Hometown Girls

I walked through those doors for the third time in less than a month. My knees were shakier than before, my stomach was in knots, and my nerves were completely shot.

I would give my name and take a seat next to my husband who had come with me that day as my much-needed support system. As I looked around the room filled with chairs and other people occupying those chairs, I couldn’t help but wonder about their journeys that day.  

Five minutes or so passed and suddenly I heard my name being shouted from the end of the hallway. I began to rise to a standing position, my husband squeezed my hand, and I walked towards the noise of my name like I was walking out a sentencing of some kind.

The nurse led me to a room, told me how to change my clothes – what to leave on and what to change out with another garment; she had no idea that I now knew that routine by heart.

Now this is where this story becomes a special one, so play close attention. I came out and took a seat with two other women – one was flipping through her cell phone and one was looking at a magazine; no one was talking.

I had been sitting there less than two minutes when the young lady closest to me begin to speak. She was talking about one thing or another – a garden they were trying to give a go again this year even though it didn’t go well last year, her son who was autistic which was the reason for the garden – she was hoping to be able to sell the vegetables for extra money for the special schooling he may require.

At some point the other lady also begin to talk, and before you know it, I was asking them both where they were from – because although we were sitting slap on the other side of Tallahassee – I knew those accents as good as I knew my own. One turned out to be originally from Quincy, and one lived in Hosford. I continued to let them ramble because Lord knows, I needed the distraction.

Soon my name would be called again, the nurse technician would explain everything that was about to happen to me, and again, her accent was also all too familiar. I was too nervous before the procedure, but afterwards I asked her where she was from, and she too was originally from Quincy Florida. All those stories go deeper than just hometown acquaintance’s – and would take too long to tell, but we would all know some of the same people – and we would all be in awe of the strange coincidence that found us together that day.

Three and a half weeks, two mammograms and a biopsy later, I am blessed to say that my end results were benign; and those three women were a gift from God that day – of that I am convinced. I can only hope that I was the same comfort for them.

Ladies – get your annual mammograms – always.


copyright Michelle Mount Mims
Also previously published @ The Havana Herald