It Began with a Routine Mammogram

It Began with a Routine Mammogram November 19, 2015

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Roswell Park https://www.flickr.com/photos/roswellpark/
Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Roswell Park https://www.flickr.com/photos/roswellpark/

Several Public Catholic readers remarked on the fact that I went silent last week. Truth was, I just got overwhelmed and needed a time out. I promised you I’d write an explanation. A post I wrote for the National Catholic Register, covers a lot of what is happening with me.

Here’s part of what I said:

It started as a routine mammogram.

I re-scheduled it several times for various trivial reasons, not the least of which is that I don’t like going to the doctor. I never did like going to doctors all that much, but since I spend a huge portion of my life dealing with my 90-year-old mother’s medical care, I like it even less.

I guess it would be safe to say that I’ve got medical care exhaustion. In fact, I’ve got care exhaustion. In fact, I’m just plain tired.

So I put the mammogram off. I scheduled and re-scheduled and dithered and delayed. I thought it was a bother and a waste of time and that there was no real reason for it since it would be negative on all counts.

I was bored and bothered throughout the whole uncomfortable deal when I finally made it in for the mammogram. I left the place happy that it was over and I wouldn’t have to do it again. The lady who took the x-rays emphasized that I needed to come in every year. But I had no intention of going through that again next year. A few years would do. Who knew when I’d be back.

It turns out that I was back in a week. I almost didn’t take the call. It was a number I didn’t recognize, and I was, as usual, busy, busy. Butt after thinking about ignoring it, I picked up the phone and clicked. Long story short, there was a problem. A couple of days later, I was back.

It wasn’t a quick exam, and it was, in fact, oddly impersonal. The doc and the tech kept going over the spot with the ultrasound, bearing down hard, and talking to one another. I wasn’t involved. I was sore for days afterwards from all the poking.

I should have known something was up, just by their intensity, by the 45 minutes (I looked at my watch) that they spent staring at the screen and talking about my body. But I continued down la-la road.

 

Read more: http://www.ncregister.com/blog/rhamilton/thoughts-from-the-foot-of-the-cross/#ixzz3rxL0yYE9

 

 


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