Today, I sat in a chair in a cold exam room, wearing a pink gown that opens in the front, waiting for the mammography technician. As I glanced around the room, her computer screen flashed a screen saver that said, simply, “You are strong.”
I had to hold back the tears because I did. NOT. want to cry there. So I swallowed all the stuff and waited; in my car, I bawled.
What nobody knows, save one friend and my recent ex-partner, is that three months ago, I found a lump in my breast. I haven’t had a mammogram since 2017, because after my ex-husband left and before the divorce was finalized, he canceled my health insurance without warning. It was one of many, many small abuses he completed. It’s taken me six years to get to a place where I could afford to get health insurance back. So, for six years, while I pretended to be solely holistic and all about the vitamins, I was honestly trying to just take care of myself in the best way I could possibly afford. Regular screenings would have been welcome, but they may have cost a lot of money or they would have required navigating a confusing system to figure out other ways. I didn’t have the motivation to learn the medical system that’s designed to keep out the poor people, so I depended on my supplements, hippie friends’ advice, and a lot of effing prayers. I have prioritized and budgeted for yearly check-ups out of pocket, and every year I have gotten something else done that I could afford, such as blood work. Those yearly visits and blood work usually cost me around $600, and that was with a 40% discount because I paid in full ahead of time.
But back to the lump. This spring, I found a small, hard ball in my right breast, and it felt like when I had a breast infection from nursing babies. After Googling the end of my world and practicing all the meditative breathing and texting my hippie friend for support, I took a shitload of vitamins, massaged the lump, and used cold compresses. After a couple of weeks, it went away. I told nobody else because I didn’t want to cause unnecessary alarm if my vitamin regimen had done the trick. I saw a gynecologist, and she couldn’t find any evidence either. But now, I’ve waited for three months for the mammogram to get a final check. I didn’t even tell the technician I’d had a scare, because I just wanted to have the visit and hear the news. Getting my boobs squished was enough.
– Men, imagine having your private parts shoved between flat, clear pads and squeezed. Can’t move or you might rip something!
Technician speaking:
“Hug this machine just like that. Yep! (Shoves on your back to make you press more tightly to the giant metal tower of radiation.) Hold your breath…and…oops, wait a sec! I see a wrinkle! I’ll fix that (fondling ensues, more squishing, more tugging). And…hold your breath. Good! Now for the next angle! This one’s a little worse – it’s at a slant.”
Except when I had the initial scare, I had my partner. And now, today, I was sitting in a cold room – alone – facing whatever happened, and I just didn’t feel strong.
No matter what the computer screen said.
I felt a whole lot more like screaming that I am too damn tired to be strong. I’m too damn tired of being poor and having it always play against me no matter how hard I work to keep my head above water. I felt like screaming that I’m too damn tired of the world hating women and making everything so stacked against us. I wanted to scream that I am weak. And angry. And that I think men that run away are big effing cowards. And if the news comes back badly, I want to give up. I know I can’t, and I know I have sons depending on me to keep it together, but sometimes, I just want to lie down on the cold, hard floor in the cold, hard room and say, “NO.”
I cried the whole way home. I cried because all of it is just too much. I cried because I felt so, so alone, because I want to grow old for my boys, and because I had to wait six years for this exam. I cried because women are so disposable in our culture. Believe me, we are.
I finally swallowed all my snot and all my emotions and got on with my day, but not without wondering how many of me are out there in my city. Out there in the country. Do they know they are not the only ones? Are they as stubborn as me and refuse to believe the barrage of implications that we have no value?
We are not lovable.
Not needed.
Not worth the cost of basic care.
Because in the end, after the tears, I let the anger sit. I gave myself space to reflect. World, please listen. Women are tired, and the last people to get tired are the survivors. I pity the person on the receiving end of a tired, angry woman. I really do. So watch out world and please…. Please, hear this.
Women are important.
Women have value.
Women are worth healthcare and screenings and yearly mammograms without guilt or pity or degrading systems.
Women should NEVER have to wait six years to sit in an exam chair. NEVER.
…..
And women, please hear me.
“We are strong.”
Period.
……
Update: I received my results back much faster than I had been told. They are negative. I feel relief, for sure!
Today, I pray for the women that don’t receive welcome results and the women that need a screening but have barriers preventing them from receiving care. May we as a society finally recognize the value and beauty of women and create a space for them to receive the dignified medical services they deserve.