I had surgery. Here's what happened.
Several hours later, they roll me downstairs again. In a small room, they mash my breast into a mammography machine and stick needles in my breast that will help show the surgeon the location of the tumor. I see myself reflected in the partition behind which everyone else hides while they take images of my breast. My head is turned at a hard angle, pressed against the side of the machine. Something is running out of my punctured breast. Blood? Blue dye? I am unsure. They roll me upstairs again.[READ]