I got a phone call yesterday from the hospital informing me
that “your scheduled mammogram tomorrow will cost $300 since we are in
negotiations with your insurance company right now.” I cancelled the appointment. No need to pay $300 for something I didn’t
want to do anyway. Unfortunately (or
fortunately?) they called me back after lunch and said they had worked out
their differences and my insurance would cover it after all. So, this morning I went to do that thing we girls
do that we never want to do but do anyway because we were told we should if we
care anything at all about our loved ones.
“Hi, I’m Kelli, I’ll be doing your mammogram this morning.
What is your first name?”
“Cathy”, I replied.
“And what is your date of birth?” She smiles at me and seems way too chipper
for this early in the morning.
“5/24/66”
“Okay great!” She
shuffles my two pieces of paperwork around and then turns to me and says, “Are
you on your way to work this morning?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh? Where do you work?”
I tell her the unremarkable information and then she looks me straight in the
face and says without missing a beat and without acting like she had already
asked, “What is your first name?” I hesitate a little before I answer, “Cathy” again.
And then she says, “What is your date of birth?” She is still smiling at me brightly when I
repeat the already offered information and she continues shuffling those two pieces
of paper back and forth. I’m a little
concerned that Kelli might not be paying really close attention to what she’s
doing, but hey…whatever. It’s early.
She positions me against the cold machine and tugs and pulls
and smiles like she’s having fun and it should be fun for me too. “You’ve done this before. I can tell,” she
remarks. I’m wondering how she can
tell. Could it be the atrocious misshapen
pieces of me that give me away or is it because I know which way she wants me
to turn before she turns me? I say, “Yes, several times. I
think when you get old like me they make you do it every year, so I’ve done it
few times.” She tilts her head and looks
at me like my dog looks at me when he's concentrating, “Oh, I wouldn’t say old. I’d say,
OLDER.” (WHAT EVER Kelli. Can’t you tell
when a person is trying to get you to say they are NOT old? This girl is obviously hopeless).
She walks away from me to push a button and suddenly
without warning says, “DON’T BREATHE ANYMORE!”
I have to tell you that I was unprepared.
I stopped breathing but the wait I had to endure before I could take my
next breath was a little uncomfortable.
I’d be on my toes the next time because I could tell Kelli wasn’t nearly as
sweet and light as she seemed at first.
When she came back to reposition me I was close to tears when the
machine finally stopped smashing me. She
walked away and I heard the familiar, “DON’T BREATHE ANYMORE!” This time I was ready. Then came the sweet relief of that
monstrosity of a machine letting me go.
When I was back in the dressing room getting myself together
to leave, my elbow accidentally hit the nurse emergency call button on the wall
beside me. It lit up like a Christmas
tree and I felt so stupid. Nobody came
right away, but as I walked out, Kelli rushed into the waiting area. I said, “Oh, it was me! I’m sorry! My elbow
hit the button and I didn’t know how to turn it off”. Kelli seemed a little scattered as she checked
frantically behind every dressing area curtain, I suppose looking for someone
who had fallen and couldn’t get up. Did I
not JUST tell her it was me? And did the red light flashing over the dressing
area door that I was in not give away WHICH room said emergency was happening
in? She seemed a little distressed and
maybe even a tad miffed as she passed by me to walk back out the door to her
exam room. As she walked past, I put my
hand up toward her and waved it off and said, “Oh Kelli, I was just trying to
get you back for all that stuff you just did”.
I just laughed and laughed, but she didn’t. Some people.
Clueless.
