Today I had a mammogram. This experience is much like throwing your boob down in the street and having it run over by a car. In fact, it might be more pleasant that way because you could at least be drunk for the experience. I really never thought that my breasts could be mashed so flat that you could see through them if they were held up to a light. I always think I'm going to need a Spam Key (ok I'm dating myself here) to roll them back up and put them back in their harness to keep them safe.
Today didn't start well because I really didn't sleep. I had the events of the next morning on my mind. Yes, I know worry is a sin. I don't think that this was worry, more like dread. You know that kind of dread. The this is something that I have to do but I REALLY wish there was another way to do this. That added with the fact that the "ladies" are pierced didn't add to my piece of mind. I got up, got dressed, got my stuff and left. At least I thought I got my stuff. I left my wallet and my phone at home. YAY!! I realize this when they ask me for my insurance card. GREAT!! So I get on the phone with the HMO to get the number for the Women's Imaging Center. This place is designed to look very state of the art. Designed to place women at ease. However, when you're going in to have your boobs squished, you can only be so relaxed. I complete my paperwork and wait to hear my name called. There are several women there. Lots of them. Some brought their husbands. You could tell by the look on the guy's face he REALLY didn't want to be there. He knew well enough though, that if he didn't go, he wouldn't get to touch what was going to be squished for a long time. The more I watched women move through there, the more it seemed like they were moving cattle through to be milked. They would call two, three of four back. Then another two or three. Then one or two. Moving them through steadily.
My name was called and there was a rather youthful women there that introduced herself and asked how I was. What do you say to this? Tell the truth or exchange formal pleasantries? I chose the latter. It's not her fault she's stuck slapping boobs on glass plates and squishing them all day. She's getting a paycheck. In this day and age, we all should be so lucky. She tells me to take off my shirt and bra and slip on one of the gowns with the opening in the front. She looks at me, looks at the ladies, looks at their jewelry and says "Those don't come out do they?" To save me the hastle of removing them and painfully putting them back in, I said "No, sorry." OK. Now I go up and they place me in this midieval torture device made by General Electric. First the right, then the left. The mashing mechanism is controlled by a footpedal. They get you in there, mash you flatter than roadkill, then tell you not to move. Move?? Seriously??? I can barely breathe much less move. Finally, after multiple squishings from multiple angles, I could leave. I didn't think that the ladies would ever go back into the shape they were prior to being run through a device obviously invented by a man to torture women. If they had to put their "buddies" in those things, they'd find a new way to test for cancer.
I survived. None too much the worse for wear. Just tired and pissed off at this point. Off to work I go. I don't want to see anyone, answer any questions, or talk to anyone. I want to sit with my machine and look at software. That's it. I go back out to my car at lunch. I always leave my windows cracked because of the heat. I find that someone has slipped a card into my seat. I unlock the car and get the card and open it. It's from Jody and it makes me smile. That was my first smile of the day and it didn't come until lunchtime. Yes, I know what I've said about greeting card companies in the past. Yes, I know I said that they feed on the neurosis of society. I also know that I now have two cards tacked up on my corkboard that make me feel special.
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