This morning I got up when Andy did and went to the gym. I got back and he was just leaving for work. After my shower I made coffee, got dressed and settled down to the morning’s task: going through my overstuffed filing cabinet. I took out each folder one by one and went through them, saving a lot but also pitching a fair amount into a big black trash bag. It was mostly stuff I’d saved from college and high school. Old scripts, letters, filmmaking notes, handouts from classes. A lot of memories, not all pleasant ones.

I was just about finished when the phone rang. It was my grandmother. She asked me how I was and when I’d last talked to Mom. Monday. My grandmother told me that on Wednesday my mom went into for her yearly mammogram and they’d seen a spot. And a biopsy has been scheduled for Friday. Why hadn’t my mom called me?

When I got off the phone with my grandmother I tried calling home but no one answered for awhile. Finally about 1 o’clock my dad called me and filled me in. They had indeed seen a very tiny spot, but it was so small they couldn’t even be sure what it is, or even if it’s anything. The biopsy will only take about 40 minutes and she is only going to need local anaesthetic. He said that in 90% of cases spots like these amount to absolutely nothing. My mom is on a church retreat all day and so I won’t get to talk to her until tomorrow, but what my dad told me was reassuring.

This led to a fairly long discussion about socialized medicine, a topic upon which I’ve reached a stalemate with my mom. Even though my dad freely admitted that their insurance is terrible (because they are basically self-employed at this point; the procedure will cost about $4500 and her insurance will only pay for $1500) he said he still thinks socialized medicine is a bad idea. Because even though “you’re covered” there are still “long waiting lists for surgeries and bad doctors who don’t diagnose correctly.” The whole “Canadians don’t like their healthcare system and buy American insurance when they can” argument, which is half myth and half wishful thinking. I countered that for millions of people, having even mediocre coverage is better than having none at all, and that millions just don’t have a choice and cannot afford to buy ANY coverage. He reluctantly seemed to agree. And then I said, “It’s not the QUALITY of healthcare that’s the problem in the US, it’s the SYSTEM. The fact that it’s profit driven. Mom’s procedure is going to last 45 minutes and cost $4500; you know that SOMEONE is making more than just a living from that, they’re making plenty of money.” Once again he agreed and then said, “Well, what can you do?”

Weird day. My dad and I have never had a talk like this.

I feel okay about things now. I managed to do some writing this afternoon and so feel that the day has been adequately productive. I think I will not feel guilty should I decide to partake in a little Popeye.