Frustration

Friday, August 10: Another good night - that's three in a row now without pain. I'm getting up every hour to empty my bladder, and that seems to help - the bladder must be pushing against the growth. Every 4 hours I take more pain pills. I look forward to this being over and maybe being able to sleep more than an hour at a time. But I'm not complaining. No pain for the past three nights. That's a good thing.

It starts out to be such a good morning. I'm up early. I'm showered and dressed in plenty of time. This is the morning I'm finally going to meet with the doctor who will be my primary care physician. Yes, I know, I know, I should have set this up years ago, when we first moved here. But I put it off - I was busy, Dayton had his knee surgery, I was busy, Dayton had his second knee surgery, I was busy, my Dad got sick, I was busy, my Dad died, and I was busy.

But finally, last month I made the appointment. I wanted a woman doctor, I wanted somebody in the network that our Blue Cross insurance covers. That left three doctors in the entire Rockford area. I called for an appointment on July 12, the earliest one who could see me was Dr. Carter, and her first appointment was August 10th at 9:00 a.m. I took it - what else could I do?

So, I'm finishing breakfast, I need to leave in 5 minutes, and the cramp hits. Why now??? I hadn't had one since early yesterday morning! By the time it wears off, it's 8:50 a.m. And the doctor's office is 30 minutes away.

So I call, tell the receptionist we had an incident at home, that I'm running late. "You'll have to reschedule," she says. I ask, "Can I talk to Dr. Carter, or leave a message about what's been going on? Because since I made the appointment I've been in the emergency room and had some problems." The response is a flat, "Her first appointment is October 12."

"Never mind, I'll find somebody else." Dayton comes out of his office in time to hear me say this. "What happened?"

Being the calm, mature person that I am, I throw the phone across the table, start sobbing and pounding my fists on the table top. I find the referral sheet with her picture on it and tear it in shreds. "I didn't like her picture anyway! I'm trying to do everything right! Why are they making it so hard!!!"

Warning: Women with endometrial cancer are easily frustrated.

Dayton wisely lets me get it out of my system. I find Geronimo (he ran to the bedroom to hide when I started yelling, poor guy, he's not used to me ranting) cuddle with him, have a fresh cup of tea, and calm down. And decide it's not so important to find a woman doctor after all. I'll go to the clinic here in town. They can get you in in a day or two, and if you need to tell them what's going on, they take time to listen. Like a doctor is supposed to do.