The last time I had an ultrasound I was pregnant with my second child and the dark room was a joyful buzz with me, Husb., the technician, and then a fourth pouding heart, the size of a tiny beet.
This time it was just me and the technician.
I made the usual chitchat about pancreases, but it was mid-January, my belly was not full of baby and I was there for an examination of my gall bladder, not friendship, the technician made that abundantly clear. "Ma'am, turn to the right. No, not that right. The other right."
How had it come to this? A dark room, a stranger, a storeroom of fascinating drugs, no doubt, in Amsterdam it could have gone so many different ways, but she said, "Your aorta is very superficial." I wanted to say, I could have told that.