Waking up at early hours, the sun not yet crested in the sky (insomniac's worst nightmare)and nerves wracked, broken. Shivering in terror, unable to sleep, the world revolving around fear as we depart (just a few blocks, it's just a few blocks...). Confused and terrified I fill out paperwork, checking once again that my brilliantly colored Sesame Street band-aids cover the hearts carved into my skin, my sleeves cover the runes painted on my flesh (and it was so cold, and so hard to commit to memory what protection I needed) until I was led to the room. Disrobing nearly completely, shivering as I don a robe far too flimsy and large for such a "petite girl," I wait. And wait. And wait. Until the too-chipper technician, unable to express her surprise of my age adequately, manhandles my sensitivities and shoves my flesh between hard metal and plastic shelves, squeezing and pulling until breath can no longer be drawn. Four times. Four times am I thusly held, radiation shuddering through my body (ah, yes, and the lead apron so that my ovaries would not be "fried" - what an endearing thought) to take pictures of my lovely insides. And in fear I quake with a diet coke, my mother reassuring me that I am merely a hypochondriac. The doctor speaks, all seems normal, as it was before, but for the sake of safety I progress to the ultrasound room, my mother separated from me for her own smashing of soft parts. Another overly friendly woman fondling me with cold gel, reminding me of all of those terrible baby shows with women with terribly stretched skin, veins bulging, everything bulging. Molesting me a little, delighted that I seem to have another nodule. Excited that they move around as they do, it is apparently "neat." Less than amused, I wait, shivering with a messy gown, until my mother comes back, and so does the doctor. Everything is normal; he is 100% sure that they are benign and all is well. Nevertheless, I am terrified, as I always am, anxiety rearing its ugly head, and I undergo an unnecessary procedure for my peace of mind. Gelled up, wiped off, betadine and gauze, ultrasounds and then a needle, burning and pinching within until a strange numbing sensation overwhelms my flesh. Another needle, jabbing and shoving through soft tissue, again and again, and then it is removed; not enough, so another needle. It moves so freely it is hard to poke, apparently. Wonderful. Another moving needle in my flesh. Withdrawn, bleeding and bruised, the ultrasound woman cheerfully holding gauze to my mangled flesh, and a band-aid is applied; do they not fix everything in youth? And yet still I wait, still afraid, still quaking, for results that everyone has assured me will be well.
But I cannot quell this fear.