Mark

I just cried because of a doctor's appointment.

When someone says that, you probably think they just heard bad news from the doctor. But that's not what happened. No, I cried over the scheduling of the doctor's appointment.

For about two years now, I've had this gross tumor on my left collarbone. It has grown considerably. This morning, I noticed that it now touches the base of my neck on one corner. It did not used to do that.

I got clearance from my work to use a sick day to have it looked at by my family doctor at home in Granbury. This means a 5 1/2 hour drive. Also, I have no paid sick days until mid-April, when I will have been working here for a full year. I took the first available day, Monday, April 18, and called the doctor's office to make the appointment. It needed to be on a Monday so I can go to the doctor in the morning and drive back here in the afternoon, only missing one day of work since I will have driven to Granbury Friday after work.

Only come to find out, Dr. Smith isn't there on Mondays. The physician's assistant is. So I, trying not to panic, ask if I can make the appointment for the Friday before, so I can still see him (the whole reason I am driving that far to see the doctor is that I don't trust any of the doctors down here and I really want someone familiar and credible to me to look at it). She says they are already booked. That's five weeks from now! Seriously?! So I, not knowing what else to do, ask how the assistant is (as I'm choking up and I can't help it).

"Mark? He's great," she says. "We've had some iffy ones in the past, but he's really good."

At least I know she wasn't going to say any old moron with a stethoscope was great. So I go ahead and make the appointment for Monday morning, April 18, according to the original plan, except that I won't be seeing Dr. Smith, who is probably the best doctor I've ever been to, I'll be seeing Mark. Ok.

I get off the phone and totally lose it. I get up and go to the bathroom, hopefully before anybody notices. I work with a bunch of dudes. I can't cry in front of them. I get in there, let it all out, semi-regain my composure and try to erase the red splotches and mascara stains from my face.

I know that in the grand scheme of things, this little incident wasn't that big of a deal and probably wasn't anything to cry over. But I think what upset me is everything the episode of trying to make the appointment represents: I have a gross thing in my body that I really want removed; to see what I feel is a decent doctor I have to do this whole dance of finding a time I can make the long drive, take a whole day off because of that, and I can only see him at very specific times because of that; and after all of this careful arranging, I can't even see the doctor I want to see!

I guess, plain and simple, what all of it boils down to is that I'm ready to get this thing removed and I want to go home. I know I don't have cancer and my life is not in danger, but I am afraid that the tumor is getting closer and closer to my major arteries and veins. That doesn't make me feel so confident about having surgery. Plus, I'll be honest, it looks ugly and people notice it if I'm wearing something where it shows. I don't want to plan my outfits around my tumor! I'll take the scar. And finally, I love my job and my co-workers, but I really do want to go home. Or at least somewhere where my family is very near. I'm tired of being stuck out in the boonies all by myself. That will be next on the agenda.

For now, I guess I'll keep my appointment with Mark.