Adventures in Mammograms, Part Two

This time, the power was on. The appointment went smoothly and quickly; there and back in less than an hour. They apologized for inconveniencing me last time, and, to prove their repentance, they paid for my parking.

So--no worries. If you haven't scheduled your own mammo, maybe you should. They're really not that bad, and they're quite important.

It helps if you know the drill:

When making the appointment: Pay attention to the calendar. Some times of the month are more painful than others.

When getting dressed, the day of: No deodorant. Wear a top and pants, or a top and a skirt, not a dress. Otherwise you'll be naked all over when you only have to be naked on top. (Unless you like prancing around in a gown that barely clears your butt.) Bring a scrunchie, to keep your hair out of the way.

In the parking ramp: Stay to the left of the pillar, as counter-intuitive as that might feel. Watch out for confused and sad old people, wandering on foot and in cars, as in any hospital ramp.

In the mammogram room: Try your best to be a contortionist. The technician tells you, Face the machine, feet forward, head back, shoulders down, grab the handle here, relax your shoulders, stomach out--that's in, push it out--shoulders down, don't breathe, I said relax your shoulders.

You say, You're kind of asking me to do the impossible, and the technician says, Chin up, don't breathe.

I've been getting annual exams for ten years now, and they no longer trouble me. For a while, though, they made me cry; not because they were painful, but because they made me sad. My sister had recently died of breast cancer, and the waiting room at the Piper Breast Center reminded me so much of her. It's a girly place, with a display of antique tea cups (just like Kristin had), arrangements of fresh flowers, and romantic paintings of rosy-cheeked women.

One year the technician said, in an offhand way, Hmmm, one is smaller than the other, and not only did that trigger a brief obsession to figure out which one (still undetermined) but it also annoyed me. She could just as easily have characterized one as bigger than the other, you know.

But now, knowing as many women as I do who have had lumpectomies, and biopsies, and mastectomies, I sail through, feeling deeply fortunate that I am still whole. Lopsided, perhaps. But healthy, and whole.