Practicing Medicine

Today I completed a new mammogram and breast ultrasound—routine in this process but still nerve-wracking every time. The purpose was to check on the tumors, to see how much they’ve changed after all these months of treatment.

The ultrasound tech greeted me with a familiar smile. She’s the same person who has performed nearly every one of my ultrasounds at this breast center. There’s a strange kind of comfort in that familiarity. We both know the routine by now. She positioned me, applied the gel, and began scanning, her eyes focused on the screen, carefully looking for the biopsy markers—the tiny clips placed months ago to mark the tumors’ original locations. Those markers acted as her guide, helping her zero in on where the tumors had once been.

To ease the quiet tension in the room, I asked her about something we’d talked about before: her friend who had also been diagnosed with breast cancer. I remembered how she had shared bits of that story during a previous scan, and today it felt like the right moment to check in. She smiled and told me that her friend was doing well and thanked me for thinking of her.

We didn’t say much more than that, but sometimes even small talk can carry a lot of weight. It reminded me that I’m not alone in this, that so many women have walked this path and are still walking it every day.

Once she finished, she stepped out and the doctor came in to review the results. I braced myself, as I always do, holding my breath without realizing it.

And then came the words I didn’t expect to hear:
“We don’t see any residuals of the tumor. Your treatment has been very effective.”

I smiled, I thanked her, I nodded along—but inside? I froze.

It’s hard to process good news like that. You’d think it would feel like a celebration, like a wave of relief washing over me. But for me, it’s more complicated. I think my brain is always waiting for the “but.” The catch. The other shoe to drop. Maybe it’s just a self-protective shield I’ve built over these past months, preparing myself for the next challenge before I’ve even finished the last.

So while I left the breast center with encouraging news today, my emotions felt… muted. Hopeful, yes—but cautious. It’s hard to let your guard down when you’ve been in fight mode for so long.

Still, “no residuals” is something I’m holding onto tonight. I may not fully feel the joy yet, but I know it’s a step forward—a glimmer of the healing I’ve worked so hard for. And maybe tomorrow, it will sink in a little more.