The Mammogram

The mailman was outside fighting with my mailbox a while ago, so I stepped out on to the porch to grab the fistful of junk he had for us. As I did, a little smiley faced card fell to the ground. He politely picked it up, smiled as he handed it to me and said...Congratulations!

I didn't really know what he was talking about, and never gave it a second thought until I sat down to filter through the mail. My little smiley face was telling me my mammogram was fine. I had a sudden urge to scrunch that smiling fat face into a pea size bit of nothingness, and I did. Mammogram my ass. It was more like an adventure in a pornographic "Honey, I Shrunk the Vice Grips".

And wouldn't you think they could tell me the results of my mammogram in a telegram, or at least a sealed envelope, rather than on a post card that every single mail handler in the processing center waves around and shouts "Wooo Hooo! Ms. So and So had a titty test!" Isn't that in effect a MEDICAL RECORD?

Anyway, let me explain to you just what happens, in case you haven't heard. Keep in mind, I recommend every woman have them as suggested by their doctor. They can save your life! But don't go in there blind like I did. The assistant still carries the scars he may have avoided, had he prepared me, or drugged me, or put me out completely.

I finally agreed to have the test done, after being dogged by my doctor. Actually, it was more of a bargain. I said I would quit smoking just to shut him up, and he said "Put your boobs where your mouth is. If you quit, I won't bug you about the mammogram ever again." He made the appointment the following week.

I went to the body shop and the nice young girl gave me one of those hospital gowns immediately. No wait here! I was happy about being taken in immediately. After almost hanging myself with the strings on the gown, another young lady ushered me into the machine shop. She said this is where the procedure would be done. I said "Kinda like an X-ray, right?" She smiled and said "Kinda".

I stood around for a couple of minutes like a dufus adjusting my gown until the technician came in. He introduced himself and said he would be taking my picture. Well, that sounded harmless enough. So he proceeds to partially expose my left boob in a professional doctor like fashion and says "...Jesus".

I thought I had developed leprosy overnight. He immediately apologized, remarking that there might be a problem. He then sympathetically explained that I might experience some discomfort due to a thickness issue. This is where I kick myself for not asking for medication. I stupidly said, "I'm a tough old broad, just get it done."

This guy, a total stranger, and I spent several minutes arranging my boob on a flat surface in front of me. I never noticed that hovering above me was the other flat surface that would be lowered onto my poor booby depressing it to the thickness of a crepe. Slowly, ever so slowly, the evil man moved the plates closer together, asking me if I was OK after each adjustment. When I was the thickness of an encyclopedia, I lost partial consciousness, and squeaked at him to speed it up. He gave it one last shot saying "they're gonna have to be satisfied with this", and then advised me to hold perfectly still. It was when he added "honey" that I blew.

I told him that we may have spent some quality time together arranging my boob, but if he called me honey again, I'd flatten his teeny tiny jewels with my bare hands. I don't know how much he heard because of the stratospheric tone of my voice, but I'm pretty sure he grabbed his crotch. When he finally released that machine, I sprang back like Tigger, gasping for oxygen. Then he said, "Great job! One down, one to go!"

Now it was my turn with Jesus. I prayed for every man in the universe to experience this simple life saving test. I prayed to God I could arrange their precious little privates in a vise and work the controls. I was still praying when I looked at my bra in the dressing room after I finished my "simple procedure". We all know that bad boy didn't go on. I prayed driving home that I didn't get into an accident while driving braless. I thanked God that I had my own doctor...Mc Gillicuddy.

To make a long story even longer, I hope the world of medical knowledge soon finds a better way to detect breast cancer, if it hasn't already. Should every woman have one? Whenever your doctor suggests one, absolutely. We all know mammograms save lives. Would I have another one if my doctor advised it? Sure, but I'm not sure that nice technician would care to conduct the procedure. I would also ask for a nice big fat pain pill, or a bullet.

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