After the Fact

Yes. Yes it is true. Mammograms are a wee bit painful. Not so painful as to not do them. Not so painful as, say, preferring to have surgery. But painful enough that you need a treat afterwards. And I have decided that my treat is kitchen gadgets. From here on in, whenever I do a mammogram, I get a kitchen gadget. Now I am not talking about things like the $700 Vita mix or anything, but more like a little $20 or $30 pick me up. Like a lemon squeezer (sorry, couldn’t let that related image pass by unused). Or measuring cups (ahh, yes, the breast references are everywhere, and today, why not?).

So I have past yet another hurdle, even benchmark, since we are fast approaching my 5-year anniversary, on the road to documented good health. So how was it, you might ask? And well you should. Guess who turned up again. My friendly neighbourhood mammogram technician. You remember, the one who desired a greater level of cooperation from me. Well, this time, she was better. Or I was better. Or I was less supped up on Xanax. We’ll never know which one. But there were a few interesting moments that it would be remiss of me not to mention.

She kept getting quite irate that my hair got in the way. I guess hair can skew result, or impair readings or, I don’t know, make her jealous. I can picture shoulders getting in the way, all that bone, and dense matter, but hair? Anyway that was the biggest problem (besides me, in my tense anxiety, gripping and clawing the sides of the machine, which tighten the muscles, which makes the read harder, poor her), nonetheless. So she was often shooing it out of the way, or maybe trying to herd it would be a better analogy, trying to cut it off at the pass and all. Well, I will tell you what. Where I come from, I am grateful for the hair. Grateful it is there. Grateful it is long and flowing. At my one year out mammogram, there was none. At my two year out anniversary, tight curls abounded, but there was no falling in the way of the machinery. So I am happy and proud to sport obnoxious curls, fighting hard for their right to bounce.

The other thing that was interesting to discover, is that last time she did my mammogram, 6 months ago (so not the one that made me cry and fume and generally rant), she went home and cried for 40 minutes. Hmmm. She has a heart after all. Not sure how that translates to her being so very nasty during my fine wire insertion, but as the story goes… when we did that mammogram, something went wrong with the equipment, and so she put me through about 15 slides (read: agonizing breast clamping experiences) to no avail. Each time she thought she had fixed the machine, but each one turned out blank. Wasted effort, wasted pain, thank you very much. In the end I had to come back and go through it all again (not to mention wait about 2 + months for any considered medical opinions). Turns out that was too much for her, but in the cold way she revealed this, it didn’t garner much sympathy from me.

Never mind, I am off to buy kitchen gadgets! And have dinner at Madeleine’s.