What a boob ...

After my self-imposed "get over yourself and get your 5hit together" weekend, it was rather a let-down to have to start off my Monday with a hospital visit. I'd known for nearly a month that this was how I'd be starting my day, so it's not like it was a surprise or emergency visit. (When you're as grace-impaired as I am, hospital visits typically get filed under "e" for "emergency".) No, this was an appointment – a scheduled visit. Knowing that I will be turning 40 this year, recognizing that Cancer does marathon runs throughout my family, and figuring that I am owed a little good news for a change, I had my first mammogram.

So headsup – if you're a guy who is uncomfortable hearing about such things, or maybe you're just not a fan of boobs, you can leave now and I promise I won't be the least bit upset. I'll wait.
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Ok – we all alright now? Good.

So I arrive at the front desk to check in for my appt and am handed a form on a clipboard and told to have a seat. It's very early on a Monday morning, so I nicely ask "uh – you want me to fill out this form, right?" and realize that I will be the "dumb patient" this person talks about later when she is home. The form is basic enough – name, date, daytime phone number. Then the questions get a little more sinister. Recent surgery? Last mammogram? History of Cancer? I find myself taking a deep breath. I also realize that my hands are cold.

I'm escorted to a small changing room and given a gown to replace my top. Unlike most other hospital gowns, this one actually works. Then we head to the room and, for whatever reason, I'm officially nervous. Not because of the unknown aspect here … more like because of the familiar. This is JUST familiar enough for me to remember the first time I heard my name and "Cancer" in the same sentence.

I was alone that day, too. The difference then was that I WANTED to be alone. And after I heard what was going on inside my body – the internal war raging inside of my neck - I continued to want to be alone. After more than a year later, I owned up to what I'd gone through to my family and my friends. Some were surprised that I'd kept it to myself, some were angry and hurt, some stopped being friends with me because of it, and others just nodded and said "so you're ok now then, yes?" and we kept going.

I told about seven or eight folks that this appointment was coming up for me. I admitted that I was nervous … scared even … about it. And, while I consider myself a pretty good friend, a caring sister, an upfront daughter, no one asked if I wanted company. No one called me later to ask how things had gone. It may seem silly to you that I noticed this, but I will risk being called "silly".

It's now 12:50pm the next day. I've officially talked with everyone who knew this appointment was yesterday. I freely admit that we all have our lives, our families, our jobs, our tasks and our plans and schedules. I know that this was high ONLY on my radar. And I'm ok that no one has asked me how things went. But I'll tell ya' two things:
(1) My dearest friend Karin will have her first mammogram this year too and I will be calling her to arrange for lunch after her appointment.
(2) If I get crappy news next week, I'm sure as hell gonna tell people and ask for help.