Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
A few days later, Sonja was at the University of Kansas Medical Center for her annual breast exam. Because she had lost both her mother and grandmother to cancer, she got the whole works—a regular mammogram, a 3-D digital mammogram, ultrasound, and three years ago, they had added a breast MRI to the battery of tests. Sonja hated doctors and hospitals, but her gran had made her promise to get regular testing, no matter what, and she would keep her promise.
For other women, it took maybe half an hour. It seemed like Sonja ended up being there half the day. She didn’t mind the examination or the time it took. However, the mammogram was uncomfortable, the way the plates mashed her breasts between them, and the MRI was so loud, she needed earplugs to dampen the worst of the noise.
She trusted her doctors that all the tests were both safe and necessary. First, there had been old Dr. Jacobs, who had taken care of her grandmother. Then, when he had retired two years previously, she felt like she’d hit the jackpot. Her new doctor was a woman, and not just any woman, but a Black woman who had graduated at the top of her class in medical school. Dr. Tanesha Davidson had been in high demand when she finished her residency, and Sonja felt lucky she had been taken on as a patient.
Today’s tests started, as usual, with the mammograms. Then Sonja was back in the waiting room while they made sure they had obtained clear images. The area was sparsely populated today, with only two other women there. The woman at the far end of the room looked familiar, but Sonja couldn’t place her. Maybe she was a customer—she ran into them all the time. The woman waved her over before Sonja had a chance to sit down elsewhere.
“Hi, it’s Sonja, isn’t it?” the petite brunette said. Like Sonja, she had on two hospital gowns, one opening in front, the other in the back.
Sonja joined her, still unsure of who she was. “I’m sorry. You look familiar, but I don’t know when we met.”
“I’m Molly. I’m a nurse in ICU here at the hospital.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve seen you at the club several times.” She opened the gown she was wearing as a robe, and Sonja could see parts of a tattoo through the inner fabric.
“I remember now. I saw you at Connor’s and Suzie’s wedding reception. How are you?”
“I’m well. Here for my semi-annual torture,” Molly said with a grin.
“You have to come twice a year? That really does sound like torture,” Sonja replied.
“It all depends on your perspective. Having a mammogram is nothing compared to chemo and radiation.”
“I see what you mean. I helped my grandmother through chemo. I would have helped my mother, too, but she died when I was six.” Sonja could barely remember her mother, but she had vivid memories of her grandmother weakened by the chemo.
“I’m so sorry,” Molly said. “I’ll bet they give you the whole nine yards of tests.”
“Yeah, I’m waiting for either the ultrasound or the MRI. Not sure which they’ll do next.”
A woman in scrubs appeared at the door. “Ms. Madden, we’re ready for you in the MRI room.”
Sonja got up. “Nice to see you again. Good luck with your mammogram.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
Sonja followed the technician down the hallway to the elevator. The MRI was in the basement because the equipment was so heavy. As they moved, the woman started asking questions. “Are you wearing any jewelry or other metal? Do you have buttons or a zipper on your pants?”
“No and no. I know the drill. I’ve been here before.” Sonja tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. The other woman was doing her job, after all.
“We have to ask, ma’am.”
“I understand. I also don’t have any implants of any kind. My last period started ten days ago. I don’t have any allergies, and there’s no chance I’m pregnant. Have I remembered everything?” Sonja cocked an eyebrow, anxious for the ordeal to be over.
The technician chuckled. “Almost. Do you have any kidney problems?”
“Nope. I guess I scored ninety-nine percent.”
“Pretty close. Here we are,” the tech said as she opened the door.
They entered the MRI chamber, and the tech had Sonja take a seat so she could give her the contrast dye injection. Once that was done, she helped Sonja out of her gowns and got her into position with her breasts hanging down through specially placed openings. She put the outer robe over Sonja’s back to help with the cold in the room. “We’ll be in the booth over there, and you can talk to us any time. We’ll ask you to hold your breath periodically, but stay as still as you can all the time.”
“I’ll do my best.” Sonja shifted around until she had the right spots for her arms and head. “I think I’m ready.”
“Great. We’ll get started.”
The rumble of the machines was audible through her earplugs, and Sonja forced herself to relax. She couldn’t do deep breathing, but she still focused on the air coming in through her nose and out of her mouth. She followed the instructions from the control booth without thinking about them.
“All done,” came the voice over the speaker. She immediately shrugged then moved her arms. The tech was with her in a moment and moved her outside the machine. She sat up slowly and put her gowns back on.
“We’ll have the results in a day or so. Your doctor will call you. Let’s get you back upstairs. Are you done now?”
“No, I still have the ultrasound to go,” Sonja answered with a sigh, wishing she could leave the hospital.
“That will go quickly at least.” The tech seemed to catch her mood, and Sonja gave her a grateful smile.
Sonja returned to an empty waiting room and felt somewhat let down that Molly wasn’t still there, but she wasn’t surprised. She had just sat down when a different technician came for her. “Let’s get your ultrasound out of the way so we can both get out of here. You’re my last patient today.”
“How late is it?” Sonja hadn’t even noticed the clock in the waiting room.
“It’s 4:30 on the dot. That’s when I’m supposed to be done, but it didn’t seem fair to reschedule you just because the MRI went long. Besides”—she lowered her voice conspiratorially—“I can always use a little overtime.”
Sonja chuckled a little. She hadn’t realized how long the MRI had lasted and wondered what that might mean in terms of the results. No matter how calm she appeared, breast screening day scared her down to her bones. Anything out of the ordinary, like a long MRI, added to her unease.
They reached the ultrasound room, and the technician was fast but thorough, finishing in less than fifteen minutes.
The tech said, “Once the radiologist has looked at everything, he’ll send the report to your doctor. Since today is Thursday, your doctor should call you either tomorrow or Monday.”
“Thanks for staying late. I appreciate it.” Sonja left the woman and went into the locker room to get back into her clothes.
Sonja left the building and slid into her Miata, gripping the steering wheel for a moment before exhaling slowly. The day had stretched longer than she expected, each test another reminder of why she dreaded this ritual. No matter how calm she tried to be, breast screening day always felt like a silent countdown, ticking toward something she couldn’t control.
She put the top down and tied a scarf over her head, hoping the wind against her skin would loosen the tightness in her chest. If she could just go fast, let the speed drown out the thoughts, maybe she wouldn’t feel so restless. But rush hour had other plans, trapping her in the slow crawl of traffic, leaving her alone with her unease.
Her grandmother had gone in for a scan, too. That was the day everything changed. The day she learned what it meant to carry a legacy she never wanted. The weight of it never really left her.
She wasn’t ready to go home yet, but the highway was too congested to give her the escape she needed. Speed wasn’t an option, and sitting in traffic only made her feel more caged in. On impulse, she took the next exit and headed toward English Landing Park instead. Maybe walking would help. It was movement—something to keep the restlessness at bay.
By the time she reached the park, the sun stretched long shadows across the path. It wasn’t the rush of speed she craved, but at least the walk kept her from standing still. From thinking too much. She focused on the rhythm of her steps, the sound of the river nearby, anything but the gnawing fear that had followed her out of the hospital.
She wouldn’t know anything until tomorrow. Or Monday.
She just had to wait. Again.