Evacuation

The nursing assistant starts closing my dressing room door and then stops. That's the fire alarm, she says. We have to evacuate the building. She places my health form upside down on her desk and guides me to the escape stairwell. Others quickly follow. Probably a drill, she says. If fire trucks pull up, then it's real. Some of the women are wearing robes as if they're at a spa. Like me, they're here for mammograms. Folded blankets over their shoulders help fight the temperature outside. Four degrees even when sunny is cold. My winter coat works well, but the nursing assistant has nothing extra covering her uniform so we stand between the double doors where there's heat. A necklace of sparkling pink breast cancer ribbon beads holds her name badge. We wait along side a mother, baby, and grandmother, who, moments before was in the lounge bouncing the grand baby on her lap.  The alarm quiets and we take the elevators upstairs. The mammogram procedure is uncomfortable, but painless. My robe keeps me warm throughout.