Holy Mammaries!

Today I had the lucky opportunity to get my first ever mammogram. And when I say "lucky" I mean "forced-on-me-by-some-evil-doctor-that-thinks-he-is-doing-good-and-doesn't-he-know-those-don't-start-until-your-40". Having heard how they like to take your breast and squash it until you can eat it with some blueberry syrup, I was less than thrilled. I went anyway.

Boys, you may want to stop reading here.

You've been warned.

I arrived at my destination with the mindset that I would completely forget everything I had ever heard about mammograms and act like I know nothing. A blank slate of sorts (kind of like Echo for those of you that watch Dollhouse. FYI - if you like Joss Whedon, watch Dollhouse). While waiting in line to check in, I noticed that they had a "take a number" setup for those getting blood work. As a line started to form behind me, a guy says "are you here for blood work?" Ha! "No," I respond, "I am here for the pancake breakfast." Okay, no I didn't say that, but I should have.*  Those lucky dogs got numbers and were in and out before they called my name.

When my name was called I followed the nurse to the imaging room that had been painted some obnoxious pink color. Okay, I know pink is the color for breast cancer and also for girls, but really? The last thing I want to think about when I am getting a mammogram is breast cancer and I am well aware that I am a girl. Not to mention that the pink I am referring to was like a Pepto Bismol pink but with orange in it. Can you imagine? You might not want to try. In fact, I thought I might need some Pepto Bismol to help my stomach from just being in the room. Obviously, I did not know the fun was just beginning.

After changing into a pink (of course!) patterned smock thing which "opens in the front please" on top of my polka dotted work skirt and knee high boots - ROWR (just imagine if those blood work guys could have seen me then), I filled out a form, ON PINK PAPER. Overkill much? The tech asked me if I had heard awful stories about mammograms. Wait! There are AWFUL stories? WHY WAS I HERE???? I nonchalantly acted like I had heard absolutely nothing until she said "we are going to use compression which means..." at which point I interrupted her to assure her that I knew exactly what compression meant. I did not need to hear what was going to happen.

So the machine? A silver tray where the tech not so gently plops one of your girls on top and then molds it around until it does her bidding. The compression? A piece of plastic. Seriously, like a tray. Maybe I could get a drink to go on that tray? I was nervous as heck, sweating bullets and they wouldn't even let me apply deodorant today. Side note: I currently have a stick of deodorant in my purse as I was not about to go an entire day without deodorant. That would be a crime.

Back to the machine. The compression? It REALLY compresses. I did not look because I didn't think that was something I wanted to see but it was very uncomfortable. In fact, the tech said "some women find this uncomfortable." Some women? Let me guess those that don't find it uncomfortable HAVE NEVER HAD IT DONE. Oh and it was twice per girl - once from the top and once from the side. SHE COMPRESSED ME FROM THE SIDE. I may never be the same again. My girls are crying. Well they don't have tear ducts, but they are quite sad. My left one especially. During the second phase I actually said to the tech:

"Huh....just when I thought you couldn't possibly compress anymore, you go ahead and surprise me."

She did not really find that amusing. You know what I didn't find amusing? Having to check to see if I still had nipples.**

* This joke is very timely considering IHOP was giving away free pancakes today. No pancakes for me though, just for the girls.

**I do. Don't worry.