Of course.
Are we okay?
ME
I hope so. Trying to let you in likewe talked about.
CHASE
Thank you.
ME
Sweet dreams
After Thursday, I’ll be in a better headspace. Then we can talk properly, and I can stop letting the thoughts in my head win. He’s in this. He’s not giving up. It’s time I stop fighting my own feelings and invest in us too.
I pull my car into the parking lot of the standalone imaging center. My doctor’s office is in the hospital, but for the testing they sent me to the off-campus imaging center down the street. The sign reads “outpatient imaging and breast care center.” Just seeing those three words on the sign has my heart racing. I’ve done this before, only a year ago. It never gets easy though. I was okay until I parked.
Resting my head against the headrest, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. In for four seconds. Out for four seconds. I repeat the process three times.
“Alright Gabby, you’ve got this. You’re going to go in there. You’re going to take some pictures. They’re going to probe around for a bit, and then you’re going to go home.” I try to psych myself up. “Everything is going to be fine.”
Everything is far from fine.
Other than our texts Tuesday night when I told Chase I wanted to talk when he got home, we’ve only texted a few times. They arrived home in the middle of the night last night with today to rest before the home-stand this week. I hope he’ll come over later so we can spend the afternoon together and figure out where we stand.
Putting Chase and the team out of my mind, I get out of the car and walk into the building. The doors to the left are for theimaging center. When I open the door, an elderly woman behind the desk looks up with a kind smile.
“Checking in?” she asks. I swallow the lump in my throat and respond with a “yes.”
“What’s your name, dear?” Her tone is sweet and comforting.
“Gabrielle Pierson. I’m here for a mammogram and possible ultrasound.”
She thumbs through the papers on her desk, pulling out mine and telling me to take a seat. “Someone will call you up shortly.”
Looking around the space, I find an empty spot in the corner and take a seat on the couch. This waiting room isn’t like the typical medical waiting rooms. Instead of standalone hardback chairs that are not comfortable, there are couches and cushioned chairs scattered along the area. TVs hang on the wall and play home improvement shows. The lighting is dim to create a comforting feeling rather than the fluorescent lights of a hospital room.
I’m anything but comfortable though. My mind is racing at a thousand miles per hour. My hands shake slightly when I put my purse on the seat beside me. I’m fidgety and anxious. After a few minutes, a woman calls my name to finish the check-in process. Meeting her at the partitioned desk, she greets me with a kind smile and tries to put me at ease. I wonder if it’s a requirement of the job that all the women at the desk have a motherly sense about them and compassion bleeding from their pores.
It certainly helps take the edge off. She asks for my insurance card and my ID, scanning them into the computer while asking me preliminary patient questions. When she’s done, she hands me a few papers to sign. I sign my name on the dotted line and pass them back to her.
“That’s all for now. You have a seat back over there and they’ll call you in shortly,” she says. I resume my place on the couch against the wall.
The door along the far wall opens and a woman in pinkscrubs steps out holding a chart. “Gabrielle,” she calls from the doorway.
“That’s me,” I respond, awkwardly raising my hand as I rise from the chair. I grab my purse and hurry along to the door to greet the nurse.
“Hi, how are you?” she asks once I’m through the door.
“I’m okay, how are you?” Following her down the hallway, she gives me a light smile in response like she knew the answer to her question wasn’t going to be. “I’m great.”
I’m nervous. That’s what I am, but I don’t say that out loud.
She guides me to the changing rooms and begins to explain the process, “You’ve been through this before, so you know the drill. Everything off from the waist up and put the gown on with the opening in front. If you have any deodorant on, there are wipes here to wipe it off. You can lock everything in the locker and bring the key with you. You can have a seat out here when you’re finished and they’ll call you when they’re ready for you.”
“Thank you,” I say. She leaves the room and closes the door behind her.
