Oh Mammy!

One of the hallmarks of a woman turning 40 is getting her first mammogram.  I warn you now, if this is NOT an experience about which you’d like to read, just stop right now.  I mean it.  Get up.  Walk away from the computer.  Put down your phone (or whatever device you’re using).  Just.  Stop.  Reading.  Now. 

You still there?

Then I can surmise that you are either A) not squeamish about such things, B) curious about my experience or C) a pervy interloper who just wants to hear me talk about my breasts.  Whichever of these you may be, welcome.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you. 

I had heard tell of the horrors of the mammogram for years.  Not being aware of any history of breast cancer in my family, however, I didn’t anticipate requiring one until this year (as opposed to at 35 which is recommended for a patient with a cancer history). This was confirmed after a visit to my gynecologist yesterday (yeah, yeah, TMI.  I know.  Deal with it; we’re already talking about personal health stuff.).  She told me I needed to schedule an appointment with radiology.  The receptionist would give me the number to call.

Now I do not generally get nervous about males in the medical field, but there are some things I would rather discuss with a female (mostly because, hello, they have the same parts).  When I called to schedule the appointment, of course a male answered.  Gulp.  I told him that I needed to make a first mammogram appointment and when could they possibly squeeze me in?  No pun intended.  He laughed and said there was one the next day (today) and to make sure I don’t wear deodorant or lotions as they could mess up the imaging. 

Great…I was going to get my boobs smashed AND I had to stink too?  Aces. 

Flash forward to this morning. 

I started the day with an interview on a local radio talk show to promote the play I am directing.  My pits have a tendency to sweat, so I worried the entire time that the host could smell me.  This is weird, I know, but I am very sensitive to such things.  Plus there were other guests I knew there who kept hugging me….

After the interview I drove to the Radiology office.  The lobby was very calm and serene, yet I grew more nervous (as I am wont to be with doctor-ish kind of stuff)…so of course I kept sweating.  The receptionist asked me to fill out paperwork, verifying that everything was correct, including the emergency contact.  I told her categorically, “NO, my ex-husband is NOT my emergency contact”.  She also asked me if I had a living will.  I wondered why they needed this info anyway.  Was I going to DIE during the mammogram???

The receptionist led me through a maze of hallways to the radiology lab.  Inside the sterile room was a HUGE white and pink machine.  Even with its “cute” color scheme it looked a bit like a vacu-sealer or a “chomper” on an assembly line.  There was a plastic box (like a tray) attached to the front.  The radiologist, a really lovely older woman, glanced at my chest and proceeded to pick a larger tray off the wall where they were stored and to change out the trays. 

Something about me that you may or may not know:  I am really suspicious when it comes to new medical procedures.  I am also really fascinated by the gadgets and gizmos of the medical profession.  I therefore have a tendency to ask five million questions about how different equipment is used.  So of course I asked why she was changing the trays.  Because the trays are used according to breast size and shape, I apparently required a larger one.  Oh baby, oh baby. 

As this was my first mammogram, I really didn’t know what to expect.  I had heard about horrible smashing pain and cold metal plates, but apparently this has changed in the last few years.  Sure, there was the awkward repositioning of my breast (awkward because a stranger was shoving and prodding my chesticles haphazardly into the proper placement in the machine) and being forced to straighten up when the machine moved up higher (no, that is not the direction my boobs point), but honestly, it was over pretty quickly.  There was some discomfort and pressure (smash ANYTHING between two hard surfaces and of course there will be), but mostly pretty harmless. As the pink squash marks on my breasts lightened, I texted one of my best friends, “Blurg.  Just had the mammo.  Ah, time to deodorize.  Lol.” which about summed it up. 

And I did get to see the pictures.  Not for nothing, but daaaaaaamn, my X-Rays is fiiiiine, yo!

Bhahahahahahaha. 

Until my next entry, Lovelies….