No.

Turns out the serious news pending was not about my ex.

Shadow on the X-ray, Dr can feel a 'lumpy bit.' He wanted to do a biopsy there and then. I sprang away from the bed, and told him in no uncertain terms that he is not cutting into me.
How dare you? My thoughts were raging, how dare you tell me this and within three minutes of me receiving this shock, think you can stick a needle into me,cut me like a piece of meat and I will just accept any sense of violation, any scar, any pain on your say-so when it suits you? Get your f*cking hands off me.

My head was whirling. They don't know if it's a cancer, the permanent scar will be investigative, 'but it may well lead to operating,' the doc reiterated, 'would you like to speak to the Breast clinic nurse?'

I asked him about false positives, which is the big issue with mammograms. 'They do happen,' he nodded, 'that's why we take the biopsy.'

I told them about my experience long ago, when I was with the ex of whom I just dreamed. He it was who noticed a lump, a big one - I suspect this is why my subconscious presented me with his image. At that time, I went to the doc, who wanted to biopsy the whole thing, just cut it out. Mum appeared with a special diet, talking to me about how studies had shown that women in Northern European countries suffered from more lumps than those in the Southern Med, possibly due to meat and dairy. I stopped both instantly, and I admit, when presented with the free gift of a Harry Oldfield session by a friend, took it. Harry said that while he couldn't take the place of a medical practitioner, as far as he could tell the lump was entirely benign Went to the surgeon about a month later, he couldn't find any lump to cut. I don't know if that was the diet, Harry, or me, and I don't care, as I am about to do the same thing over again. The doctor had shrugged. 'Maybe you had mastitis,' he said, this man who had been ready to harm my body for no reason. Maybe mastitis. Christ.

When I told my doctor today about this occurrence many years ago, he spoke a bit more gently.

'We have come a long way in diagnosis since then,' he said.
Yes, I thought, but your attitude is just as cavalier as the doctor decades back. You talk about these things like they're nothing, like you can lay me down like meat on a slab and cut a bit out of me not even giving me time to get over the shock;I also suffer severe trypanophobia,any thoughts on that, any understanding of the impact this will have on me? No, no, you just want me to be a good girl and do what you decide is good for me. This second examination was with a 'Mr'; they want the surgeon to be ready even before they've seen the results. That's a bit too keen for my comfort. I think what happens is that they assume a biopsy will be needed and that every woman who is told she has a 'lumpy bit' just does as she's told, lies down and gets a needle shoved into her without interfering thoughts from her dim little bonce. NO. He was astonished to hear that word, in this place where what he says goes, this clinic full of male surgeons and female nurses, at men waiting to cut into women and other women being there to comfort us when we are cut. Well no. Not today.

I know my head is not right. I know I need time to straighten out and think.

But no, not today. Maybe not any day.