It's 8 am. Do you know where your cysts are?

I had to set the alarm in order to wake up in time for the radiology appointment. Approximately every two years, I go through the same routine. The ultrasound-plus-cyst-aspiration appointments are doled out only to those who are early risers. They are only on certain days of the week, and only at 8:15.

My alarm setting is called "Cathedral Chime" and it sounds vaguely like Big Ben, which is especially confusing at this early hour because I've been dreaming that I'm in London, but I'm actually back in Boston. We are out of coffee, so I have to get behind the wheel of the mini-van in an impaired, i.e. caffeine-free, condition. A short ten-minute ride has me at the health center in Somerville, where for the second time in a week I get to don the johnny-top. The ultra-sound technician, who has done this with me at least three times before, ushers me into a cold office. I get settled in on the table, and she says she'll be back in a few minutes. I ask for a blanket or something to keep me warm, and she brings me another half-johnny and puts it over my legs. It is supposed to be summer, so I have worn a skirt, which was not a particularly smart move.

The technician comes back with the doctor, who introduces herself. I remind her that she's done this with me several times before. They want to know if I found the cysts myself or if they only showed up on the mammogram. I tell them yes, I found them myself, that it is particularly hard to miss something the size of a grape that gets hard as a rock for a week each month and causes pressure, discomfort, and finally, pain, and that I have four of them, two on each side.

The doctor readies the needle with lidocaine and shields it from my view with her body as she does so. This is fine with me, as I really don't like looking at or thinking about needles. The amount of relief I get from this particular procedure is the only reason I am here. I practice my relaxation breathing, and she gets to work with the lidocaine as the technician pours on the cold goo and presses her ultrasound wand up against me. Even though the surface of the skin has been numbed by the lidocaine, the interior of the affected area is not numb as the doctor uses a syringe to suck the living daylights out of each cyst, and then, with a sweeping motion, sucks up the membrane. I wind up writhing on the table with a cramp in my lower back as I am unable to stay relaxed. Somehow, the combination of hearing the following statements is interfering with my bliss:

"Your cysts are very well organized". Oh good.
"This needle is so bendy, I can't control it very well".
"I'm going to need a larger bore needle".

After about ten minutes of this tooth-gritting fun I get a couple of bandaids stuck on each side, am told to avoid aspirin for another day or so, and am free to go.