I hate ultrasounds.
It's not just the unpleasantness of lying in a chilly room, covered in cold, goopy, gel.
It's not just the ugly robe and mind-numbing boredom of lying first on my back and then my sides, as I silently obey commands to, "Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out."
What really gets to me is the fact that there is a screen right in front of me that I cannot interpret. A screen that has the answers to whether the tumours in my liver have grown larger. Or if they have started to invade elsewhere.
I hate that the ultrasound technician, a stranger, can interpret the images yet can tell me nothing.
I really hate ultrasounds.
I see the oncologist on Friday. I hope to have results by then.