Today, a nurse named Barbara called me from the Breast Imaging center, which is where I had my mammogram a few weeks ago. She wanted to get some updated health history (I swear, I cannot believe how many times I have to go through my medications, my family cancer history, previous surgeries, etc – get computers people!). Toward the end of the conversation, her voice turned so pitiful. “It’s a shame you have to be making these decisions, huh?” What? I had not invited this conversation. I had not told her any of my decisions about surgeries or anything. All she knew was that I was having a biopsy. As far as she was concerned, the biggest decision I was going to have to make that day would be whether to valet or self-park at the hospital.
I know she was just trying to be nice, but this happens all the time, whenever I talk to a nurse or receptionist. They really don’t know the whole story, but somehow they can tell it’s sad. Or they assume. I don’t know.
I was grateful though when she gave me her phone number and told me I could call her at any time if I had questions before or after the biopsy.
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