The result of my mammogram is that I'm fine, which is of course always good news. And yet I managed to be annoyed, angry, and in fact pretty f--ed up as a result of the whole experience. Go me.
But it's really much more of a sarcastic "Go them" because I am so so so pissed off at the "Breast Center", as it is known, at my local Big Teaching Hospital. I've been going there since about 1996, when my mother was diagnosed with the B.C., since it's the state of the art area facility. Back then it was a small clinic in the hospital, very cozy and warm and personalized. Over the years it's grown and gotten less and less pleasant to go to. So here's my morning:
I had an 8:30 appointment and instructions to arrive 15 minutes early. I got there at 8:10. When I told them I was hearing impaired and might not hear when they called me to come in, they looked annoyed. P.S., I didn't hear them mumble my name facing the wall from across the room, so they signalled to me as if I were a ship at sea. I had my first set of four films done at 9:00 and then I joined all the other robed cattle in the inside waiting room.
They called me for a second set of films -- generally an ominous sign, am I right, girls? -- at 9:30. I must point out that the woman taking the films was ACES. It was not terribly painful at all, maybe one out of the eight shots was an ouchie. The actual picture takers at this place are superb. She said it would be less than a half hour to hear the results of this second set.
At about 10:05, someone called me out of the waiting room and said that the mammogram was fine, but they were waiting for a room where I could see the doctor. Good, how long could that take?
At 11:00 -- yes, that's an hour and a half after the films were taken -- I got up and went to the desk and asked why I was still waiting. The best description of their response is snotty. Now I knew I had to be home by noon since the tile guy is coming for the bathroom, and it's not like I could just beam home, so I did have to get out of there at some point. I told them at the desk that I had another fifteen minutes and then I had to go. They were not only not sympathetic, they were ... snotty. I went back to the robed waiting room.
Where, about five minutes later, a very old lady, all stooped and kind of clueless looking, shuffled in, followed by a companion, probably her daughter, who told her where to sit, and the old lady moved in that direction. At which point I began to sob.
Yes. I'm the one who couldn't cry in therapy, for the most part, but I could not stay in that waiting room with the old woman. It was like watching my mother coming into the room and knowing that they couldn't do anything for her there because she was going to die from breast cancer. It was overpowering.
I left the room and stood crying in the hall for a minute, and then went back to the desk and told them that I had to get out of there, I couldn't take it anymore. One very kind person, whose entire job is probably to look after people having meltdowns, took me aside, put me in a room, was very very nice. I calmed down, but still had to wait for the doctor, maybe another ten minutes. Now, this is the doctor I've been seeing here for at least five years, and I've always found her to be very nice. She was not so nice today. I mean, she was pleasant, but you'd think she hadn't just seen me sobbing in the corrider, which she had; she'd made it clear that I was in her way out there. She probably didn't recognize me there, since I only see her once a year. But her assistant made it pretty damn clear that since my mammogram was fine I should be thanking them and my lucky stars and that anything else that might be going through my head was trivial, since I wasn't one of the people there in serious trouble. Yeah, I get it. I get that.
But damn. If you're working in a field like this, I think you've got to be sensitive to the whole range of what could transpire. I was totally unprepared for a whole Shirl/breast cancer flashback today, certainly not on the level at which it hit me. I could not stay in the room with that old woman.
Anyway, I'm okay now, although I'm still angry. I'm not upset like I was, just angry. Several years ago I had an incident there when I had to wait hours and hours, and I stopped going there for a couple of years and went to another hospital instead, but my gynecologist wanted me back here because it's the best facility in the area. I'm so tempted not to go back now. Maybe I'll just write a nasty letter. It's not as if I can complain to my doctor -- the breast doctor -- since she was part of the problem. Sheesh.
Okay, the tile guy is due any minute, and then I'm bringing up my sweaters from the basement. Nothing like a good day off from work, huh?
Good weekend, all.
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I'm watching Full House
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