Royal Marsden's Surrey waiting room is a relatively cheery place, considering. It has the air of a 1990s country B&B and temperate air conditioning. There are only a couple of people here on their own, like I am, as most people have come with a partner or friend or relative for moral support.
I have also just signed a consent form for any tissue samples to be used for research. Not sure if I will have tissue removed as pretty sure I just have cysts brought on by the IVF treatment but I have never had a breast x-ray or mammogram before, so I am naturally both curious and a little ... nervous? No, not nervous. Excited isn't the right word either. Intrigued maybe.
Apparently a mammogram is not an all-singing birthday woolly elephant. Must remember that next time I send my friends one to surprise them.
No; a mammogram is a breast x-ray. I do not think I will have this as I was told by my GP I was still young enough to have an ultrasound done. I am expecting cold gel on ma boob ('maboob' apparently means 'love' in Arabic. Well, I do love ma boobs) and a small hand-held x-ray type device like they do for baby ultrasounds.
Hopefully my boob is not having a baby. Apart from the Martian in the original Total Recall, tri-boobed individuals are not considered attractive.
So here I sit, typing away, waiting to hear someone attempt to pronounce my name and then watch them look surprised when they see a blatantly Anglo-Saxon Englishwoman (myself) respond to them. Nobody expects me to answer to my name.
Oh well I have to get my kicks somewhere, for in about five minutes I will be having my boob squeezed and prodded by some well-meaning mammary expert in latex gloves. To think some people pay for this. NHS does it for free. Bless the NHS!
