The worst thing you can find is a lump in your breast. The second worst thing to do is go get it looked at, because the doc will always say those four words that make any woman shudder - you need a mammogram.
My last one was five years ago for a good reason. It was my first and my last one, and not an experience I wanted to do again. But I had a lump, and I was afraid it would be something horrible. So I went to the boob squisher's domain and waited for my impending doom.
It didn't matter that there was a private wing just for women. They try to lull you into a sense of comfort when they offer you your very own little locker and a heated robe fresh from the steamer. Though I admit, that was a nice touch. But you always know what's coming- like I kid knows when it's time for a needle in the doc's office.
They told me they have state-of-the-art equipment now, and that it's not nearly as painful as in the past, because it's all digital. But machines have no nervous system, and no mercy. Me having a lump wouldn't matter to a machine that could turn my triple D's to triple Longs in a heartbeat. All at the convenient push of a button.
It's even more fun if you have a lump, because they need to torture you twice- once for the entire boob, then again with a smaller press to pinpoint the lump in question. And the technician had the gall to tell me not to breathe. Duh!
Afterward I asked her just how much of a masochist one has to be to qualify for her job, holding my now flattened mammary like a tender, half-filled water balloon. She found my jibe funny, but never answered. I limped back into the waiting room (yes, it hurt that much!), and joked to the others that I was an A cup when I came into the clinic.
Now I had to wait for an ultrasound. At least I knew this was not going to be painful!
I was gelled up and this little thing that looked like a lady shaver came into contact with my now tender breast, showing me all kinds of things I didn't want to see. Let's just say I stopped counting after she found lump number ten. All lumps under the first one, like a bunch of grapes. But thankfully none of them were malignant!
So being the curious person I am, I asked what those things were. Cysts, was the reply, the technician smiling and handing me a towel to wipe off the goop. "So if I get those drained, I'll be what, a C cup?" I asked jokingly. Of course she told me that it was possible that I could shrink a bit. Then I got an idea.
"You mean those cysts are just filled with fluid? And they'll shrink when drained?" I asked eagerly. She replied in the affirmative. I grinned. "Maybe I'm not overweight after all! Can you use that thing on my thighs?" I looked at her happily, hoping she would say yes. All I got in return was a laugh. Apparently I need a doctors note for her to goop and snoop again, darn it. I need to look further into this!
It's now late evening, and my lump(s) still hurt a little. So If you're scheduled to get a mammogram, beware the Squisher- and wear some really soft, comfy clothing. As for me, I'm going to take an extra soft pillow to bed with me tonight- after I limp up the stairs....*whimper*
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