This week I have a rather anticlimactic story to tell. But it does end with a moral, so I hope you’ll read it. It’s about my mammogram. (Okay. If you’re a guy you don’t have to read it.)
I had my first mammogram about 10 years ago. I was rather young to be getting mammograms, but I felt a lump once, and although it turned out to be nothing (as most lumps do) the doctor felt I should get mammograms yearly after that. So, being the good little patient that I am, I obey my doctor’s orders and get smooshed 4 times a year, 2 smooshes per boob.
The first couple of years mammograms didn’t bother me much at all. Sure, they were a little embarrassing, but the lady who did them in Sleepy Eye was so super nice and gentle I didn’t mind at all. Then we moved to New Ulm. That’s when I started disliking, and eventually hating mammograms.
The first thing that bothered me was the waiting. You check in at one desk, wait for them to call your name, go down a long hallway to a changing room, change into the smock they provide, and sit and wait again for them to come get you. I’m not a very good waiter, and it all seemed rather unnecessary.
The next thing I didn’t like is the way the techs in New Ulm smoosh you in one swift move. Not little by little like the sweet lady in Sleepy Eye. The first time I had it done like that it sucked the breathe right out of me and scared me half to death. Each year after that I hoped it would be different, but it never was. I left disgusted every time.
Perhaps you’re wondering why I didn’t say anything. I thought about it. I composed several letters in my head, but none of them ever got sent. I guess I’m not a complainer. Well, not to strangers anyway. And really, there wasn’t much to complain about. I just missed the sweet lady in Sleepy Eye and her gentle ways. Sure my little yearly smooshing had turned into borderline torture, but I’m not a baby. I can take it.
Then came 2010 – the worst year yet. Squeeze here, squeeze there…and on the fourth squeeze, I was sure they pinched me. I mean it hurt! I probably should have said something then, but I just wanted to get out of there. So as soon as she gave me the go ahead, I put my shirt back on and headed home, ready to put the entire experience behind me for one more year.
Unfortunately, a few days later I got a call. The radiologist saw something and I needed to come back for a retest.
A few days later I dragged myself back, pasted a smile on my face, and got squeezed a couple more times. Then more waiting (erg), and finally a lady came and sat down beside me to tell me the good news. There’s no reason for concern. What they saw on the first mammogram was “skin on skin.” (Yeah. I knew that. They pinched me!) So, I smiled and thanked them and walked home, grumbling to myself the entire way.
But my ordeal wasn’t over. A few weeks later the bill arrived. They billed us for the second mammogram; $411.00! I called and complained, but to no avail. Insurance only covers one mammography a year. Additional tests are the responsibility of the insured. This last turn of events unnerved me. $411.00 to be pinched.
Fast forward to last month. I had my yearly check up as usual, and, as usual, the doctor ordered a mammogram for me. I tried to talk him out of it, but he would have none of that. So I smiled and made my appointment like a good little patient. A few days before my scheduled torture session I was telling my story to a few friends. They gave me this advice: “You should say something.”
They were right. It was time to say something; not to friends and family, but to the person doing the mammogram. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I was afraid if I complained they’d think I was a ___ (you know, the “B” word) and smoosh me even faster! It could happen. To be completely honest, I was afraid to be anything other than nice. But maybe if I could put it nicely…
For the next several days I rehearsed my speech. But no matter how sweet I started, by the end I always ended up shouting: “…and they billed us for the second mammogram!”
Well, here’s where my story gets pretty boring. The day of my appointment I checked in, waited for only a minute or two, was taken directly to the room where the mammograms are done (they don’t take you to that second room anymore I was told), changed behind a curtain, said a quick prayer, told the tech my story in unexpected politeness, got my 4 smooshes done nice and gentle, was thanked by the tech for telling her about my concerns, and went home.
End of story.
Well, almost the end. A few days later I got my letter, “Dear Ms. Scharlemann: We are pleased to inform you that the result of your recent breast examination is normal/benign (not cancer), “ Yada, yada, yada.
The moral of the story: Voice your concern to those it concerns, all other complaints are folly.
THE END
No comments:
Post a Comment