Total Relief

I woke up today with the realization that my oncologist appointment had finally arrived.  I was scheduled for a mammogram and ultrasound to check out my scar that had drastically changed in the last four months.  In the last few days my Bipolar had swung me in a downslide and I was patiently waiting for life to give me a break.

I got dressed, treated myself to McDonalds and went to my appointment.  I arrived at Strong Hospital at 10:00.  I walked the familiar path to the Wilmont Cancer Center.  I checked in and waited.                  

"Ms. Bellare?"

"Yes?"

"Come with me."

I followed the girl to the dressing room as she continued saying her practiced speech while she put on the hospital bracelet, "This is your gown. Did you put deodorant on today?"  Darn.  I took the wipes and got ready.

I could go on an on about getting squeezed and all that but it really isn't that bad.  No big deal.  The technicians took four pictures total and told me to wait while the radiologist looked at the pictures.  I knew that if he wanted more pictures I was in trouble. 

"Ms. Bellare, you are all set.  I will show you to the ultrasound room."  So far so good.  I sat on the ultrasound table and read my book.  This really nice woman came in and explained the procedure.  Again, no big deal.  I couldn't look at the ultrasound screen because it all looked like lumps to me.  She left the room to talk to the radiologist and came back, "You are all set.  The radiologist said that if you are concerned about the blotches on the scar you can go see a dermatologist."  My reply as I smile, "That’s ok.  Nobody is going to see it anyway."

Next on my list was my Autism support group.  I was a few minutes late so I sat down during introductions.  I got to tell everybody that my daughter was accepted to Philadelphia University.  I continued with the success of my son on the bus.  I was all smiles as I talked about Sam's photography.  I was very chatty and I continued with my story of how Sam came home yesterday to talk about how much he likes his assistive tech device at school.  I never mentioned that I have been desperately trying to get my medications filled for the past few days.  It wasn't necessary.

After the group was finished I was off to see the Psychiatrist.  I knew I was in for an earful because I cancelled my last appointment because I chose to work.  I had waited all day yesterday to hear from the Psychiatrist.  Hour after hour passed until 3:00 when I answered the phone to hear the Psychiatrist tell me he refused to fill my prescription.  I immediately called my General Practitioner and the nurse explained to me that she was doubtful that she would fill it.

I was yelling at this point with the nurse trying to stay calm, "I don't appreciate you yelling at me."

"I'm not yelling!  I am pleading with you please someone has got to help me!"

I hung up and called back the psychiatrist office to yell at the receptionist.  He put me on hold.  A woman came on the line, "Hello, this is the Doctor's receptionist.  He can see you at 3:00 tomorrow."  Not my proudest moment.

So today I stood in front of the receptionist.  "I am sorry I yelled at you."  He shrugged.  "No. Seriously I am really sorry.  Please accept my apology."  He shrugged.  "Please I'm begging you.  I will not forgive myself unless you forgive me."  His reply, "I really appreciate that."  Good enough for me.

I sat down to wait for the inevitable.  "Ms. Bellare?"  I walked down the hall with the Psychiatrist.

"So Ms. Bellare, What is more important?  Money or your drugs to keep you well?"  I just looked at him.  Are you kidding me?  What kind of question is that?  The answer is both.  How do you choose? 

I sat in his office and told him about my life while thinking that this guy saw me every month for two years while I was in a semi-catatonic state trying to get well from a debilitating bout of depression after my cancer treatment.  He has seen me climb out of the depths of hell to become a functioning person in society.  All I wanted was for him to give me some credit for trying to work.  I didn't get the credit.  I make an appointment for six months with the reminder that next time he will not be so kind.  I quietly answered, "Got it.  I promise."

My day rounded out with Mina and I looking at a car for her to get around..  Mina and I stood out in the freezing cold while I was trying to end the conversation.  I didn't care.  For now, I am cancer free.

The best part?  I GOT MY MEDS!

Definition of Mental

1.a: of, relating to, or being intellectual as contrasted with overt physical activity.

2.a: of, relating to, or affected by a psychiatric disorder <mental patient>.

b: mentally disordered, mad, crazy.

I choose being an intellectual as my definition of being mental.

*The photo that I use for my background was taken by Sam.