She patiently waits for me, somewhat less fidgety than most others who want their scans to be done as soon asthey arrive. Sitting inconspicuously, she seems lost in her own world as she awaits her turn. I am greeted by a shortquick glance accompanied with a nervous little forced smile in response to my attempts to make an eye contact. Ireceive mostly monosyllables as answers for a few customary pre scan questions. My attempts to strike up aconversation are futile. The vulnerable act of disrobing and lying down bare chest for a scan happens without muchfanfare. As I begin the scan, I can feel her eyes mapping my every move. I can sense the fact that she is trying toread and interpret my actions. But she lies there, expressionless for now. As I continue with the scan, I can feel asteady rise in her heart rate under my probe. At times, it is so prominent that it appears to drown the eerie silenceof the examination room. Finally, I move the probe over the lump, the motive for her visit today. While I investigatethe culprit with various imaging devices, I hear her steady clear voice for the first time. She says “Doctor, myresponsibilities aren’t over”. I have heard this sentence a little too often to find it strange or inappropriate for thatmoment. Very seldom in our practice as radiologists are we made to feel like God Himself. This, I believe, is onesuch moment where the “other woman” looks at me as though I were God having the power to decide, whether ornot to call that ‘lump” of hers –CANCER.
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