Entry in my journal. October 26, 2009– Breast Clinic Office.
Moving a pile of “scrumpled” newspaper sections I take a seat. I pull out my pen and journal before I scrutinize the room; one bored-looking gentleman dressed in khaki pants, cambric shirt, and Sperry Topsiders; an older woman two seats over minding a toddler; a restless, wiry Hispanic man of indeterminable age who is cleaning his fingernails with a small, slim penknife.
A few seats away from me a middle-aged woman is stuck to the edge of the waiting room chair like dried food on a greasy plate. Fatigued skin on her face, neck, and arms, hangs in folds beneath her threadbare cornflower blue dress. Stories roll through my head for each of the waiting room occupants. The woman in faded blue captures most of my attention simply because I can feel she has something to say. No one else takes notice as Miss Blue Dress speaks into the air near the front of her face, “Dear, you have two densities.”
I can hear her breathing, and every word escaping her lips. So, they found densities in her breast, too. Thank goodness I am only writing to myself and not talking out loud to myself, I judge. I pretend to scratch something significant into my journal and look away.
She speaks again, “Who are they? Who are they? Who are they?” She chants a worrisome mantra, “Two small dark areas in my life. They have names, they have names, but I don’t speak the names because they would be so happy to know they are making me ill.”
I sneak another look out of the corner of my eye.
Synchronistically, I journal– Miss Blue Dress is speaking my thoughts, my details, my life. Actually, I do "get it" I want to tell her. I knew the names of my densities the moment I saw two defined shadowlights in my mammogram consultation last week. I nodded as the doctor said, “As you can see you have two densities in your left breast.”
And I am not completely surprised this inner-outer synchronicity thing is happening either. In past weeks, I have begun to notice aspects of my inner feelings showing up symbolically in the physical world around me. “Ok, you’ve got my attention,” I accidentally say out loud. Miss Blue Dress sharply pivots her face and body away from me. The others in the room stare at me. What? Are they only hearing me, and not her at all?
Miss Blue Dress appears agitated; “They are speaking to me, these Den- sit-ies.” She grabs her right breast with her left hand. In a sarcastic, childlike voice now she says; “I am the Small Density, waiting for you to die so I can be free.”
Miss Blue Dress is Noodle Time-Traveling, I observe. “I remember, I remember, I remember the day a man came up and held a gun to my head. I remembered I never did what I wanted, and still, I never do, and so now that I have densities in one breast, they might as well remove the other one, too.” She is rocking herself like a baby now.
I scratch my pen across the smooth surface of my journal and do what I am called to do. I write healing affirmations for the suffering soul two seats over, wearing faded Cornflower Blue.
I step into a role and write, “I am ‘The Small Density,’ and I ask you to forgive me as I forgive you. I am the man who held a gun to your head reminding you that life can suddenly be shortened so do what you want to do!”
I realize these affirmations are for me, too! When I finish writing, I begin to spin out some healing energy in a whisper, “I forgive and release other people’s judgments and their energies. I forgive and release other people’s judgments and their energies.” Repeating in a murmur until I notice I have been talking out loud and now Miss Blue Dress is in chorus with me, and we are chanting for all women. “I forgive and release, I forgive and release other people’s energies,” we chant together until the nurse comes out to call Miss Blue Dress whose name turns out to be, Ms. Engle, which I somehow know means "Messenger of God." Ms. Engle disappears into the imaging room to undress and slip into the latest fashion of "The Abnormal Result Club," a paper dress.
CODA– Back for a follow-up I asked how Ms. Engle was doing. I know they are not supposed to give out patient information but the medical clerk said, “I’m glad you asked. Ms. Engle never came back, do you know how to get in touch with her?”
Well, I don’t know how to get in touch with Ms. Engle in the same sense the receptionist is meaning. But there is another way, so I link in, once again to Miss Blue Dress and soul-to-soul I ask for a most benevolent outcome for her and for myself.
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