Wednesday, October 5th. Boob Mash Redux.
The second-look mammogram was quick, thank goodness, and I was quickly escorted next to what I like to call The Ultrasound Experience. They had very kindly warmed the gel/goo they use for EZ gliding of the ultrasound wand, and an extremely intent radiologist was using it like a computer mouse over my right breast.
He was paying attention to my boob in a way that few had before, almost like someone who suddenly found themselves really really interested in highlighting the Terms And Conditions of some product they were about to buy. Except of course, hopefully my breast was way more captivating than that, clinical considerations notwithstanding. He would not speak to me, outside of the basic introduction he’d mumbled when he came in. No eye contact, and I’d had to be the one to initiate a handshake which seemed to rattle him. Great.
But I could hear him. His inner refrain was startlingly clear to me. Surprisingly so, since as a rule I don’t usually take a lot of interest in reading people’s minds. I find it to be a very limiting and shallow use of intuition. If you think about it, it’s very distracting. Imagine going to a movie or the grocery store having to filter out the hum of the constantly inner monologuing crowd around you. I cope with this onslaught by turning the volume on that way, way down. It’s funny because it’s the number one worrisome assumption that people make about Intuitives. Over the years I’ve been asked about this so often — do I, can I, am I — reading people’s minds? Like, right now? —that I really should have a tee shirt made. “Relax. I’m Really Not Reading Your Mind. Really!”.
Plus reading people’s minds rarely offers any kind of truly useful information. Our mind chatter is mostly made up of a constant stream of ego-driven, fear-based directives that are arbitrary, negative, punitive, cruel, (and often the reason we seek a consultation from an Intuitive in the first place).
I’m much more interested in people’s hearts.
This poor doctor had a veritable committee weighing in on the task at hand, ruminating as he was on bullet-pointed instructions about how to comport himself during my exam. It sounded to me like he been to a couple of training seminars, and that the goal was to keep his poker face front and center no matter what. Not one inference or innuendo would be leaking out of him today, thank you very much. No findings nor suspicions would be revealed, not a single expression would cross his face. Not on his watch. He was coaching himself, too: Take a deep breath. Remain calm. Just because The Patient is nervous doesn’t mean you have to say anything. Don’t show any expression. Leave nothing to misinterpretation and there’s nothing to worry about. Just concentrate on the task.
Seriously?? This sounded like it was from a manual. And his energy was nervous, scattered and frightened. Had he had a difficult experience with a patient before?
Better to let him know I wasn’t the enemy. God, his job had to be so difficult. So after trying to engage a few times verbally and getting “They’ll go over the results with you but it looks like a biopsy is needed” repeated to me twice, I stopped talking. I felt like crying.