gel again, once a warm friend, now a cold enemy. Fleshy, dark gray mass clouding the monitor. It laughs at me, as my heart pounds and belly screams.
"Your doctor will go over everything with you," the tech whispers.
Oh evil, dreadful day.
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