This, After All.


Absent thyroid gland. No evidence of recurrent mass in the thyroid bed or abnormal cervical lymph nodes.

That’s what it says after this morning’s neck ultrasound.

After I almost broke down in the ultrasound suite waiting for the tech to come in.

After I snapped at her over the neckline of my dress and the utility of a hospital gown (my apologies, Sue, I get agitated when I feel vulnerable).

After I laid down on that table for over 40 minutes.

After she took nearly 100 still images of my neck.

After I went to work disassociated, the world moving in slow motion.

After I become so angry I threw my phone against the dashboard in my car as hard as I could muster.

After I become so angry I just wanted to plow my car into others and keep driving, waving one hand out the window, displaying the one-finger salute as I sped by.

After eight years, this still rips my guts out.

After six years I still wish it was Dr. Overinvolved performing my neck ultrasound, his dank body odor overtaking me.

After all of this, I am stuck here, living a life that leaves me dead inside.





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