The room felt very small. Rachel thought of her calendar—the product launch next month, the trip to Rome she had planned for fall. “How do I not panic?”
She started the car and drove home, the weight of uncertainty pressing on her chest. But beneath it, a small, stubborn pulse of gratitude. Dr. Vance had been right. The next step wasn’t fear. It was just the next step. Two weeks later, Rachel sat in Dr. Vance’s office. The MRI results were in.
“For you,” Dr. Vance said, placing the tiny plant on the side table. “I find that having something alive and green in here helps. Makes the room feel less like a spaceship.” Rachel Steele - Gyno Exam
“First, the external exam. Then the speculum. Then the bimanual—that’s where I use two fingers internally and press on your abdomen. Finally, the breast exam. We’ll go slowly.”
Rachel Steele stared at the ceiling of the examination room, counting the tiny holes in the acoustic tiles. It was her third attempt at counting; the first two had been interrupted by the pounding of her own heart. The paper gown crinkled with every breath she took, a harsh whisper in the sterile silence. The room felt very small
Nurse Liam Chen knocked and entered, his presence calm and unobtrusive. He verified Rachel’s identity and allergies, then stood by the instrument tray, ready to assist but giving Rachel her space.
“I don’t think so,” Dr. Vance said honestly. “But I don’t guess. I test. The ultrasound is painless—a small wand inside the vagina that uses soundwaves to create an image. We can do it right now, or you can come back. But my recommendation is now.” But beneath it, a small, stubborn pulse of gratitude
It had been three years. Three years since her last annual exam. She knew it was irresponsible. She was a savvy, in-control woman in every other aspect of her life—closing million-dollar deals, leading a team of twenty, running half-marathons. But the moment she saw the stirrups, the cold speculum, the bright overhead light, she became a terrified teenager again.