Waiting room.

The waiting room for the breast clinic is full and I've run out of data on my phone, so I guess digital dissociation isn't an option. 

--

ATTENTION

your appointment may take 1-3 hours

We appreciate your patience

thank you.

--

There's a TV in the waiting room, I wish it were playing one of those trash morning shows.

Instead, there's a loop tape. 

It's the same loop tape that plays every time I come here.

Slowly it cycles through miscellaneous, supposedly relaxing footage.

A waterfall.

A fern.

A flower, petals coated in raindrops, the word secludio in the top right corner. 

A swan.

Gum trees reflected in a body of water. The text reads Lilly pond, but it is not a lily pond.

A gliding close up of a leaf with the word somewhere in the bottom right corner.

Another waterfall.

I feel like I'm dying.

Another flower.

--

NOTICE

The water fountain is located on the other side of the waiting room area.

--

When I came here for the surgery, the oncologist was named Dr. Mann. 

I thought that was pretty funny. Because it's the breast clinic. 

A different oncologist just popped his head out into the waiting room and called someone's name. 

She got up and smiled as she greeted him.

I'll probably smile too, involuntarily, when my name is called. 

Like maybe if I'm polite, they won't tell me I have breast cancer? 

Is that how manners work? 

The naive subconscious smile, the hope for good news, like a pleasant greeting is going to make a difference to what the papers say inside that folder.

God I wish I had wifi.

A pelican soars across the loop tape screen.

Wait time: 30 minutes

The tumor was removed nearly 8 years ago. 

Benign, but some kind of rare tumor. 

The scar is the same colour as my skin now, but it's still thick.

Every year we check to see if it's come back. 

Every year a different doctor. 

Every year their hands are cold. 

Every year they press them into me.

Every year the swans and waterfalls. 

--

what if your Pap test result is abnormal?

--

Wait time: 45 minutes.

My name is called. 


A new doctor tells me his name and I forget it instantly.
A student is in the room and he extends his hand upon introduction. 
This formality puzzles me considering I'm about to take my top off.


"Everything seems fine Rebekah, We'll see you again next year."