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Don't contact husband for pressing situation
(by Christine Thome - January 07, 2009)
BEYOND MY CONTROL, BY CHRISTINE THOME
Don't contact husband for pressing situation
If there is one thing in the human experience that can put each man and woman on an even playing field, it is a medical physical.
Literally stripped of any wealth or social standing we may have in society, we are left standing there with the only thing with which we came into this world and the only thing we will have when we go out -- our bodies.
So it was with a great sense of resigned necessity that I made my appointment for my annual mammogram. I dread the pulling and pressing of the most intimate parts of my body, but I've had enough friends who have had or continue to battle breast cancer to know that luck is for lotteries and Las Vegas, not the care of my body.
"I hate mammograms," I said to my husband, John, shortly after I made the appointment.
"Just think of it like a tuneup for the car," he said.
"Did you just compare my breasts to a car?" I asked dumbfounded.
"Well, you know what I mean," he stammered. "Taking your car in for a tuneup can be an inconvenience on your time, but it ensures that the car will continue to be safe for at least another year. It's a necessary inconvenience."
Only a man would ever compare a mammogram to a car tuneup. I considered telling him that's like comparing a colonoscopy with getting an oil change and checking the dipstick, but I wasn't about to sink to his level.
Several days before my scheduled appointment, a nice woman named Linda called to pre-register me for my mammogram. We went through the usual name, birth date and insurance information, and then she asked if I still wanted my husband listed as my emergency contact.
"Emergency? What kind of emergency?" I asked Linda, suddenly concerned that I needed an emergency contact for a 10-minute, outpatient procedure.
Before she could answer, I asked again, "Do you mean like the power could go out while one of my 'girls' is pressed like a pancake between two pieces of Plexiglas? Would that be considered an emergency?"
"Well, yes, I guess so," Linda answered.
I thought back to my husband's comment about mammograms and car tuneups and imagined me deadlocked in a boob press while a nurse called him on a cell phone to tell him that the power had gone out and his wife was detained in a very unpleasant position.
"No kidding?" he would answer. "Gee, I don't know what to do. Only thing I can think of is getting a generator and firing that baby up. It should have enough power to make the machine let go if its grip. Well, gotta go. Tell my wife to remember that this is just a necessary inconvenience."
I thought about what I might grip when I got home and decided that John would definitely not be the right emergency contact in this particular situation.
No, what I would need is someone with just the right amount of empathy and humor. Someone who would drop everything and come running to the doctor's office to console me while giving me the optimistic encouragement that, although some swelling may occur, I would have the benefit of being able to buy a bra with a larger cup size.
What I would need is a very good girlfriend. I gave Linda several names and phone numbers.
Next, she asked what religious affiliation I wanted listed on my records.
I thought about asking Linda how many times someone was read her last rites while having a mammogram, but then I began to think again about the emergency situation she and I had just discussed.
The chances of that happening are slim to none, but, again, luck is for lotteries and Las Vegas, and, if that actually happened to me, I think I would be spewing so many curse words that no minister, priest, rabbi or Buddhist monk would come near me unless it was to perform an exorcism.
I could tell I had pushed Linda to her limit, and I'm sure she had many more patients to contact, so I answered, "Let's leave that one blank."
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