Inferences of a Stressed Body

"She is hurting me," the breast said of the mammogram technician squishing it between clear plastic plates, trying to get a good picture of the pea sized lump positioned inconveniently close to the rib cage.
"I know, I know," soothed the supportive brain, "but we need some good pictures. You can tough it out, I know you can!"
"Yes, I know that too," replied the breast in its eerily soft, calm, plural voice, "She is just taking so many pictures, and it was already hurting from the the fingertips poking it so much."
"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry," the brain apologized, "It's not always easy to control those fingertips, though."
"We didn't mean to cause you discomfort," the fingertips said, "It is just difficult to not touch something that doesn't belong."
"I know," the breast replied calmly, "But it is not the pain that bothers me so much as the manner in which it hurts."
"Stop," the brain said sternly, "Just stop. Bob's dead."

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"Why is she starting on that side?" the breast asked of the ultrasound technician, "The lump is all the way on the other side."
"I don't know," answered the brain, "that doesn't even make any sense."

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"She sure is taking a long time with this," the brain said quietly.
"Yes, and I think she might be having a difficult time seeing it," said the breast.
"Are you having a hard time seeing it on the screen?" the mouth vocalized to the technician.
She looked at the eyes and answered, "I'm sorry, I can't answer that question."
"Why does she look like a deer in headlights?" the eyes said nervously.
"And why does she sound so nervous?" the ears demanded.
"It's alright, guys," the brain tried to soothe, "It's just that we put her on the spot. She didn't expect us to ask."

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"Alright. I'm going to go speak to the radiologist," the technician said to the eyes, "Wait right here." She stopped at the door and turned around and added, "The doctor might come in, just as a heads up," then left the room.
"What the hell?" said the brain.
"Ooooo.... We didn't like the look in those eyes," the eyes commented.
"Why did she say that?" questioned the ears.
"Shhh... just read the article," the brain said.

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"Ok, you're all done sweety," the technician popped her head in the room and announced ten minutes later, "Go ahead and get cleaned up and dressed. I'll be out here when you're done."
"Whew... see, it's fine," the brain said.
"Yeah, sure, fine..." the eyed and ears said simultaneously.
"Stop it!" the brain demanded.

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"We told you it felt familiar," the fingertips said to the brain on the way out of the hospital.
"Will you shut the hell up already? Jesus! It's probably just scar tissue," the brain responded angrily, "We don't even have any damn results yet!"
"It hurts the same," the breast chimed in, "And for the same reasons."
"What do you know about 'the same' since surgery? You're too fucked up to know how you feel," the brain insisted.
"You know better than that," the breast said, its eerily soft, plural voice not cracking, "I know you feel it too."
"Yeah, and you know somethin else?" they eyes demanded of the brain, "We don't need some damn results to tell us what the look on that technician's face meant."
"And we don't need em to tell us what that nervousness in her voice meant," the ears insisted.
"Alright... Look," the brain said more calmly, "we're all being a bit irrational here. We're seeing, hearing and feeling things that aren't there just because we're nervous. We all just need to play it cool and settle down. It could be just a cyst!"
The fingertips were angry at this suggestion, though, and yelled at the brain, "God damnit! We told you what we felt. Why won't you listen to us?"
"It is true," the breast added calmly, "it feels the same. I remember."
"Fine. Think what you like. But would you all please do me one favor?" the brain asked, "Could you all please just SHUT THE FUCK UP until we get the results? You're giving me a SERIOUS headache!"