Last week, I went for my mammogram. Y’all know I like to do a yearly blog reminder for us all to take care of ourselves. I’m sure my mother’s face is starting to feel flush as she senses I’m about to use the word, breast, again on the internet. To my handful of men followers, if you choose to leave before we get started, well, we certainly wouldn’t blame you for that and your absence would be marked as excused. 

I walked in for my appointment, a little early, hoping to get the show on the road. I signed the barrage of papers, having read none of them. For all I knew, I’d just agreed to donate my breasts to science. I took my seat among the other women there. My name was soon called and I was taken to a little room where these white, waffle-knit robes were hanging. You know the drill. I was instructed to take it all off above the waist, robe open to the front, and wipe off my deodorant with the wipes provided. Apparently, deodorant is the mammogram’s nemesis. 

There I sat in the little room, clutching my purse as I waited for my name to be called. At this point in life, I don’t get nervous about any of the womanly tests. Just do what you’ve gotta do. I was ready for them to come get me and get this peep show over with, so I could be on my way. The room sort of had a cattle holding pen feel to it. I suppose if we're going with that metaphor then there I was waiting to have my udders checked.  
My name was called and this cute, young girl, still with perky bosoms, took me inside the room and we got down to business. I've always thought that it would take a special person to do that job. I mean, you know- corralling breasts of all shapes and sizes into that machine. All. Day. Long. I bet she's got a litany of stories to tell at her family Thanksgiving gathering. Surely, everyone wants to sit at her table. I know I would.     
Anyway, I grabbed the handle and leaned in like I knew to do. Just when I thought she’d gotten it all in there, she seemed unconvinced. She pulled and pulled some more as if she was under the impression this was a lung scan. Then, when I’m in there up to my liver and the vise comes down, she says, "Ok, just relax."  I thought, "Oh, I'm relaxed all right. I can't remember the last time I was this relaxed.” I’m not sure, but I think the mammogram is the only medical test that requires you to completely flatten out the body part in question. Men would never stand for a test like this. I feel sure that someone would be coming up with a better way really quickly. 

Anyway, there’s that first initial clamping down that the machine does and it tricks you into thinking, "Oh, well, this isn't so bad,” but I think that just serves the purpose of grabbing you, so you can't escape. It leads one to wonder if it was from here that the term, booby trap, originated. The only way you're getting out of there, at this point, would be by gnawing your breast off as wild animals are known to do when trapped. Then the big squeeze happens, leaving you looking like a rolled out pie crust and the cute, little girl says, "Ok, now, don't move.” You’re thinking,“Oh, I don't think there's much chance of that,” while praying for the sound of the little beep that precedes the release.

You can't help but wonder if those things ever malfunction. You know, dishwashers break. Refrigerators go on the fritz. Washing machines tear up. Cars break down. Surely, the mammogram machine is not above disrepair. I mean, just last week, our garage door went down and wouldn't go back up again. Don’t think that didn't cross my mind. “I bet this is exactly what it would feel like to get your breast caught under the garage door,” I thought. I don't know exactly what circumstances would lead you to find yourself in that predicament, but I can imagine it would be similar. 
Surely, at some point in time, somewhere in the world, a mammogram machine has clamped down and failed to go back up again. Can you imagine? I’m guessing the first thing they'd do is unplug it and plug it back in to see if that helps. Then maybe- unplug it, blow on the plug, and plug it back in. If that doesn't work, surely, they have some emergency numbers for such an event. What if Clarence and Howard from maintenance or a slew of firemen had to come in and tinker with it. Jaws of life, maybe? But, let's not even think about that.        

Can I just say here, too, that I couldn't help but notice the temperature had to have been close to freezing in there. When the air in a room is cold, it, in turn, cools the hard surfaces in a room. Undoubtedly, some fully-clothed man, who's never had a mammogram- or breasts for that matter- was sitting in an office in a different building, playing with his Newton's cradle and controlling the thermostat. 

Anyway, as I stood there ensnared, I tried to think of the man's equivalent to the mammogram and, alas, I couldn't think of any. There are several things in a woman's experience for which there is no male equivalent. We win first, second, and third place in the most intrusive diagnostic tests category. Hands down. I guess we should give the men some credit, though, seeing as how they do have to....well.....um.....ok, never mind. They don't have to do squat.  

 

In my mind, the mammogram can be likened to many things….

-Lifting the hood of your car, placing your bosoms above its grill, and, at your command, having your husband slam the hood shut and then pull the hood release 30 seconds later. 

-Going out onto a highway, where there is road construction, and lying down on your side across the fresh asphalt while the steamroller backs over your breast. Turn over and repeat. 

-Inserting your bosoms into the paper feed of the copy machine at work and pressing “Print.” 

-Pressing wildflowers in a stack of World Book Encyclopedias only with much less appealing results that you wouldn’t want to frame and hang in your powder room. 

No matter how you think about it, a mammogram is one of those slightly uncomfortable, yet quick and necessary, tests that a woman must endure to ensure she stays healthy for her family, so she can continue to help them find things they’ve lost. There is a sisterhood among women who meet up in the waiting rooms of these clinics and doctor’s offices. We can sympathize with each other’s preventative and diagnostic plight. We all have the same nooks and crannies which must be checked once a year. Those checkups are among the most important things you can do for yourself and your family. Don’t ever forget- without you, they’d starve. 

A few days later, I was called to come back for more tests. I went back today and it was a benign cyst and all is well. It’s always a different feeling walking back in for a second look at something they’ve spotted. The heart may beat a little faster and the thoughts may go a bit deeper. I know a lot of you have been there and didn’t get the news you were hoping to get. My mother was diagnosed with early breast cancer, last fall, which means I had another relative’s name to list on those forms they make you fill out at your appointment. Her cancer was found on her regular yearly mammogram. She had surgery, went through some radiation treatments, and has an excellent prognosis. If she hadn’t gone for her regular test, it likely would’ve been a different outcome. 

You know I like to laugh and have fun with everyday experiences we all have to face. I just wanted to remind you to make your appointment if you’re overdue. You’re so worth it! 

Night y’all- 

JONI