I really need to scream right now...

You know that famous piece of art called The Scream by Edvard Munch? That is exactly what I look like inside my head. And if it would not frighten the neighbors, I would really be screaming right now. I am that frustrated.

I got a call back from Susan, the breast health case manager at the Mar Monte Planned Parenthood in Sunnyvale. She called to get a local address to send my mammogram appointment information to. (I had written down my mailing address and it is about 550 miles away. Not exactly local.) After explaining to her that I travel frequently and did not know where I would be between now and the appointment, but I would most certainly be in town for the appointment, (whenever that was) we decided that I would give her a local address that forward the information to me if need be.

I asked Susan how long it would be before I would get to be seen for the Mammogram and Ultrasound. (So I could continue to make sure that I was indeed in town.)

"It is just a Mammogram", she said.

"It is supposed to be for a Mammogram and an Ultrasound", I told her. "That is what the Doctor said."

Susan said that she had me listed for a Diagnostic Mammogram.

(What? I am 34 years old. Which in breast cancer years is practically infantile. My breasts are dense. They are huge. They defy gravity. Every medical professional I have ever seen has advised for an Ultrasound to go with the less than definitive Mammogram.)

"Fine. Any idea how soon I might be able to get that done?", I asked.

"Well it takes a few months for a regular Mammogram, but since you have an existing lump it may only be a couple of weeks. But I can't really say."

When I asked Susan if I was able to finance the tests another way, like through a credit card? (Or perhaps by picking dollar bills off of the money tree that I keep hidden in my closet, or the Leprechaun and his pot of gold that I keep stashed away in my sock drawer... I thought it, but refrained from saying it...) How long would it take to get a test then? Could I be seen right away? She really could not say about that either. She had no information on Mammograms that were outside of the Patsur Program.

I thanked her and we hung up. (And this was the same Susan that was so helpful when I called to get an appointment in the first place. Perhaps she is having an off day. Perhaps she found out just before my last call that she won an all-expense trip to Paris and was happy to help. But today's version of Susan was less than happy to help. And she was less than helpful. But I remained polite. After all this woman holds the fate of my breasts and my life in her hands. That is, unless I can locate someplace else to get a Mammogram and an Ultrasound.)

So I am ready to scream. I have never been so frustrated in my life. After this, if I am still alive and able to have kids, I will make a great parent. I will have the patience of Job, or a Buddhist Monk, or the Dali Lama, or Mother Teresa. (Though I bet at least Mother Teresa felt her patience tried. Have you seen the look in her eyes in some of those photos? I would be willing to stake my life on it that Mother Teresa wondered to herself "why?" at least once or twice. And if she didn't, then I would not be any worse off than I am right now. Waiting with my life in limbo.)

I want to go to Japan. I saw a thing on TV once about how in Japan, business men pay $20.00 for a plate, just so that they can throw it down this deep hole in the floor and watch it break into a million pieces. I bet that felt good. (I would throw my phone, but I need that. Someone else may call to tell me that I have even longer to wait before getting a Mammogram. You never know...)

What I don't get, is that I have a lump. A big lump. An ugly, scary, "suspicious" lump that you can feel even if you have never done a breast exam in your life. Really, it is that big. Apricot pits envy the size of my lump. And I can't get a Mammogram to save my life. (Now that's funny. Sick, twisted, and darkly funny. I may never use that phrase again. Puts things into perspective. "I can't get a Mammogram to save my life" is horrifying and possibly accurate. I can't get a good cup of coffee in this town to safe my life" is just insensitive, shallow, and rather melodramatic.)

Truthfully, I really don't know where to go from here. I am not admitting defeat. But right now, I just don't know what else to do, what rock to go looking under next, who to contact that I have not already, or what happens next.

Damn. There goes the anger and here comes the tears. (I'd ask for a tissue, but I think I would run the risk of being told no for some asinine reason. Like women under the age of 40 don't shed tears, so there is no need for you to waste a tissue on tears that can't possibly be streaming down your face, even though a blind man could reach over and confirm that yes, indeed, your cheeks are unexplainably wet... Horrible run on sentence, I know. But you get the point.) At least I still have my sense of humor... I guess it's not that bad after all...