So the clinic...

... is a very strange place indeed. I arrived just before 10 and was led to a small room mostly filled with men, which worried me a little as it very definitely the breast clinic.
Shortly thereafter I was invited through to another room where I was given a very fetching hideous blue gown to wear. I had strip to my waist, let the puppies hang free and put the gown on backwards for easy access.
I was then directed to yet another waiting room - this time with no other men but loads, and I mean loads, of women all wearing the same blue gown. This made me feel incredibly sad. Playing the simple statistics someone in that room was going to get bad news - it was like a really dodgy version of Deal or No Deal, except with boobs... and no money.
I looked around at each woman and wondered what her story was. There were women of every age, every boob size and each had a vaguely terrified look on their face though we tried to cover it all up by laughing along with the Jeremy Kyle show on the telly.
I watched as each woman was called one after the other and led away into smaller rooms before coming back, or leaving. It seemed the more times you came back to the room, the more tests you were likely to have.
I was called out, and led to a small room where a kind doctor with thankfully warm hands was waiting to examine me. He asked a few questions, had a quick feel and said that while it was probably hormonal I would maybe want to have a mammogram.
And while I didn't really want to have my breasts squashed in a vice like X-ray machine, I did want to leave the clinic with a definitive answer.
So I went back to the waiting room, and waited and then was called to a side room where a very lovely little nurse squished my boobs into all sorts of weird shapes until they hurt and took X-rays.
And it was back to the waiting room.
Of course being the drama drawers that I am, I then convinced myself that even if the lump I had felt was nothing to be concerned about that there might be something more sinister lurking out of my immediate reach. (I read far too much Tik a Brik, you see... where people always fine something more sinister lurking out of their immediate reach).
Ten minutes, which felt a little like ten hours, passed before I was called in and told I was all clear. Yes, there is thickening of the breast tissue. No, it isn't anything serious. No, it doesn't require treatment and yes, I could go home with my mind at rest.
I degowned, dressed, cast one last look at the women still waiting and offered a wee prayer for them and then I walked outside and burst into tears.
I'm okay and I am beyond grateful for that.