Your breast self-exam, that is. My mother died of breast cancer and as I approach my 40′s, I’ve become hypervigilant about my boobs. Because mammograms are so important (and so much fun!), I’ve chronicled my adventures in the hope that my readers are both amused and gently reminded to go get one! Guys, encourage the important women in your life to take care of themselves. And we can all help by clicking on The Breast Cancer Site once a day to fund free mammograms.
So here you go – a couple of posts about my boobs.
Mammo Stratego 2008
Yes, it’s that time of year again. Last year I chronicled my adventures in mammography so why should this year be any different?
So let me start by saying MY BOOBS HURT!!!! And my arms, and my collar bones, and oh yeah, a few ribs, too. I had intended this post to be full of the warm fuzzies and highly introspective prose about the universal bond that women share in the mammography suite waiting room, the smiles, the been-there-done-that-good-luck looks, yada, yada, yada. About the bonds of empathy transcending illness to help another, yada, yada, yada. Yeah, well, did I mention that MY BOOBS HURT?!?!
The appointment was this morning and I’m still aching. I felt like I was auditioning for Cirque de Soleil in Vegas. The one where the acrobats hang suspended by their breasts from the ceiling. (Ok, maybe that’s more porno than Cirque de Soleil, but you get the picture.) At approximately 10:30 AM, the only things keeping me vertical were my boobs and my big toe. The tech kept saying, “Nope, that’s not going to be high enough. Lean in more. Nope, let me raise the machine a little bit. That’s it. Relax your shoulder, press your ribs in, grab onto the bar. Ok, let me raise it a little more. Great. Don’t move.” Yeah, don’t move. I’m on my tippy toes, desperately grabbing the machine for leverage so my breast isn’t ripped from my chest while the image is being taken. (And if you say ”bar” one more time, lady, you’d better be inviting me out for a drink, because I’m wrapped like a pretzel around this machine and could use a little something. Oh, and these nipple markers you made me put on? Yeah, they HURT too when taking them off. At least make them look like pasties so I can pretend to have ahem wardrobe malfunctions ahem at home later on with the husband.)
In all honesty, despite the discomfort (did I mention that MY BOOBS HURT?!?!?) the overall experience was a good one. I didn’t have to wait very long, the staff was pleasant, and the radiologist on-site spoke to me within minutes. “Everything looks good.” Phew. Chalk one up for another year.
Mammo Stratego, February 2007
No, it’s the not name of a new board game by Milton Bradley. It’s Operation Breast Press, the Annual Boob Crush, the Great Mammary Squeeze. Call it what you will. It’s a 5 minute radiological exam that takes 2 months of preparation.
First the letter arrives from the radiology department. “You’re due for your annual mammogram. Call us within 2 weeks of receipt to schedule an appointment.” What if I don’t call within 2 weeks? What if it’s 2 weeks and 2 days before I call? Do I lose my preferred status as a frequent mammogram member? Not wanting to find out the dire consequences, I call within 2 weeks. Take the first morning appointment available. Forget that appointment should be 7-10 days after period to “minimize discomfort”. (What a crock that is. Minimize discomfort, ha!) Appointment is made - for two months in the future. Work with me, menstrual cycle, please. Ok, got the appointment, now I have to figure out daycare. DoodleBug’s covered. Get her to school by 8:00 so I can get to the medical building by 8:45. No problem. Except what to do with ToddlerBug. Can’t exactly take him in with me. Ok, call A. Yup, she can take him for a couple hours that morning. Phew! Mark appointment in calendar.
Fast forward a month. Checking work schedule, see mammogram appointment. Damn! Forgot to call A to see if she can take ToddlerBug. Call A. Yes, she’s already got it marked down in her calendar. Whoops – feel like an idiot for asking twice.
Fast forward three weeks. Trying to plan a lunch meeting, see mammogram appointment in book. Did I call A? Yes, yes, I’m an idiot, I already called her twice.
Fast forward – it’s now two days before appointment. Radiology department calls. “We have to change your appointment.” What? Why? I’m all set! My menstrual cycle has cooperated to “minimize discomfort”, daycare is covered, I have a morning appointment so I don’t have to worry about sweating all day, and now I have to change the appointment? A few choice words come to mind, but I don’t protest. Re-schedule for day after original appointment in the early afternoon. Here we go again. DoodleBug’s covered. Call A. Can we switch to Thursday a little later in the day? Sure, no problem. (THANK YOU, A!)
Appointment Day. Hop in shower. Shave. Rinse 6 times to make sure absolutely nothing is left on the skin anywhere. Dry off. Avoid deodorant like it’s radioactive and moisturizer like it’s a biohazard. Give thanks that it’s cold so sweat won’t be a factor. Get dressed. Get DoodleBug to school, get ToddlerBug to A’s. Pop 3 Ibuprofen to help “minimize discomfort”. Arrive at medical building. Check in. Yes, my new insurance will cover the procedure. Go to waiting room. Fill out forms. Yes, there’s a family history. Mom and a maternal cousin. Hmm, it was only Mom on the form last year. Feel a pang of grief and a sense of dread. Oh, there’s my name. Get undressed from waist up. Use wipes to make ABSOLUTELY sure there’s nothing on the skin. Go into exam room. Yes, my insurance will cover the procedure. No, I’m not pregnant. (Funny how the insurance question comes first, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s sad. Yes, it’s sad.)
Face the machine. Silently apologize to the mammaries for the “discomfort” they’re about to undergo. Left one first. Slap that puppy up there on the plate. Feel the vise tightening slowly and then the unthinkable – the radiologist pushes down on the top plate to lock it into place. “Stop breathing,” she says. No problem there. I stopped breathing as soon as my left boob became a pancake. Boob is released and magically springs back into form. Side view now. Vise re-applied in a different position. “Hold on to the machine”. No problem – I’m white-knuckling the sucker at this point. And I’m still not breathing. Boob is released and springs back, a little more slowly this time. I steel myself for the right side. Phew – all done. ”Don’t get dressed yet. Let me make sure we have clean images.” You’d better have clean images. There’s not a drop of anything on me from the neck to the waist, sister, and you’re going to have to give me something stronger than Advil if you want to squeeze me again today.
Thumbs up – clean images. And with that, I’m done. 10 minutes from check-in to check-out. Hop back in the car and resume my day. Except now I wait. I wait for the letter to arrive that says everything is fine or the phone call that says it’s not. And I wait, and I wait, and I wait….
(editor’s note: Everything came back ok.)
