I’ve discovered that doctors have a language all their own.
Perfectly sensible to them.
Completely baffling to the rest of us.
My oncologist, for example, has a black file for every patient.
Inside is a hand-drawn sketch of a pair of boobs.
Every.
Single.
Time.
Now, I adore my doctor. I trust him completely.
But I do have one small observation.
I don’t think he’s ever attended an art class.
Every sketch looks exactly the same.
As someone with two fashion degrees, I feel qualified to comment.
Firstly… my boobs are not identical to Patient Number 3’s.
Or Patient Number 27’s.
Or anyone else’s.
Secondly… the apex points.
Doctor, with the greatest respect…
…they’re far too low.
I’m 58.
Gravity and I have certainly been introduced over the years, but we’re still maintaining a respectful distance from the floor.
And then there are the notes.
Apparently, I had something “between four and four-thirty.”
Not in the afternoon.
Not a meeting.
A growth.
Somewhere between four o’clock and four-thirty.
Which made me realise something.
Our boobs are apparently… watches.
A few months later, my sister had to get something checked.
Not because it looked suspicious, but because she’s, my sister.
Thankfully, everything turned out to be absolutely fine.
The doctor explained that her little growth was “between five and six o’clock.”
There it was again.
The boob clock.
Now, my sister has been beside me through every surgery, most appointments and several emotional moments.
The night before my third surgery, she looked at me and said,
“You know I’d do anything for you.”
Without missing a beat, I replied,
“Wonderful. Then you can have the next surgery.”
She didn’t even blink.
She turned to the very confused nurse and said,
“Could you just change the operating sheet from between four and four-thirty… to between five and six?”
For a second…
Silence.
Then we burst out laughing.
It was exactly what we needed.
Cancer has introduced me to a whole new language.
Margins.
Nodes.
Ports.
Markers.
Receptors.
“Margins that are clear” suddenly becomes the best line in the English language.
And apparently, breasts tell the time.
I’ve learnt most of this language now.
I still couldn’t draw the doctor’s famous diagram.
Mine would probably come back with better proportions.
But one thing I know for certain is this.
Our boobs are many things.
Remarkable.
Resilient.
Occasionally troublesome.
But watches?
Definitely not.
Then again…
Mine haven’t been particularly punctual lately.
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