My First Mamm-Ow-Gram!

So, I had my check-up last month.  All's well you know, other than the usual warning about my weight, (love hearing that), my complaining about my aches and pains and the embarrassment of having forgotten to shave my legs and armpits.  Nothing like having to strip naked for a thorough inspection when you look like Sasquatch.  At least I got to skip the PAP test.  Apparently the province thinks my ovaries are only worth a glance every three years now, so bully for me.

I did, however get some interesting news.  Turns out I am now, "of an age", when regular breast cancer screening begins.  That's right, it's time for my first Mammogram. Interesting.  Not sure how I feel about that.  Old.  Yes, that's it.  I feel old.

What I did not feel was particularly worried.  While the idea of having ones bussoms compressed down to resemble a pancake may frighten some women, my breasts are really not that far off from this aesthetic to begin with.  Take that all my firm, perky breasted friends!  Ha ha!  Who's getting the last laugh now!  Whhaaaaaahahahahaha!

OK.  I got that out of my system.  So, me and my sweet mammary-jammas showed up for my designated appointment without a care in the world.  I was checked in, waited 1/2 hour and, when my name was called, I was led through the labyrinth that is Merivale Medical Imaging.  I was shown to a changing room where I donned a lovely paper robe.  As I was changing I noticed the walls of the changing room were adorned with the expected posters giving directions on how to do a self-exam.  I was pretty sure I already knew how to do this, however, there seem to be a couple of tips I missed.

Arms up. Arms down. Circle left. Circle right.  Lie down.  On your side. Stand up. Lean forward.  One more move and we'll have some buck hip hop choreography!  There was also notes on what to look out for.  Lumps, (obviously), pitting, (like dimples?). Drippy nipples? (Ew!).  At that point I thought I had learned enough.

I exited the changing room and was then ushered aboard the Starship Enterprise. Oh wait.  It was the mammogram room.  Holy crap!  This stuff is seriously high tech!

Mood lighting and everything!

I must say, the technician was a lovely lady.  Very pleasant and straightforward. Explained everything well.  She even told me, "this isn't going to feel very pleasant".  Still, I was not worried.  What I did not expect is just how "handsy" the whole procedure was.  My, my!  My boobs got more attention in those 10 minutes then they have in the last 10 years! So much pulling and rubbing and flattening and aligning.  Goodness, she was thorough!  

So, squish number one.  Good ole' Righty was up and she performed like a champ.  Yes, she did get squashed.  No, I did not think it was possible for human tissue to be so pliable.  But all in all, no great problems.  Lefty was up next.

Now, if my boobs had personalities, Righty would be the happy-go-lucky, easy to please type.  You know, a real go with the flow kinda gal, (insert breastfeeding joke here).  Now Lefty, well, Lefty is like the bitter old crone that stands on her front porch and yells, "get off my lawn"!!!  Every month (wink), Lefty decides to get extra cranky and bitchy, aka swollen and sore, and just generally be a huge pain in the breast.  Today was one of those days.  She didn't appreciate all the manhandling and she let it be known, believe me! 

Righty                                                       Lefty

But she made it through and I thought we were in the clear.  All done!  Super Mamma-Jammaries!  Then my lovely technician explained that she was going to do a vertical scan.

Um, what?  You've mashed them flat, now you're going to crush them standing up.  The ef lady??  But what am I gonna do.  She literally has my tits in a vice.  I'm not goin' anywhere.

So vertically actually means on kind of a diagonal. I was once again smoothed and stretched into position and then she started compressing the two glass plates together. Dayum!  It's like she was pressing olives or something!  Even sweet little Righty wasn't having a super great time.  The technician tells me to hold my breath and not breathe while she takes the shot.  No problem.  She came back and released the glass plates and Righty sprung forth like a virgins corset on her wedding night!

Then came Lefty.  

Already unhappy with the previous procedure, I was sure Lefty wasn't going to be pleased with this new turn of events.

And I was right.

Holymotherfuckinghell!!!!!!!!!!!  When those plates smashed together I was sure, 100% positive that my boob was going to explode.  I was just waiting for it.  I was picturing in my head, this grotesque mess all over this high tech spaceship room. "Hold your breath and don't move", said the technician.  

Not.   A.   Problem.  

Pain was exploding all over.  Well, not all over.  All over my boob!  I couldn't move.  I couldn't breath.  Lefty was howling at the top of her nipple, waving her cane and drooling on her house dress and fuzzy slippers.  The pain was so bad I didn't know if I was gonna cry or full out panic, when the technician came over and said, "all done".  Thank you Jesus!

I cannot quite describe the relief I felt when she released me from her high tech torture device.  I felt like I had just survived something.  You know?  Like when someone says, "I survived a house fire", or "I survived the Titanic".  Well, I survived my mammogram.

I don't know how often I need to repeat this procedure.  I don't see why my breasts have to get any more attention than my ovaries.  Doesn't seem fair, does it?  And speaking of not fair, why isn't this the way we test for testicular cancer??  Only seems fair to me boys.

Until then, peace out and love your boobies!

Michy