This post is for girls only. ONLY. Not even guy relatives. No guys allowed!!! If you read on, you will be sorry. Just have a girl there at the office copy it off and put it in an envelope, then take it home and give it to your wife. It is for her. She will feel better. You will not. You will feel worse. If you read it, you will never be able to look at me again. Nor I at you. Shoo! Or else! :
I mean it! Scat!
I had heard real horror stories about this procedure. For me, it wasn’t so bad, really. I was feeling a little uncomfortable getting into a gown and leaving all in a community dressing room stall, then sitting around in the cold room feeling flat without a brassier to fill up the gown. The technician came in and asked if this was my first time. I’m sitting there looking like a refugee or something, even though I was trying to act like a cool and calm refugee. I was figuring that pinching nothing more than skin wasn’t going to be that fun. With all that seeping through the cracks in my expression, I’m pretty sure Ms. does this all day every day already knew the answer. So she starts to explain everything in a soothing sort of way to set me at ease, and she says to me that since I was young and my tissue was denser, she would have to compress more to get a good image but she would be gentle. I assured her I wasn’t as young or as dense as she thought I was. Well, so figuratively I may be dense, but I was pretty sure my breast tissue wasn’t. Then she asked if I had any questions. Well, my only question, or concern rather, was she had shown how the plates on the machine could rotate, but did they go down? ‘Cause otherwise, I didn’t think anything but my hair was going to reach into that thing. She assured me it would go all the way down to the average person’s knees which would be about the right height for me, so we were good to go.
I was thinking that this whole thing was going to be pretty humiliating, seeing as how there wasn’t much to stick in between the plates, but guess what I found out that day? I actually did still have some breasts left, they had just slid under my armpits and I hadn’t noticed them there. I was impressed to see just how much tissue there was if you smash it flat like that. I came out of there feeling like a woman again. All I needed was some duct tape or something to slide and hold everything back out front where it belonged!
So, the moral of this story is, not all is lost, even if you think it is, and after forty, booby trap takes on a whole new meaning for a woman. Don't forget to get a mammogram, no matter how humiliating or painful it may be. It's way better than not catching something on time. If I need it, I'm sure you do too.