Spring Cleaning My Body

So, I finally, finally, finally scheduled that one doctor's visit that I was supposed to have, and didn't cancel it.  You know--that yearly checkup everyone's supposed to have.  I'd rescheduled it a few times in the winter time, because we were dealing with transportation issues that you do not want to know about.

Those issues were so bad I couldn't rely on myself to get anywhere extra, which meant anything besides work or church was probably out.  So, the doctor's visit came and went, came and went.  I called to cancel and reschedule, of course, until I was too embarrassed to reschedule.

Well, let me tell you, aging is not for the faint of heart either.  First of all, I went into that one appointment thinking I would get an A and left feeling like I had an F.  I exercise, quite a lot, and I eat pretty healthy, too, and get my sleep.  I'm counting on all of that effort to keep me healthy for decades to come.  Just look into the faces of my darling children, and you'll see one of my best reasons for this desire to live, and live well.

But, my discussion with my doctor left me cold--even though she admitted, "Your exercise is what's saving you."  She wanted me to change my healthy diet to a super healthy diet.  And she became quite grave over my family history.  Yes, my parents and two much older sisters have died, but I don't share their health issues.  Yes, there have been a few minor cases--and one major case--of cancer among my siblings. 

"It's a big family," I tried.  "When there are more people, more problems probably show up, because there are more people to get them."

"I have eleven siblings," my doctor countered, "and a huge extended family.  There's only been one case of cancer among all those people."

Well, that shut me up pretty good--thinking that in her opinion, my siblings are killing me.

So, secondly, that one appointment?  It's turned into twelve doctor appointments.  I kid you not.

Some of this, I expected.  I'm old enough to take part in the joy of some regular screenings, so that added two.  I had to come back for a blood test, so that made four.  My doctor wanted to biopsy something she saw.  And then, I got a call from the hospital letting me know I had apparently failed the mammo.

That's how I took it, anyway.  "Please call us to schedule more views."

More views?

Sounded like real estate, or a modeling position.  More views of . . .that?  Why?

 That's a fail, right?

I called right back.  "I'll come in today," I offered.

"Oh, no," they said, "We can't fit you in until. . ." and they gave me a date two weeks from then.  Two.  Whole.  Weeks.  In which to wonder why they needed more views.  Failing the mammo did not seem like it could be good.

"Well, can you tell me why?" They were vague.  Didn't shed any light on the subject at all.  This happened on a Thursday.

My husband tried to reassure me it was nothing.  "They wouldn't put you off for two weeks if it were serious," he reasoned.

"They deal with this all the time," I countered, panicking.  "They just can't care enough about one case to chase me down."

Friday, I was at home for an unrelated reason.  Even though all of us--five children and I, were near my cell phone all day, I somehow missed two calls from my doctor's office. "Please call back to discuss your blood work," the voice mail message said  Two.  Calls.  That day.  Two.  I also received a letter in the mail from the hospital, even though they'd reached me, telling me again to call and schedule "more views." 

Well, of course, I got those messages in the evening, after hours.  I started getting worried.  I've honestly been expecting three to five more decades out of this world, and I'd like to keep it that way.

So, I had the weekend to wait for any news, and it made me feel miserable.  Especially since I got another letter asking for more views the very next day.  "See? They are chasing me down--it is serious," I said.  That day found me at a funeral, and, as I listened to details about how another woman, about my age, had dwindled down to nothing in her living room, I glanced at my watch and saw it say quarter to twelve.  I thought, "I bet my doctor has Saturday hours until twelve."

The deceased's brother was detailing the deceased's life with a story representing each four-year period--and hadn't gotten very far.  I was sitting near a door.  I took a chance and made the call.  I was able to reach my doctor's nurse, and she told me about my blood work, which was all excellent, except for one vitamin deficiency.  She told me to pick up a vitamin supplement.  That, I felt I could do. Easy peasy.

I asked her about the failed mammo report, and she was able to put my fears on that point largely to rest with a couple of details that it seemed like the person on the phone could have supplied.  Or the writer of the two identical letters.  Don't they know any mystery in this kind of thing is going to scare people?

Because I lost my glasses walking between home and next door and could never find them, I added in an eye doctor appointment, and my dental cleaning came due, too.  I started feeling like all these doctors were spring cleaning my body, looking anywhere for some dust.

As one sibling had surgery to remove an organ that I'd also had screened in the past, that I ought to get that same thing checked out.  What sense would it make to check everything but that?  I looked up just exactly how far in the past, and it was 4.5 years.  I made the call to schedule yet another appointment.  "How often am I supposed to be getting this checked?" I asked, innocently.

"Every six to twelve months," the young, fresh voice on the phone said.

So, that turned into a need for another biopsy, too.

I'm mostly through this spring cleaning now, and, through all this dusting, sweeping, mopping, and flushing of the insides of my body, nothing too serious has been found, although I've still got two or three procedures coming up.

One of my biopsies was scheduled for the doctor's convenience at the fancy cancer center, which I've luckily never been to.  The receptionist asked me for a twenty-five dollar co-pay, but I told her I'd pay thirty, because I think the insurance card she was reading was old.  "Well, if not, it will go on the balance."

"There shouldn't be a balance," I said.

"For the future."

"I won't be here in the future," I said confidently.

She misunderstood.  "Oh, don't say that," she said, her voice shaking with sympathy.

"I mean I'm not planning to get cancer," I said, then realized, in a place like that, I'd probably just committed a huge faux pas.  But, what other point could there be to my submission to all this searching for dust in my insides than to not need to come back?

I had my yuckiest procedure yesterday, and I realized I don't think my parents ever went through this. They never scheduled tests just to make sure they were okay.  If they didn't have a symptom they couldn't handle at home, that was the only time they saw a doctor.  Sitting there freezing in a hospital gown with my stomach roiling, I thought maybe all of this isn't necessary.  Then I remembered, oh, yeah--my parents aren't here anymore.

On the "someday wish list" my doctor handed me, just to be thorough, are a trip to a dermatologist for a complete skin cancer scan, a consult with a podiatrist, and a possible heart scan which is supposed to tell me my risk of heart disease in the next ten years.  I can tell you that right now for free.  With my cholesterol and blood pressure at excellent levels and my heart getting as much cardio as it does, my risk for the next ten years is pretty much zero.  So, I'll be skipping that non-covered-by-insurance study.  And I had to almost laugh when my doctor suggested I pay $9000 for a genetic study to be done.  She may have that kind of extra cash, but, yeah, not I.  I'm not having any more children.

My children will have to schedule their own spring cleaning sessions when they hit a certain age.  I'll be here, so I'll remind them.