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ARTS AND CULTURE

Best of 2011: Breast sandwich

  • 04 January 2012

This hospital is like a city where some people wear their names on lanyards around their necks and walk the corridors purposefully while others hobble, stagger or are pushed on trolleys or in wheelchairs. Then there are people like me who wander around, confused because there are no recognisable landmarks, street names or road signs, only painted lines to follow.

Every time I come here I go to a different address depending on the procedure of the day. Today I find myself in a corridor with doors to an outdoor seating area, so I duck out to call my mother.

'Mum. Just reminding you about the op shop today.'

'But I've just put out my medicine for tomorrow and there's something wrong. I should have one capsule that's half-red and half-blue, one that's green all over and three while pills. But I've only got two white pills.'

'Do you know which one is missing?'

'The big long one I have to chew up because I can't swallow it. It's shaped like those surfboards you children used to have. At Lorne. Do you remember?'

'I do. That's the calcium pill. I'll get you some more on the way home. Are you ready to leave for the op shop now?'

'Are you sure today is op shop day? I just have to lock the door.'

'Have you put the phone in your bag?'

'I'm not silly.'

I take the first lift going up, get out at what is probably the wrong floor, turn around a few times and am suddenly in the familiar landscape of the radiography department.

'Just take a seat until you are called,' says the receptionist.

What will be my punishment for being a few minutes late? Will I be made to wait for ten minutes? Thirty?

I think of my mother on her way to op shop duty. She told me last week she'd been promoted to second-hand book manager and her new job is to stack donated books on shelves. She prefers to work behind the counter, taking the money and writing down what people buy, but they said she should have a rest from that for a while.

Now a beautiful young woman calls my name.

'I'm Shareena,' she says. 'I'm your radiographer for today. For your breast screen.' She speaks with a

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