Inside, I head to the reception area. They direct me upstairs, three floors to be exact. I check the time on my watch. Two minutes to my appointment time.
When I get there, there’s only one other person waiting. She smiles politely, then puts her nose back in a magazine. She looks calm. I don’t understand how.
I take a seat.
My bum has literally hit the cushion when the doctor steps out. “Antonia Cole?”
My stomach drops, but I’m back on my feet. Too fast like a gun’s gone off. She’s younger than I thought, probably in her forties, blonde hair, blue eyes, curves. A smile, kind but distant, graces her lips.
Probably the way all doctors have to be.
I walk forward, and she takes my hand. “I’m Dr. Green. Dr. Jones referred you to me.”
“Yes, Ben did.” Even his name brings peace, my heart rate softening as I say it.
“Come in,” she says. “Let’s see what’s going on.”
Her consulting room is like any other doctor’s office I’ve ever been in. Big desk, lots of paperwork, charts on the walls, a metal bed in the corner with a curtain you can pull around.
“Take a seat.” She points to a plastic red chair beside her desk. “So tell me, what’s going on?”
I explain about the lump. “Would it be alright if I take a look? If you just get on the bed, take off your sweater.”
She feels around in my armpit as if looking for treasure. I hold myself still, waiting for her to gasp. Find anything toxic. Or nothing.
“Yes,” she mutters. “A small nodule.”
The words land heavier than they should. It certainly shouldn’t be the surprise it feels.
She pokes around, then feels some other spots on my body, humming and hawing as she goes. Not a hint of her opinion anywhere to be seen.
“We’ll run some tests,” she says. “Please, put your sweater back on and take a seat.”
No answers then. Just more worry.
I do as she says, like a schoolgirl following a headmistress’s orders. She’s tapping away on her keys, eyes on the screen. Like, whatever this is, is routine. I clear my throat, hoping to get her attention.
She glances over, then looks back at her computer.
“One moment.” I’ve sat in so many of these consulting rooms. I’ve spoken to so many doctors, it almost feels like being at home.
It almost feels kind of ironic being here.
She looks up again. “So, Ms. Cole—”
“Antonia, please,” I say. “Call me Antonia.”
“Antonia.” She nods once. “I can feel the swelling, the lump that you mentioned. So I’d like to order an ultrasound and a possible biopsy.”
My chest tightens. This is real.
I freeze. The small, fragile hope I had this morning vanishes.
“I’d rather be thorough and go through all the tests first,” she says. “Just to be sure. But please, don’t spend time worrying. Most of these things end up being benign.”
Easy for her to say.
“Do you think it’s cancer?” I ask. The words slip out before I can stop them. I don’t want to seem irrational.