Surely This Shouldn't Cost $300

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.