It was that time again, time to go get my breasts smashed between two plates of glass. I was smart enough to take Tylenol ahead of time. I planned the appointment to be on an empty stomach, since it’s not pleasant and I didn’t want to burp on the technician.
The appointment was for 1:30. I prepared my lunch and put it in a cooler, along with a Snapple and a cold pack. Then I ran a couple of errands and got to the hospital wing (South Building) at 1:15 for the check-in.
After all the paperwork, I was led into the exam room and told to strip above the waist. I put on the cloth gown.
Why aren’t mammograms called mammo-grammos? That would make it much more fun. And if there’s anything that needs a dose of fun, it’s getting your breasts smashed between two plates of glass.
First, the tech asked me to take the right breast out of the gown, then smash, smash, smash, now hold your breath! Now breathe. Next breast.
Then I took out the left breast and smash, smash, smash, now hold your breath! Now breathe. Back to the right side.
“Do you alternate breasts to give them a break?” I asked.
“Yes,” the tech said.
“When should I stop getting mammograms?” I asked.
“Actually, as long as you are physically able, you should continue to get them.”
“Really?”
“Yes, your risk goes up, the older you are.”
Then smash, smash, smash, the right breast again from a different angle.
Then smash, smash, smash, the left breast again from a different angle.
Then the tech said, “Let’s do the left one again, because there is a wrinkle where the muscle is.”
Then smash, smash, smash, the left breast yet again (no break this time).
“You’re done!” the tech said.
I took this photo, got dressed and left. My mammo-grammo was done for another year.
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 