The Boob Day Scavenger Hunt

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So, I show up for my big biopsy. I’m prepped, perfumeless, antiperspirant-free, and stretched out on the table with one boob out like it’s auditioning for medical theater. Above me? A giant calming photo of Lake Moraine in Canada, which felt more like the backdrop to a comedy sketch than a spa day.


The ultrasound tech finds the suspicious spot and proudly calls the doctor in. He comes over, ready for action… and suddenly, the mass has Houdini’d itself right out of existence. She’s flustered, he’s impatient, and I’m just lying there with my boob on stage, watching them bicker.


Finally, in peak sitcom fashion, the doctor snatches the probe and snaps, “Give me that!” like he’s about to change the TV channel instead of digging around in my chest.


End result? No mass. Just two teeny-tiny cysts, a six-month follow-up, and me with the mental image of Lake Moraine forever linked to the most awkward treasure hunt of my life.


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