I am not even 30 yet, yet I have seen a radiologist twice. This is either a sign that a) my gynecologist doesn’t know what she is doing, or b) I just exhibit psychosomatic symptoms. No one wants to see a radiologist. Not even radiologists want to see radiologists. I’d been experiencing weird discomfort in the left side of one of my breasts, and I expressed this to my gynecologist last week. So she had me make an appointment for a second ultrasound. The first one I had was just over two years ago, a few months after Ed passed away.

This time, I went through the same procedure again — filled out forms, explained my symptoms, undressed and put on a sad little gown, and then plopped myself on the examination table and had the assistant gel up my breasts. The assistant Jackie is very chatty with me about New York, weather, and life. But when she is scanning and taking imaging of my left breast, she stops speaking to me and just keeps taking photos on her screen. Her face is suddenly very serious. She cleans me up and says the doctor will be in with me shortly.

She comes back with the doctor, and the doctor discusses the symptoms with me and says I am completely fine. The discomfort I am feeling must be because of hormonal changes in my body, which really are just from getting older.

I didn’t think it was anything serious, but I felt relieved to get my cleared pass to leave and go on with my life. I was reminded of the time a former boyfriend told me about his friend in grad school who was really nervous about getting her first HIV test, and when she tested negative, she threw a huge “I Don’t Have HIV!” party for her friends and friends’ friends. I kind of wondered what it would be like to throw a “I Don’t Have Breast Cancer!” party for my friends.