November 19, 2009
Takin' Care of Boobness
What did the gal from work call it? Ah, yes. The ol' Stretch 'n' Smash. Went for my forty-year mamogram today.
What is it with nurses wearing the scrubs with the Tweety Birds and flowers and peace signs and shit on them? I understand that the monotony of blue scrubs would annoy some women. I myself would welcome the disappearance of the daily obligation to pick out an outfit that is professional, flattering and color-coordinated all at once. But whatever.
And I understand why pediatric doctors and nurses wear Dora the Explorer scrubs, to distract the little children that they must stab with needles. But why a grown woman would wear a Looney Tunes-themed, psychodellic-print top to work with other grown women is beyond me. I was embarassed for her.
Perhaps she could sense my disdain because I had to wait fifty minutes before being called into that small, cold room. And I need to give props for the cute pink, beaded curtains. The technician said, "Yeah. We try." Ha! Gotta love someone who has no delusions about their circumstances.
Yes, they do try -- as shown by the adorable flowery design on the nipple stickers! [For the gentlemen: A sticker with a small, metal bead is placed on each nipple, so when the doctor is looking at the xray, they know where the nipple is oriented.] They certainly have become more festive in the five years since my baseline mamogram! I almost felt like a fabulous lap-dancer instead of some piece of meat that the technician had to unceremoniously position on the smashing machine like a butcher handling a slab of corned beef he's about to slice up for sammiches!
Tip to my fellow hogan-owners: Don't take the last appointment time of the morning. Again, I had to wait fifty minutes in my blue robe, listening to some crappy talk show and then some crappy soap opera, while trying to concentrate on my book. Personally, I resent that they just assume we all want to watch talk shows and soap operas. They couldn't put on the Comedy Channel? Everyone likes funny!
I'm also kind of upset that, despite the fact that at least half of the other eight women in the waiting room were born well before the invention of the television, I was the only one with a book. Don't people read anymore? Who doesn't bring a book to a hospital waiting room?
The actual mamograms -- three on each boob -- took about five seconds. The tech kept apologizing for smooshing my boob to the point that I could no longer breathe, and I was like, "Hey, I can stand just about anything, if it will save me from dying of cancer." She was like, "That's a good attitude to have." I'll bet she hears lots of whining about the smooshing. There were quite a few women in the waiting room even more well-endowed than I. I KNOW! And the bigger the boob, the harder the hurt. No fun, granted, but SO much better than one's hair falling out. I'm just sayin'.
Besides, the peeling off of the nipple stickers is WAY worse than the smooshing of the melons. I chose the rip-'em-off-fast-and-get-it-over-with-approach. Wow. That'll wake you up! Thank God the place was so chilly. I was able to put my freezing fingers on my nipples for a moment until the pain subsided enough for me to put my bra back on.
All set for another year! Go get 'em smooshed, ladies! BOO-BEEZ FO-EH-VAH!
Comments
Okay, this is another entry preserved into my Pirate Wench Quotes file. The first entry in said file is your first mammogram. It reminds me that it's time for my biannual mammogram next year.
-L.
Posted by: Lori at November 20, 2009 12:24 PM