Yesterday, I learned something about myself. I learned that if I really want something, I don’t let anything get in my way. I honestly didn’t know that I could be such a driven person. If I look back on all things that I have wanted and gotten it all makes a lot of sense. I guess it took me spending a whole day traipsing the halls of a medical building to acknowledge this personality trait.
In order for me to have my BOOB surgery, I have to jump through a few hoops. Two important hoops were a mammogram and a letter from my doctor to say that I’m in good enough physical health to undergo surgery. I needed to obtain this note from my primary physician. I have no insurance, therefore I avoid doctors more than I should. There is no primary physician for me. The only doctor(s) that I have seen on a regular basis have been my OB/GYN. I figured that would be a good place for me to start to get that stupid note. The doctor that delivered Pixie and Sprite was on vacation so I had to make an appointment with a doctor I’d never meet before. I hate that!!! You just never know who you’re going to get. I think I’ve seen about 6 different doctors from this practice already and now I get to meet another one, during my womanly annual visit, GAH! I was also “lucky” enough to get a mammogram opening that same day right after my doctor’s visit.
I started the day dropping the kids off at my parents. Fish had told me that it was fine for them to stay home with him, but he’s been really busy with work and I knew my parents could keep them entertained a little more during the day. On my way back home from my parents’, I realized I had forgotten the address to the doc’s (they moved since my last visit THREE years ago, eep) so I dropped by home to get the information I needed. When I walked into the kitchen there was a HUGE wine basket on the table. Apparently, Fish’s boss wanted to treat Fish for working so hard the past couple of weeks. How cool is that? I’m not lying when I say I needed that wine by the end of the day.
Address in hand, I left for the doc’s office. Of course, I waited and waited and waited. I knew that I would run late for the mammogram, but I wasn’t too worried as that was in the same building and the offices were affiliated with each other. Let me take an aside to address the discomfort of being a CASH PATIENT. The receptionists’ reactions to this is much like a stuffy host at a restaurant when you tell them you’re dining alone. They always gasp and then ask me, “You do know how much this will cost, right?” It’s really awkward and I always wish I had a card with me that read something like, “Hi my name is Madge, I am a *shudder* CASH PATIENT. Please do not make me feel uncomfortable. I’m paying you cold hard cash and I’m not even make you haggle with an insurance company for it. You should be thanking me. The End.” What bothers me the most about the whole situation is that I am NOT asking for a handout and I am more than willing to pay for the services rendered, with nary a protest nor haggle. I’d love to have insurance, but at this moment, insurance does not love me and rejects me any chance it can get.
A nurse calls my name, takes me to the exam room, tells me to put a hospital gown on backwards and the doc will be in soon. OH MY GOD, that gown! It took me forever to get it into a position that would keep my BOOBS from sticking out all over the place. Good thing I had what seemed like another hour, for the doc to show up. Suddenly the door swings open as I hear, “I’m sure this is the last place you’d like to be today!” coming from a short man who bears a strong resemblance to J.K. Simmons with glasses. He asks me how I’m doing and I tell him I’m fine and that in addition to my exam, I need a note from him telling my surgeon that I am OK for surgery. He told me no. It was a nice no, but NO. BALLZ! I felt like running from that freakin’ room with that stupid gown fluttering around but not covering my BOOBS. He explained that he basically wasn’t going to be the fall guy if something went awry and that my surgeon is a big girl who needs to make that decision on her own. He kept referring to me as “kiddo” and was very likable and animated, so I wasn’t exactly mad at him. I spent the whole exam trying to figure out how to get that stupid note….
Yes, this is a cliffhanger, I’ve spent entirely too much time discussing my boobs today. I need to pace myself, there will be more tomorrow. I promise the story won’t end with “be sure to drink your Ovaltine” or the buying of a house.