Mammography

Someone (not me) will write a song about it. If you're familiar with the process, I'm telling you nothing you don't already know. If not, gather around children, it's a compelling story, which I tell elegantly. Ok, first of all, you're about 1/4 to 1/2 naked. Second of all, like some thrill ride at the carnival you're asked to step right up, where your naked trembling breast is placed on the platform, and it sticks to the platform so moving it at all requires lifting the entire thing and rearranging it. This is not the treat one might hope for. Let alone arranging it so that the freakin' nipple that's curling into itself in fear and trepidation can be spread out for the squeezing. Yeah, if your nipples hide, you do it again. And again and a goddamn gain, but I'm not bitter.

Whether we've met or not, you likely do not know this about me since I wear a bulletproof sportsbra except whilst in the shower but I do sport a bit of a rack. And as I am at an age where I need annual mammograms and no, they're not as perky as they used to be but thanks for your interest. Alas, how easily I digress. My point being that perky d-cups turn into pancakes in the chamber of horror, I mean mammography. And just as lefty has been freed with a looks good, you realize - we're going back in tooooooooooooooo squish the armpit. So the technician and I have now established a rapport, which is good because my boobs don't get handled this much on a first date. And I ask so, how bad is this going to screw up my already screwed up rotator cuff. It would seem not too bad. But again, I digress. As this proceeds, I get more and more outrageous. She's got me draped around, across and upside this machine, tells me to hold my breath and relax. I laugh wholeheartedly and say, um you gotta pick one. I can hold my breath or relax not both. Since my dignity is long since gone, as she proceeds to arrange righty for the squish, I say you've handled my breasts so much I feel I should at least buy you a drink. In case you ever were curious, it is entirely possible for an African-American woman to turn bright red.

There are many many things I like about the joint where I go to get my mammogram. They have robes in my size - V for vast. And they're robes, not damn gowns that my ass hangs out all out of and around. The feng shui in the place is calming and soothing. And most importantly, you know your results before you walk out of the door.

Happily, the girls are fine, the scarred up lymph nodes are still scarred up. (Did I mention I used to fight - a lot?) But everything is as it should be.

This isn't meant to scare anyone. Just do it, if not for you, for your kids, your friends, your family or the girls. You want to enjoy them, don't you?