I don’t buy magazines. I used to but they would pile up around the house waiting to be read. I then had to gather them up, actually read them, then decide if I would keep them or recycle. Then I decided that I didn’t read enough of them (except Vanity Fair when I was on a plane…then it was cover to cover) to justify the expense. I stopped buying them. That can not be said for the other person living in this house who buys them and will NEVER, EVER allow me to recycle them. It’s one of the biggest issues I have with our eventual move. If I have to give things up…these magazines Have To Go! That is however a conversation for another day.
Today’s topic is about waiting… and starting to read a magazine…being interuppted to wait again…coming back and someone else has that magazine…
I had gone on Tuesday for my annual mammogram. Got a call yesterday that there was something wrong with a couple of the views and the radiologist would like a repeat. Not worried, I said ok, let’s schedule. My appointment was for 10:20 today.
So I go back in, get to sit in the lovely orange robe and wait. I go in and for whatever reason It Really Hurt! She couldn’t get a “good view” of the spot that concerned the radiologist. CONCERNED the radiologist?!? No one said that. So she keep squeezing and I keep grimacing. Are you ok, she asks me? Oh, just fine I say through clenched teeth while holding my breath.
After much painful pressing, the radiologist decides I need an ultrasound. Then comes the fun of trying to get my doctor’s office to authorize it. They leave 2 messages and no one is getting back so they ask me to call. I call and pretty soon, I have the pleasure of getting slimed and prodded. This is much less painful than the pressing but still not my favorite thing. The young lady says she’ll be back, she’ll show the results to the “imaging specialist.” Then after about 10 minutes, they both come back in…the “imaging specialist” does the test again.
By this time, I’m getting pretty nervous, frustrated and I know Ralph is in the waiting room with no clue what’s going on. The specialist then tells me that I have “dense tissue.” Is that a compliment? I’m not sure. It just means that there are times when tests have to be repeated to get a clear view. I should be, and I am, grateful that they are so thorough in doing this. I’ll stand there all day to get a clear picture if that’s what they ask to get a good outcome.
In one of the magazines I read while waiting there was a “gadgets for sale” section. Offered for sale was something called a “booby buddy” intended to separate things when you sleep on your side and meant to prevent “age wrinkles” from occurring. I was going to look this up on-line to see if I could find a photo, but I’m a little afraid of what I might find. Some years ago, I made the mistake of looking up “men in black.” Age wrinkles or not, after all of today’s squeezing, I think I need a booby buddy.
Happy Friday! Please don’t Squeeze!