In the clinic, the technician asks me to pull my hair aside and point to the location. He touches the bump, a firm rounded growth behind my right ear.

“Have you always had this?” the massage therapist asked when he was working on my head and neck several months ago. “You should probably have it checked out.”

I’d known it was there and growing but wasn’t bothered enough to care.

When I showed it to my doctor, her face shifted to concern. The aspect that I hadn’t considered is that it might be growing on the inside too. What if it’s an iceberg, and the part on the outside is only a fraction of the whole?

The tech positions me in front of the panel, adjusting the angle of my head so that the correct angle is captured in the image. It reminds me of ballet class, where the instructor moves your joints like a little wooden artist's model, and suddenly you feel graceful in your perfectly angled position.

When the tech leaves the room, I feel so very alone. In the dim light, I hold my position, my head angled just so. I wonder if this is the start of an endless series of appointments.

It’s probably nothing, I tell myself.