Raven over at "Look Into My..." can take a rant break today because I have a rant that'll make her seem like Mother Theresa.
First of all, it's been raining so hard it's flooding all over the entire county. Roads are washed over, my lawn is like a rice paddy and it's dark outside like it's 10 p.m.
So, of course, I had a second mammography appointment scheduled today, after the doctor saw "something suspicious" in Lefty two weeks ago.
So I slog through 3 inches of rain-per-hour to the hospital, go in, present Lefty to the mammo matron, and she decides to squeeze it so hard I looked like Pamela Anderson, at least from the top view.
After three poses and way too much squeezing, she tells me to stay in my gown until the doc gets to look at my new mammos.
So, I go out to the waiting room and sit next to an old lady who's partially deaf, and talks to me REAL LOUD about her one-breast mastectomy and her lung cancer on the other side of her torso. Oy, I was cringing.
I was expecting the mammo matron to come out and say, "Okay, Karen you can go."
Instead, another staff comes out and asks me to come with her.
She asked how I was and I said, "You tell me."
So she tells me I need an immediate ultrasound. I would have felt immediately doomed, except she was gorgeous, had a soft Dublin brogue, eyes of Windex blue and gorgeous chestnut colored hair.
Even her Gaelic babealiciousness could not brighten what happened next, however.
The radiologists doing the ultrasound were doing a lot of hmms and rubbing their chins when they scoped out the mass in Lefty.
Six months ago, my mammo showed a little H shaped squiggle. Now it shows a little hand shaped squiggle with the fingers longer than they should be.
So now I have to have a fucking biopsy in two weeks.
I had uterine cancer last year and solved that by having a radical hysterectomy. No chemo, no radiation, just snip, clip and cure.
Trouble is, once you have cancer, it's hard not to wonder if it'll ever be back.
So now I am pissed off at Lefty, wondering what she thinks she's doing making me worry like this. It may be nothing, of course. But, being almost Jewish in temperament, it could be something BAD.
If I have cancer again, I am going to be one cranky bitch.
Get your mammos scheduled, ladies.
Get your prostate exams scheduled, gentlemen.
Cancer is the rudest, most intrusive, harpy fucking bitch ever.
I know I can kick her ass, I just don't want to keep having to prove it.