I’m currently three months overdue for a breast MRI. Not because I forgot or decided to live dangerously, but because staying ahead of your health sometimes feels like it requires a level of coordination usually reserved for being the maid of honor at your best friend’s way too over-the-top wedding. 

I’m almost 37, which sounds reassuring until you add that I have an ATM gene mutation that puts me at about a 20% lifetime risk of breast cancer. Preventive screening isn’t optional for me; it’s the plan. Or at least, it’s the plan on paper.

In reality, this appointment has been scheduled and rescheduled five times. Some of that was logistics, some of it was insurance, and some of it was a mysteriously missing prior authorization. And yes, one of those times was on me, because the holidays happened and I am a working mom with three kids, not a robot built for medical administration.

Now insurance is saying that the MRI isn’t medically necessary, which is an interesting take given that my medical history, genetic testing, and actual doctor seem to disagree. So I need to call my doctor again, during business hours, to untangle a situation that somehow exists despite us living in an era where we can track our cycles, our sleep, our steps, and our glucose levels from our phones.

That’s the part that gets me. We have more health information at our fingertips than ever before, yet the system itself feels more confusing, fragmented, and exhausting than it should. 

Preventive care sounds proactive and empowering until you’re stuck chasing faxes, decoding insurance language, and wondering how many women fall behind not because they don’t care, but because they’re stretched thin.

I’ll get the MRI. I always do. But sometimes it feels like the real risk isn’t forgetting to take care of ourselves — it’s how hard the system makes it to follow through.