Thursday, May 12
Lying on my back, tits out, a few rogue tears snuck past and ran down pooling in my ears. The radiologist used the fluffy robe I was wearing to wipe them away. It was a familiar motion to her, a little too familiar if I’m honest. I don’t know you. I won’t ever know you.
Buzz. Pop. Buzz.
I’m trembling. I’m afraid I’ll botch the whole procedure. This had to be some sort of terrible mistake, a glitch in the universe. Clearly, Mercury in Retrograde was fucking with me again. Friday the 13th is tomorrow. The entire calendar for all of human history must be off by a day.
The sounds are not the soft, organic sounds of bodies. The sounds are edible, but gross edible, gritty like a piece of shell in your oyster.
Buzz. Burrrf. Snap.
Just one more. We reposition. I hold my breath and wonder how long it will take for me to stop hearing the clicks and clacks of the machine currently spearing my breasts with banderillas. Core biopsy. Fine needle. Even the words sound like it should hurt but it doesn’t. What in the living shit is that noise though?
Finally, the Great Breast Bullfight concludes with the expected winners and losers.
It simply couldn’t be.
It could and it was.
Thank you for sharing this post on social media to help me reach the next girl.