Had my annual mammogram this morning. Gave the lovely lady in admissions my doctor's name, address, and phone number and she noted that none of that changed from last year. I go for my the actual xrays and, while I'm nude to waist under my little paisley cover, the tech looks over my forms and says the information is incomplete. Do I have my doctor's fax number? Um … not with me. Obviously. Maybe in my purse. "We have no way of contacting him," says Linda the tech.
"Yes, you do. It's there. They told me in admissions none of his information had changed."
"But they didn't get his fax number. We have no way of contacting him without a fax."
"Maybe I have a fax number in my purse. But I know the phone number and address are there."
"We don't call. You can call from our desk and get his fax number. Do you think they're open?" (It was 8:45 or so.)
"I don't know," say I. And suddenly the ridiculousness of this washes over me. "So if I don't get you a fax number, you'll just let me die?"
I mean, geez! I'm holding the little booklet about breast cancer. I'm there to find out if I have breast cancer. This is a stressful experience for any woman -- including Linda the tech. And now I get to let her smoosh my breasts between plates?
She got much nicer after that. She noted the sunburn on my arm and asked me about my weekend and told me about her boat. Then, as I was leaving, she said, "Don't worry. I'll mail your doctor the report."
THANK YOU!!!!