Monday, January 16, 2012

A Very Pressing Matter.

Six years ago today, at the age of 58, my mother died of breast cancer .  She never got checked, and refused to go to the doctor. I firmly believe that had she done just that, she would still be here telling me where to go, what to do, and who to do it to.

I was 30 years old when she passed, and have gotten a mammogram every year since.  I am, to put it very mildly, quite top heavy.  As you can imagine, such an annual event is no small feat for me.  (Speaking of feet, do my shoes match?)

Let me just 'splain something to you.  When I go in for a breast cancer screening, it's a serious expedition.    The folks from the Bronx Zoo are called in to utilize their elephant xray.  When I behave myself, and hold really still, they even throw me peanuts.

For those of you who've never had a mammogram, it's a piece of cake! Please allow me to serve you a slice...

SCENE--- Doctor's office.

Nurse asks me to undress from waist up.  Hands me two circular bandaids with BB's in the middle of them.  These are to be placed directly on the nipple.  Apparently the BB's are meant to protect the milk factory from being nuked.

Then I pull on the completely pointless front opening hospital johnny.  Don't tie it, cause that would ruin all the fun.

Next they lead me over to what looks like a robotic bench vice.   I am then meant to place one of the old girls (with the help of three attendants) on the platform, and hold very still while they bring the top down. I visualize it squeezing until that BB shoots off the end of my nipple and puts someone's eye out.  Fortunately, that doesn't happen.  I just exhale, hold still, and click, they take a pic.

After it releases, they whip the machine around vertically, and squish her this time like a fat kid stuck in an elevator door.  Very similar situation, only more gravitational challenges.  Again, just as I think I can't take anymore pressure--- breathe, hold it, click, release.  No big whoop.

Repeat this scenario for the other side, and hallelujah, I'm done!

NO. SUCH. LUCK.  After reviewing the films, they come to the horrifying realization that due to my mammorific magnitude, they have to redo the whole thing. Only this time, in QUADRANTS...yes, you heard me right ladies and gentlemen...  That means, I have to have the equivalent of FOUR complete mammograms.  EVERY YEAR.

So, ladies?? All the ladies!  No excuses.  If I can endure this torture four times, you can go in there and get your piddly little 15 minutes of annual boob squashing taken care of.

What a small price to pay to be able to stick around and make sure everyone's doing what they're told!