Today, I went to the breast center for an ultrasound on the ol’ boob.
Best day ever!
I went because, well, the section of my right breast where all the action is (read: lumpectomies, cysts, general bad behavior) is more painful that usual. My doctor wasn’t overly concerned, and I wasn’t until last night. Then, my dark little imagination went absolutely wild with fantasies that basically all ended with me having a very rare, “Alien”-like cancer that would surely spell death and destruction for all womankind.
Imagination is awesome!
But I went today, and I forgot the doctor’s order. I called My Guy in a panic from the hospital parking lot, and he was poised to somehow Batsignal it across the sky to the breast center. But they had the order, so it was fine.
And then the lady in the office said, “Your last mammogram was last February. You need another mammogram.”
And I said, “I think my last mammogram was September 2012.”
And she was all, “I think you need a mammogram.”
And then I was all, “I’M ONLY 38! CAN’T YOU TELL BY MY LUMINOUS, SUNSCREEN-PROTECTED SKIN? BACK OFF, BITCH!”
And then it turns out that she was looking at the wrong file because I have a fairly common name, and I decided not to kill her because I didn’t want to break a nail.
But it made me angry. For the gajillionth time: This is not fair. I’m only 38. I’ve already had 3 or 4 mammograms. I’ve had 2 lumpectomies. I’ve had so many cyst aspirations that I’ve lost count. And today, the next-to-the-last day of the month? The tech told me that I won “Biggest Cyst of the Month.” Which actually made me laugh.
The tech. Oh, I love her. She makes everything OK. And everything is OK – the cysts are all cystacular, and I can have them aspirated if I want, but there’s no desperate medical reason to be jamming needles into my boob.
I have a tiny bit of a cold, and it’s making me feel like no human has ever suffered the way I’m suffering. Add in some boobtacular fun, and I have a full-blown “poor meeeeee” going on.
Except … that I’ve left the breast center before and cried in my car. I’ve been in those chilly rooms where the doctor has come in to talk to me about my options. Today was a piece of cake, and a total blessing.
I hate that I’m supposed to be thankful for this.
I hate that the way the other lady in the waiting room looked at me when the nurse verified that I didn’t need to remove my deodorant because I wasn’t getting a mammogram, but something else – something probably way serious and horrible.
I hate that the lady in the office didn’t apologize for sounding the fake alarm about my need for a mammogram.
I hate being a very special case, like I’m going to guest on a very special episode of “Blossom” and then never be heard from again because nobody wants to be reminded week in and week out of a very special case. We all want to believe that everything is fine.
I want to believe that everything is fine. And today, it is. And for that, I should be delighted.