Murtaugh List... a growing list

     So I have joked and joked about how turning 30 has inspired me to make a Murtaugh list (things that fall into the category of "I'm too old for this shit.") In general the list starts the same every time:

• cheap beer
• men who won't commit
• hangovers
• skipping workouts
• sleeping in when I am not actually tired
• chipped fingernail polish
• unmade beds
• avoiding going to the doctor/dentist
• caffeine after 4:00pm
• denying compliments

     Today I added a new one; I added the most important one: Biting my tongue when I am upset. And frankly, it was a blubbering mess. A blubbering beautiful mess.

     I headed to the doctor today (you can't avoid it and you have to own your health!). I had previously seen my gyno and my complaint was lumpy breast and a really tender armpit. Of course, at the forefront of my mind was the worst, cancer. I'm a low risk, young, etc. But when you find a lump you find a lump. Anyway, that was months ago and here I am waiting on being taken back to my ultrasound. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. I paid my deductible and waited some more. I waited for over an hour. With some coaching via text I had gotten up the nerve to ask the receptionist, "What was my appointment time? Is there a reason I am waiting so long?" We can psychoanalyze my need for coaching to ask a few simple questions at a later date...

      I'm called in. Awkward small talk. Itchy gowns too small. Let's fast forward a bit. The tech (who I will call Helga) joins my other tech (yes, I am blessed with two). Helga never introduces herself, never uses my name and immediately starts giving me direction: Uncover my breast, lay like this, hold my arm up, etc. I am already turned off by the long wait and this cold and dismissive demeanor is NOT improving my attitude. It quickly becomes clear through her tone and questioning that my appointment is beneath her, a waste of her time. Helga talks to the other tech as if I am not in the room. Helga says, "she has lumpy breasts, but she is so young." Anytime I chime in or asks questions Helga states repeatedly "You're 30." You may think, like I did the first 2 times, that this is meant to be reassuring. No. It becomes apparent that Helga is telling me that the lump I felt 3 months ago was nothing, maybe even a fabrication, and that the fact that I actually followed it all the way through to an ultrasound is ridiculous. My anger is surging and I can't find the words. Helga continues to talk to the other tech about me rather than to me. "She is low risk. No family history. I'm not bothering to check more deeply. There is nothing here. She's 30." Helga goes so far as to roll her eyes at me when I try one last time to engage in the conversation. My eyes well with tears and I bite my tongue. 

     As I dress and am told, unceremoniously through my curtain, that the radiologist sees nothing of concern on my scans I decide, "I'm too old for this shit. I am too old for biting my tongue" 

     And now I am a blubbering, angry, beautiful mess in the middle of the waiting room. Helga's immediate supervisor is stunned but open to my thoughts. I cry. I weep. I'm full of justifiable indignation. I tell my story repeatedly. I tell it loud and proud to the whole waiting room. More importantly I tell Helga's boss, "We can't afford a culture where women feel ridiculed and shamed for being concerned about their bodies. You can't allow Helga to continue this. Women won't come forward about lumps because she will have taught them to dismiss these concerns. WE CAN'T AFFORD WOMEN DISMISSING IT UNTIL IT'S TOO LATE." 

I am streaked with runny mascara as I scream my feminist rage. And I am proud of it.