I walked out of the apartment into the rain and the car, despite being two feet from the front door seemed miles away. I burst into tears. My pain was worse than it had been in weeks. The sun was hiding and I did not want to function. After my shower earlier I realized since water makes me sick my pain might be a reaction to the chemicals in the shower. This is no comfort,but as I took another shaky step, my Person grasping me under my arms and half lifting me as I started to fall I wanted to run inside and hide in bed.
I had fought for this appointment tooth and nail, as had my doctor. I made myself move forward, clinging to the big strong arms that wrapped around me. It is cold enough that it will snow later, the sun napping as it finally acts like Winter. I curl up in the van and try to make myself eat something so that my pain pill will stay down. Two bites and I want to just die. I take the pill, I feel it slowly moving down my throat, Everything is slow today. Like molasses. I know it will be an hour before I feel any better, if the medication will work. It rarely does now.
Arriving at the hospital for my testing we find that the rain has brought out all the placard users. This hospital is very accessible, and yet we had to park in the boonies. I watch in the mirror, as I always do, for on coming traffic so that I can protect my Person. He is almost out of the van when from my blind spot, which is as big as the van anyway, a blue car speeds up nearly running him over. They would’ve hit me if I had been getting out. Pain that the rain saved me. I climb out and drag myself down the side of the van, the car blocked us in so that Person could not come to me, as was the plan. I barely fit between the cars. No apology from the rude driver, just a rude snear.
More tears. The van is six miles long, it has to be. Each tired step my legs want to give way. Why don’t they? I don’t know. I just will them to work. One more step. One more. Pull on, go forth. I barely make it to the chair, my legs giving out as I sink into the seat. Rain is pouring down, it burns like the shower. Chemicals might not be the why of the pain. It is cold, and my shelter is not up. I put the key in, nothing happens. Instead of bellowing like a Bean Sidh I take a breath, I whisper a prayer. I ask for help. We get the chair to run, it putters slowly, slowly enough that Person does not have to run. It stalls out in the door way. We aren’t there yet but the chair fails me. I sob a bit more, feeling guilt over my tears but unable to stop them.
Person hefts the chair up, five hundred pounds. Person is amazing. The chair makes it over the doorjam. A low door jam. I realize I had been being the Wicked Witch, glowering out at the world, I start humming. Dun dan duh dah dah dun dun dah dun dah dan duh… Person catches on and I let out a cackle. My pain is horrible but my mind is clearing. I must be prepared to fight. Sign in, sit down, and wait.
Waiting takes an hour, then, I have the ultrasound. Insurance won’t cover a Mammo without it. No mammogram is in the cards, says the tech. She discovers my breasts are too thick to get a clear picture. Frustration is apparent but she tries. I react to the gel. Not badly but it burns. Everything burns. Life burns today. The air burns in my chest, pain making it worse. I clean myself up and wait. No sign of anything, too much tissue. I get the mammogram.
They ask if I can stand, I try and fall. I am in my chair for the mammogram, pinched and squeezed. Denial, in my head my breasts are slightly above average. I overflow the plate. My breasts are bigger than the machine allows. It takes three to hold them in proper place to position the machine. So many pictures. An abscess bursts, have to retake a picture and clean up again. Everyone is nice, my pain receeds slowly, as the storm passes overhead. My results are given right away, after more waiting.
No sign of cancer, just scars. So many scars. My scars are clear as day, little spots and suns, but they can tell they are scars. They can match them to the flesh, and they do not look the same. I trust them. I am free of worry for at least a year. Self advocated, self preserved. Heading out again, the wicked witch is gone, but I remain. I still burn. The pain is strong, it burns my soul. I burn until the hate comes, then, I hit a bump. More tears. I smile, remembering why I am here. I won. They helped me to get what was needed.
Health is good. Still, I have pancakes in my shirt.