Page 15 of All Her Broken Pieces

“Ow,” I hiss when her fingers hit a tender spot on my right side.

She performs the rest of the pelvic exam without incident before moving on to the breast exam, then allowing me to sit up. And of course, I feel the thin paper beneath me disintegrate as my ass rubs all over the table underneath. Ugh.

“Your breast exam is clear, but it would be wise to schedule a mammogram in the next year or so. We usually start at forty, but given the family history in your chart, it might be worth starting sooner. We should have the results of your Pap back in a few days, but I’m going to send you over to radiology for an ultrasound. I was able to feel what might be a cyst on your right ovary, and I’d like to take some blood and run some tests to rule out a few things.”

“Like cancer?”

“Yes, like cancer, but until we know for certain, there’s no cause for concern. Ovarian cysts can be somewhat common, and not all are cancerous. Many can be removed laparoscopically, but not all benign cysts need to be removed, depending on the amount of pain they cause.”

“Okay.”

Fuck.

She smiles at me and places a hand on my knee. I can’t help but recoil at her touch. I don’t mean to, but I’m not in a place emotionally to receive physical touch.

“Do you have any questions?”

“No. But I’m sure I will once we have more answers.” I give her a smile I pray looks sincere and less murderous than I feel.

Dr. Francis and her nurse leave, and I rise and move toward my clothes. I dig my underwear out of its hiding place and stand balancing on one leg at a time as I pull them on. Running a hand over my ass, I feel the thin strips of paper from the exam table that have congealed to my sweaty butt cheeks. Gross. I shuffle across the room with my panties around my knees until I close in on the trashcan. Its opening stands taller than ass-level so I tip it, angling it against me as I attempt to wipe the thin wet shreds of paper off me and into the mouth of the receptacle. I vow to invent a better covering for OB/GYNs to use on their exam tables.

After pulling myself together and putting on the rest of my clothes, I exit the exam room and meet the eyes of the impatient nurse. “This way,” she says as I follow her quick steps down the hallway to the ultrasound room.

The rest of the afternoon continues in a blur as the ultrasound confirms that I do indeed have a cyst but will need to wait for the results of my blood test before I find out if it’s benign or not.

By the time I get home, I’m exhausted and decide to take a quick shower before changing for bed. I realize that I haven’t even checked my phone since leaving work and retrieve it from my purse, plugging it in on my nightstand. Looking at the screen, I see a ton of messages from Becka. Shit.

Becka

How did today go?

What did the doctor say?

Seriously, are you ok?

I can see you haven’t read my messages yet.

CHARGE YOUR PHONE

I’m not freaking out

Ok, maybe I’m picnicking

Picnic

Panic

Ducking autocorrect

Fucking

Ughhhhhh answer me

You said you’d text me after your appt

I’m fine

Sorry, haven’t looked at my phone all day

---