When I finally saw my own doctor, she agreed with my diagnosis of gastritis, sent me for more bloodwork, and also ordered an ultrasound because she was worried there might be some gallbladder involvement. Thank god she did.
I was very tired and almost fell asleep during the abdominal ultrasound. The technician was sweet and funny. She was from sub-Saharan Africa (I can’t remember if she told me which country), and we had a cheerful discussion about the meaning of “pants” because she had told me to take off my pants, and I wasn’t sure if she meant underwear or trousers, since pants has different meanings in American English vs. British English (she meant trousers). Hers was a very soothing presence, and the room was dark while she worked. I felt myself nodding off. But as soon as she was done, and the lights were back on, I could tell from the look on her face that something was wrong. She didn’t say anything, she just looked down, and didn’t seem to want to meet my eyes. And I didn’t ask, since technicians aren’t supposed to express their interpretations of the ultrasound data, though many do if they are confident that nothing noteworthy was found. But it was at that moment that I started to worry.
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