The Official Medical Term is "Sludgeball"

I had a mammogram and a breast ultrasound this morning because I found a lump in December.

The reason that I haven't mentioned this previously and the reason that I sound cavalier is...well, because I am. I'm prone to benign fluid-filled cysts and I was 98% sure that this was simply another one of those pesky but harmless balloons-in-a-boob.

After having my breasts squished every which way to Tuesday (but I swear, it felt like Saturday!), I was sent into another room to have an ultrasound done by the specialist doctor. (They were plum out of techs today, it seems.) He immediately honed in on the familiar black balloon and I said, "Yup -- it's another cyst!" And he said, "Yup, sure enough." And that was going to be that.

Except it wasn't. Inside that round black lake (good) was a white island (not good). He and I both saw it at the same time and, being the nosy, question-asking, prodding variety of patient, I immediately asked, "And what is that?!" He replied honestly, "I don't know, but we'll need to check it out." At that point, my casual, chatty demeanor changed immediately and I shut up. He ran the ultrasound over and around the big round black spot, stopping when the white spot became more pronounced.

"Hmmmmmm..." he said. I hate it when doctors say "Hmmmm..." The longer the "mmmmm" and the deeper and more monotone the utterance, the more I hate it. This "hmmmmmmm" wasn't especially ominous, but it still made me nervous.

"Hmmmm..." said Dr. Maragam. (I know --with a name like that, he chose the right field, eh?!) "Tell you what. I want you to lie on your right side. Let's see if this sludegball likes gravity."

"This what?" I asked.

"Well, we hope it's a sludgeball, anyway. We hope it's just a piece of gunk."

"Is that the medical term?" I asked with a chuckle.

"Well, 'gunk' isn't, but 'sludgeball' is. Let's hope it's a gravity-lovin' sludgeball."

"That's what I was thinking on my way here," I teased. "I hope I have a gravity-lovin' sludgeball in my boobie."

"Me too," he assured me, explaining that if it "falls" when I lie on my side, it's loose in the lake, which would be a good thing. I couldn't help but conjure images of the Loch Ness monster...

As I moved onto my right side, the sludgeball dropped to the bottom of the lake. No wait -- wrong visual; it dropped to the downhill shore of the lake. Good sludgeball!

"Now turn onto your left side and let's see what it does," Dr. Maragam suggested. So I turned onto the other side and he proceeded to move the wand over -- the other breast! I didn't say anything for a few moments. Nor did he. Nor did his nurse.

'Hmmmmmm,' I thought (which is far less worrisome than those 'hmmmmmms' that doctors say), 'Maybe this is for comparison. Maybe there's something I don't get. Maybe I'll sound like a fool if I ask...'

So I asked, never one to mind all that much if I do look a little foolish. It wouldn't be the first time for sure and it certainly wouldn't be the last!

"Um, why that breast, if I may ask?"

The doctor withdrew the ultrasound wand as if it was being burned by my skin! "OH!" he blurted. "Well!"

"I figured it was for comparison," I suggested quickly, offering him an easy way out.

"Well, it would be nice if I could say that, but I can't. I was just being absent-minded!" I decided to give the guy a break. I mean, really -- he has to deal with set after set of these things all day long. It must be monotonous as hell! But still, when it's mine he's dealing with, I want his full attention! (You know you're really old and that you've been married for eons when you can only say that about your mammogram doctor...)

Fortunately, the sludgeball dropped obediently when I turned from side to side, obeying the laws of gravity and relieving us of any worry about cancer.

So today, for the first time, I was ever so grateful for gravity's effect on my breasts. Which just goes to show you that perspective is everything!

And speaking of perspective, I couldn't resist posting this: