My Friday

The one bad thing about not working on Fridays (and yes, I’ll just sit here and wait until you stop cursing me out for bitching about only working 4 days a week and now complaining about it) is that I tend to schedule all manner of doctor appointments, housing repair and other crap I can’t do during the week on my official day off.

Warning, you are about to read about my mammogram. If you actually know me and won’t be able to look me in the face without laughing, or staring at my chest, leave now.

So, of course, friday I was back at the Mammogram place because I got a very nice letter from them saying they wanted to look at something closer. Frankly, after the last squishing I have no idea how they could look at something closer without totally flattening things that aren’t meant to be flattened, but whatever, gotta get these things checked out.

I happen to like the place I go to, because it resembles a very quiet spa atmosphere, low lights, comfy chairs, magazines that aren’t 10 years old. They even have a very convenient step-by-step pictorial about how you’re suppose to put on the very comfy “shirts” specifically for easy slapping out of whatever needs to be filmed. The only problem was that I was either severely undercaffinated or the sick, twisted idiot that sewed the little color coded tie thingies was fucking with me. No amount of matching little tie strings made that thing tie right, so I totally went on instinct (especially when the nurse asked if I needed some assistance... oh yeah, there’s a bright moment in my life, having someone tie up my stupid mammo shirt for me), and fled the dressing room with it wrapped semi-securely totally expecting it to fling open the moment I sat down.

While I waited I played mah jong on my iPhone and if anyone sat next to me, I’d turn to them and say convincingly “Oh my, that’s a really cool shirt! Where did you get it?” This typically left me with a two chair buffer, which was fine with me because hey... before these things you aren’t suppose to use deodorant and who wants to sit near someone like that.

Finally get called and saunter into the cold room of large machines. The technician apparently learned her craft at the Guantanamo Bay interrogation school for mammographers because as she’s squishing me with hard plastic plates she’s all:

Squisher: Are those Doc Martins? I love Doc Martins, where did you get them?

Me: MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLL

Squisher: Recently? Can you tell me how much you spent?

Me: A month aGOOOOOOOOOOOOO... ON SAAAAAALLLLLEEEEEEEEE

I was expecting her to ask me if it was safe, and if you don’t get that reference... go here, rent it, you’ll never go back to a dentist, you’ll just let your teeth rot in your mouth and fall out.

Ok, so I go back and sit down while someone reads the “film” only to be told after 20 minutes that I needed to have an ultrasound, because they needed a clearer picture. Oh, but the ultrasound people are at lunch, so come back at 1pm. First of all, why didn’t they just do a freakin ultrasound to begin with and just get it over with because they knew EXACTLY what they needed to look at again (sick bastards just love to squish), and secondly... I’M GOING TO RANGE AT 1PM, SO BITE ME!!! ok, I didn’t say that, I actually said that I have a previous engagement, which made me sound more like I was going to tea with a visiting queen and not shooting a deadly weapon at paper targets, which might have made them a bit... apprehensive about squishing me again, so maybe that’s what I should have said. Ok, then come back at 3pm. Heaving sigh, FINE!

Off to the range for some 9mm therapy, then run back home to drop off range bag, race to the stupid radiology place, grabbing one of those hearty Lunchable things to eat while I drove and plopped myself back in the stupid shirt thing for a 45 minute freakin wait.

During my wait I got to experience Ms. I Can’t Stand To Wait. She came in, argued about what order her procedures would be, argued about the smock, argued about the temperature of the room, and finally screeched that she “just can’t stand to wait” when she was told that Ultra Sound was backed up. I smirked because I came in before Ms. ICSTW so I’d be going before her. My smirk was short-lived because Ms. ICSTW sat, squirmed, moaned, groaned, bitched and made all sorts of noises to let everyone within a 20 mile radius know that she was “uncomfortable”. I wanted to stand up and scream ‘JUST FREAKIN TAKE HER IN NOW SO WE DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO HER ANYMORE“... but that would have just rewarded her for being a bitch, so I merely laughed loudly when they called me back before her.

Small dark room, bed, lots of equipment and lube... the only thing missing was that Bow Chika Bow Bow music and some stirrups. The technician used enough goop to lube up a menopausal elephant, punched buttons, frowned, made some clucking noises, and generally made me feel like I had a conjoined twin growing in the left boob, or worse. She jotted some things down on some paper and left the room after handing me a towel... but no cigarette.

Moments later a doctor came in and announced that I had tiny cyst clusters. Duh, you mean the same tiny cyst clusters I’ve had for every year, but I have to come back for multiple squishing and gooping? You don’t say! Doctor continued by saying that I could get rid of them by cutting down on caffeine. After she gave me some oxygen because I was laughing so hard I nearly retched, she also suggested taking Vitamin E because that helps get rid of them sometime. Of course I heard ”instead of cutting down on Starbucks, take Vitamin E“ so I agreed that I would drive right to the store after I got my venti latte and get some of that. She also suggested I come back in 6 months for a recheck... yeah, let me whip out my iPhone and make that appointment right now... not.

Frankly, I’m very cysty anyway. Two in the wrist (who I’ve named Oliver), and one in another un-named area (who my friend [who shall remain nameless, so I’ll call her Icky] named Larry), and now these, who I feel compelled to name... any suggestions?

Tomorrow: My observations of mall people as I sat sipping my Iced venti 2 pump mocha without vitamin E while I waited on hubby to get off work.