She's a bad Mammagramma! (Boring medical stuff!)

taste the rainbow...

I turned 50 this year, and as such promised myself that this would be "The Year I Go To The Doctors'."

ALL the dang doctors, as it turns out.

You cannot believe the stress this has caused me, in terms of actually picking up the phone and making that call.  Oh, those 30 seconds of pain and agony, agreeing to a set time and place to arrive, after which much would be revealed about my inner workings and physical failures.

So far, I've had blood drawn twice, found out I need blood pressure medication, done the girl doc thang (but, thankfully, no distressing phone call afterward to 'discuss results'), and today had a lil boob squishie feste AND found out I need to go on thyroid meds.  AGAIN.

I'm fine with this, it's OK, I'm good to go.  I'm still alive, but wow.  All this self-care is going to start getting expensive, what with the 2 new meds and all the copays.  Shoot, I still have to do the dentist and the colonoscopy, both of which are so far down on my 'want-to' list that I might just need to enlist someone else to make those phone calls on my behalf.

Recalling today's visit to the boob-a-matic place, I'd have to say it wasn't so bad.  The woman who 'handled' me (LITERALLY) was super-adept at the art of small talk.  It was amazing.  I mean, we ladies KNOW that when you go to this sort of appointment your girls are going to be taken into an entirely foreign set of hands, and so that's awkward, but when the handler chats you up as though you're really just hanging out at the pool finding out a little about each other while your kids play in the shallow end, it brings another dimension to the affair that's really not all that bad.  Sure, your bubbs are on display, but she sees them all the time, so how bad can it be?  She didn't even wear GLOVES when touching the twins, which was nice and decidedly nonclinical of her.  Aside from the mammarial manipulations and precise body positioning, it was a lovely visit with someone who is VERY professional, so thanks Raleigh Radiology!

Plus which, I got to look at the pictures.  OF MY OWN BOOBS.  They look weird, and not at all sexy.  Something about fibrocystic tissue (which I've known about for years) and maybe I might have to come back for more pics if the docs don't care for what they're seeing.  Oy.  My poor beauties.  Once squish was bearable, more might venture into 'don't want to' territory.  Not my call to make.

So far the news, medically, has been OK, so I can't complain.  Fine, so I'm taking BP meds now, it was time.  Today I had word that the thyroid tests that were just a touch out of bounds at my first doc visit?  WAY out of bounds at the follow-up.  So guess what?  I'm back on Synthroid!  Woohoo!  More pills!  A lifetime of pharmaceutical assistance awaits!  *Sigh*  It'll be fine.  It's all good. It's just a wonky thyroid, after all, and it's just a little pill, and once I start taking it I'm sure I'll wonder why it took so long to get back on it because whoa, look at that I have foot bones under all that swelling, but, you know, it's still a sign of imperfect health.  Very discouraging, as the downhill slide is visible now and the first cart of the coaster has already gone over the peak.

But!  The mammagramma tech was SHOCKED to find out I'm as old as I am, even going so far as to ask me if I might be pregnant (HAHAHAHAHAHAA!) before looking at my chart and having the grace to look wide-eyed thereafter and telling me 'you look way younger than your age' at which point I would have let her take pictures of my rack for distribution to her friends because I was so pleased.

I TOLD you she was good at small talk, y'all.

So, that happened today.  How about you?

Tiff out.