When the Ultrasound Technician Says, “Something’s Not Right…”

She is not talking about the cysts she pointed out minutes ago, but about sharks washing ashore. As she studies your breast tissue on the monitor, the light from the screen illuminates her face in an unnatural blue. You are grateful when her smalltalk breaks the silence. 

“Locally?” you ask, realizing you’d been holding your breath. 

She says she doesn’t know. 

You press further. 

“Like, in New Jersey?” which is, you figure, at least the state you’re in. 

She says she doesn’t have specifics. 

You wonder why she chose this topic.

You are on your back. Your breast exposed like a jellyfish on the sand. The wand sliding across your slick skin. You wanted to postpone this appointment. Your daughter is moving out tomorrow. Your to-do list is long: buy moving boxes, pack plates, find your bearings within the swells of change. But two friends have breast cancer. So you let yourself sink deeper into the examining table. Feel the paper rough against your back. Focus on each breath. Imagine the expanding and narrowing of your ribcage like gills. 

Later, you’ll search the internet trying to make sense of the conversation. You’ll learn that sharks get beached for various reasons—navigational errors or chasing prey. Both feel logical. Don’t you, too, get easily turned around? Don’t we all just want a little more sometimes? 

After leaving the dark examination room, ultrasound gel still-sticky under your bra, you’re ready to keep moving but your eyes are slow to adjust to the sunlight. Disoriented by the strangeness of the world, the strangeness of this moment, the strangeness of passing years, you sit blinking in the driver’s seat. Your pupils constrict then dilate. Your body controls only what it can. So, you wait. Almost ready to thrust yourself back into time’s swift current.