No, when I get home.
Mentally, I check out and go through the motions.
Rising from the exam table.
The paper tears when I slide off.
Removing the gown. Tossing it in the bin.
Pulling on my underwear.
Fastening my bra behind my back.
My eyes unseeing as I reach for my clothes.
Pants first. One foot, then the other. Lift over my thighs and secure them around my midsection. I loved these pants when I got dressed this morning. Now I wonder if I will ever look at them the same.
The blouse on the chair is next. Over my head. Arms through. Lowering it over my chest and tucking it into the pants.
Slipping on my heels.
Shoulders back. Deep breath. Wipe the eyes. No tears.
Dressed. Check.
Pick up your bag and get to the checkout desk. Let’s go.
One foot in front of the other. Plaster your smile on. Fake it. Pretend everything is okay.
“Hi, she said I needed to stop here on the way out to schedule the mammogram.”
Good job, you did it. Step one, check.
“What’s the name?” the receptionist asks with a smile.
“Oh, right, sorry.” I chuckle, “Gabrielle Pierson.” She pulls out the paperwork the nurse must have already dropped off while I was dressing. The codes are written on the top.Diagnostic Mammogram. Ultrasound as needed.
Fuck, I could have gone without seeing that. Clearing my throat, I wait as she picks up the desk phone and dials a number. I tune her out, unable to stomach the words for fear of falling apart while making the arrangements.
“Do you have a preference on morning or afternoon?”
“Um, no. Whenever they have available is fine.”
“Can you do next week?”
“Sure, that will be fine.” The team is on the road next week so there shouldn’t be much going on at the office, but I pull up my work calendar anyway.
“How’s 8 a.m. Thursday?”
“That’s fine,” I say and log it into my calendar as a doctor’s appointment. She finishes up scheduling and passes me the papers explaining what to do after hanging up the phone.
Thanking her, I tuck the papers into my purse and make my way out of the office.
Scheduled. Check. Get out of this building. Get to the car. I remind myself of every single step as I go. I can do this. Don’t fall apart until you’re alone.
Elevator down. Thank god it’s empty.
Down the hall. Out the sliding doors. Five-hundred paces to the car. I can see the car. Almost there, Gabby, almost there.
