27.JUNE.00
Results
Six AM
wake up in order to make it to my eight AM appointment this morning
to have the further mammogram views taken, have them compared with some
old films and find out the final results.
Beautiful
morning, too. So nice, that I think I ought to become a morning person
and get up this early every day to join all the people exercising in
the park across the street from my apartment.
Probably
didn't really need any coffee this morning since I am plenty hyped without
it, but I take it anyhow, and off we go. My spouse comes along in case
there's going to be bad news.
Arrive
at the radiologists in plenty of time. Of course the person who told
me to ask for her to help expedite this matter is not there, so I register
and commence to wait some more. Under the circumstances, even an additional
half hour is too much. Finally, at the point where I am about to go
ballistic again, they call me.
I don the
requisite hospital gown and go to another room to wait some more. I
don't know what they could be thinking when they planned this room.
They have a bunch of women clad in flimsy little hospital gown tops
and they have us sitting in an air conditioned room freezing our butts
off while we wait. They have about ten out of date magazines and some
really lame household hints tape running on the TV. Right in the middle
of the tape, the sound begins to slow down until everyone sounds like
Linda Blair when she was possessed in The Exorcist. The nurse comes
in once to call someone, and asks, "Has that tape been sounding like
that all this time."
"No it
just started," we chorus.
She shrugs
and leaves and the tape just keeps droning on.
Finally,
they call my name and I go with the technician.
When I
see the films that they are concerned about, I nearly fall in my tracks.
I know nothing about mammograms and I cannot read them, but I see what
looks like a white area about the size of a quarter screaming out from
the film. Until that moment, I thought that this would turn out to be
nothing. I brought in my old films from a previous mammogram. At that
time they had indicated something which turned out to be insignificant.
I had followed all necessary steps then, finally to be assured by a
surgeon that it was nothing. Because of that I had almost convinced
myself that that would again be the result. When I see that white area,
I lose all conviction.
I swallow
hard and step up to the machine. She places the indicator, shoves me
into the machine and begins the squashing. This is a painful procedure,
no doubt about it. Think of putting your breast under the automatic
garage door between two bricks and closing it on top of it to squash
it flat...seriously...it's true. If men had to have this procedure,
I am convinced that better methods would have been found long ago.
Views are
done and I am sent back to the freezing chamber where the fugitives
from The Exorcist are still droning on. What were they thinking? Why
would anyone in this room care about this tape. I have my own ways of
disassociating, I really don't need the help of someone giving me great
tips about how to clean a lawn mower. All the women here are uncommunicative.
I think this room is just for people who have returned for further views,
so none of them are thinking of small talk, I'm certain. I feel tears
welling up in my eyes and think I must regain control, so I start to
watch the stupid tape...I don't even have a yard, let alone a lawn mower.
Finally
the doctor calls my name and I go out into the hall. There is no office
just a hall...and he tells me that the news is good, that I have nothing
to worry about. I question him about the giant white spot. He replies
that it was a magnification view. I ask if he is 100% on this. He says
that no one is 100% but he'd go 99%. I question some more and he starts
to get defensive. Doctors don't like to be questioned. And he is surprised
to learn that I was not informed to return for six months. This makes
him even more defensive. But he assures me that it is exactly the same
as in the older views, there has been no change at all for the past
five years. I decide to accept it. If I feel uncertain later I can always
get a second opinion.
In my haste
to get out of there, I start to walk out into the waiting room wearing
the little gown. He reminds me and I go change and leave.
I tell
my spouse the good news. We are happy with the great finding, so we
decide it's our lucky day; and that, with this stroke of luck, we are
unlikely to hope for any great finds in the thrift stores so we head
on home without stopping.
It takes
a while for it all to sink in, really, the edges of the anxiety are
still very much with me. We decide to go to one of our favorite little
restaurants for Swedish pancakes to celebrate. As I eat my pancakes
I can actually begin to almost physically feel the shroud of fear slowly
slipping from my shoulders.
Still a
little hyped and still a little angry, I make plans to write everyone
involved and go through he process of finding new doctors and a new
hospital and to arrange to follow through more carefully on my own health
care issues. I dread all of that change, but there is no way I will
ever feel confident staying where I am. I feel like telling strangers
in the street that I am OK. I tell my family and friends.
I spend
the rest of the day trying to get organized and finish some work, but
I just can't concentrate.
I want
to celebrate or something. Instead we go out and I eat a great big high-fat
cheeseburger and some fries, fried onion rings and a Coke, at one of
the places where we used to go a lot when we first met. When I'm through,
I feel almost comatose, so I go home to sleep. What a day.