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PolarBear of Celeste
Jan. 6th, 2026 07:09 pmI woke up about six to the rattle of sleety rain. Eventually it turned into regular rain. I went back to sleep for awhile. Still not quite enough sleep. It was warmer, but still very dark and grey, and continued to drizzle on and off all day. I got my extra super-duper mammogram plus ultrasound today. They were as effective and efficient as possible. It's not their fault that I am currently not in a good mood. The radiologist was nice. The ultrasound person wasn't particularly. The specialist who came in to tell me what was what was annoying. Her commentary confirmed my suspicion that they are mostly doing all this because their learned that I have a daughter being treated for breast cancer. Basically, I have visible calcifications, and they like to check up on those. But there's nothing there, so they'll make me come back in six months and look again. Sigh.
The hospital system has tried to make the facility extra posh, but it's just fake and depressing, in my view. Also, what's the use of providing coffee machines that are always out of order? Isn't that sort of first circle of Hell kind of thing? The ultrasound room was dark and chilly. The blinds were drawn, but I heard vrooming sounds coming from without and surmised that it must overlook the highway. When they left me alone in there, I drew the curtain aside and looked out. Sure enough, there was the highway. Also, there were those white hospital blankets stuffed against the windowsills to keep the cold air out. Again I ask, what's the use of a multimillion dollar building with leaky windows that make the diagnostic rooms cold unless you stuff them with blankets? While the specialist was speaking to me, there was a terrific thump, as if something had collided with the window. The specialist and the ultrasounder both jumped back and moved nervously to the other side of the room. They left me, the unsuspecting patient, in a chair right next to the window. I did not jump, because hey, whatever happened already happened. We were many stories up. "Maybe it was a bird," I said. They laughed nervously.
I can't tell you how many debilitated souls I saw, moving slowly with halting gaits of various forms across the carpeted floor of this soaring edifice with its pseudo-cathedralish atrium. "So many, I had not thought death had undone so many," as first Dante and then T.S. Eliot said. The Sparrowhawk arrived to pick me up. "Let's run away together," I said. But we did not. We squelched our way through the slush and the icy ruts, entered our hobbit hole, and turned the LURK dial up to eleventy. I should just be grateful that I won't need further treatment at this time, AND I AM! But I would greatly prefer not to go anywhere near the place ever.
The hospital system has tried to make the facility extra posh, but it's just fake and depressing, in my view. Also, what's the use of providing coffee machines that are always out of order? Isn't that sort of first circle of Hell kind of thing? The ultrasound room was dark and chilly. The blinds were drawn, but I heard vrooming sounds coming from without and surmised that it must overlook the highway. When they left me alone in there, I drew the curtain aside and looked out. Sure enough, there was the highway. Also, there were those white hospital blankets stuffed against the windowsills to keep the cold air out. Again I ask, what's the use of a multimillion dollar building with leaky windows that make the diagnostic rooms cold unless you stuff them with blankets? While the specialist was speaking to me, there was a terrific thump, as if something had collided with the window. The specialist and the ultrasounder both jumped back and moved nervously to the other side of the room. They left me, the unsuspecting patient, in a chair right next to the window. I did not jump, because hey, whatever happened already happened. We were many stories up. "Maybe it was a bird," I said. They laughed nervously.
I can't tell you how many debilitated souls I saw, moving slowly with halting gaits of various forms across the carpeted floor of this soaring edifice with its pseudo-cathedralish atrium. "So many, I had not thought death had undone so many," as first Dante and then T.S. Eliot said. The Sparrowhawk arrived to pick me up. "Let's run away together," I said. But we did not. We squelched our way through the slush and the icy ruts, entered our hobbit hole, and turned the LURK dial up to eleventy. I should just be grateful that I won't need further treatment at this time, AND I AM! But I would greatly prefer not to go anywhere near the place ever.
