MY FIRST MAMMOGRAM
Yes, you read it correctly. Five years earlier than insurance typically permits, I had my first mammogram today. I won't go into the why's and what not's of it, but I will just say that the timing of all the crap leading to this could not have been worse. Here I am a week away from moving and losing my insurance, and my boobs are being shipped off to the smoosh factory.
Being that I'd never had a mammogram before, I was a bit nervous. I'd heard everything from "it's excruciating" to "it's just awkward and uncomfortable". I went to the hospital at 1:30 to fill out the paperwork and was then led to a waiting room in the Women's Imaging Center where I was subjected to a half hour of Days of Our Lives. I used to watch this religiously in 9th grade and was a bit creeped out that Patch and Marlena still look identical to their younger selves 20 years later. Inside Edition followed, and I did a little better with this distracting my brain from what was about to happen and why.
Forty-five minutes later it was finally my turn. The woman apologized for their delay in getting to me and then led me to a changing room where I was instructed to remove everything from the waist up and put on what appeared to be a floral half-cape. I closed the door and removed my torso clothing and snapped the cape in the front as instructed. There was something kind of fun and freeing in this odd attire. Kind of a combination of a medical nudist and a superhero. I decided that considering my situation and medical cape, I would be Breast Bitch...Conqueror of Masses. So I sat in the changing room feeling like the semi-nudist hippie I never was, and quite happy that my muffin top wasn't that bad in my jeans, and waited.
The woman came to get me and brought me to the room where I'd have my mammogram. It wasn't AT ALL what I'd envisioned. I was thinking cold, metal plates and scary machines. Instead I was met by a machine that reminded me of what the dentist uses to take x-rays of your mouth, but with two plastic plates. I was told that they would take two pictures and evaluate them. Depending on what they saw, they would either release me or then do an ultrasound on me. After that, the doctor would come in and give me my results. She then explained how they would first crush my boob between the two plates in my normal breast position...okay, crush is my own interpretation of whatever she really said. They would then do a side shot where they would contort my breast...basically like what would happen if you stuck your tit in an elevator door.
The technician places a "bibi" sticker on the part that they are investigating and I am moved forward to rest my right breast on top of a plastic plate. This plate is then raised and the top plate comes down upon the top of my breast to make it like a pancake of skin. It was tight, but by no means painful at all. She asked if I was okay, and in which I responded, "After my reduction I lost a lot of sensitivity in my breast, and I'm finally seeing the positive in this." She laughed and then told me to not breathe while she took the shot. My breast is then released from the grip of death. I am thinking that I'm not surprised that most mammogram techs are women, as this could possibly haunt any man who had to witness a breast pancaked between two plastic plates like that. I mean seriously, if I saw a penis smashed like that, it could possibly reignite the whole celibacy thing for me.
The next shot is where I lost it. The plate was raised underneath my breast and then angled. This was more uncomfortable, as it was pulling up my skin under my breast. I told myself this was good. It was lifting my muffin top upwards even more, giving me a more slimming figure. Then she asks me to grab this bar out to my right side. The top plate crushed upon what I can only describe as the top/side boob. I was then asked to pose with my left hand behind my head, elbow up in the air. That's when I lost it and started giggling. I was like some bad medical porn. My pose resembled that of some fresh, young woman striking a pose holding onto a sailboat mast or something, only my breast was contorted in a bad taffy factory position. When she told me to stop breathing I did, but I also gave a big grin as if I were posing for High Point Regional Hospital's Hooter Of The Month Club. It was completely ridiculous.
After the mammogram, I was told that I indeed needed to have an ultrasound as well. I was then led into the room that was like every other ultrasound room that my ovaries had endured, only this time it was a different girlie part being investigated. I was instructed to strike my Playboy pose again, only this time it was my right arm posed behind my head while laying down. Now, I think that considering my odd imagination combined with the fact I am ready to snap with all I've endured this last week, my brain goes into survival mode and is trying to find humor whatever way it can. So as they did the ultrasound on my breast and took pictures, I watched the screen like a new mother. When they found the culprit, I asked, "Is that it?" She nodded. I wanted to ask if it was a boy or a girl? I wanted to ask for a printout of it to carry in my wallet, as this could likely be the closest thing to a baby I get to encounter. After the initial ultrasound, the doctor came in to ultrasound me again. I thought about names for my culprit. It was born in the South, so it needs a Southern name. Bubba. I smiled. I have a Bubba in my boob.
And then I realized I was crazy, and the reality of it all hit me. I bit my lip and kept it together for the five-minute walk to my car, and then lost it. And then I started laughing as I imagined the warped porno pose for my first mammogram.
I hope I make Miss October.
Being that I'd never had a mammogram before, I was a bit nervous. I'd heard everything from "it's excruciating" to "it's just awkward and uncomfortable". I went to the hospital at 1:30 to fill out the paperwork and was then led to a waiting room in the Women's Imaging Center where I was subjected to a half hour of Days of Our Lives. I used to watch this religiously in 9th grade and was a bit creeped out that Patch and Marlena still look identical to their younger selves 20 years later. Inside Edition followed, and I did a little better with this distracting my brain from what was about to happen and why.
Forty-five minutes later it was finally my turn. The woman apologized for their delay in getting to me and then led me to a changing room where I was instructed to remove everything from the waist up and put on what appeared to be a floral half-cape. I closed the door and removed my torso clothing and snapped the cape in the front as instructed. There was something kind of fun and freeing in this odd attire. Kind of a combination of a medical nudist and a superhero. I decided that considering my situation and medical cape, I would be Breast Bitch...Conqueror of Masses. So I sat in the changing room feeling like the semi-nudist hippie I never was, and quite happy that my muffin top wasn't that bad in my jeans, and waited.
The woman came to get me and brought me to the room where I'd have my mammogram. It wasn't AT ALL what I'd envisioned. I was thinking cold, metal plates and scary machines. Instead I was met by a machine that reminded me of what the dentist uses to take x-rays of your mouth, but with two plastic plates. I was told that they would take two pictures and evaluate them. Depending on what they saw, they would either release me or then do an ultrasound on me. After that, the doctor would come in and give me my results. She then explained how they would first crush my boob between the two plates in my normal breast position...okay, crush is my own interpretation of whatever she really said. They would then do a side shot where they would contort my breast...basically like what would happen if you stuck your tit in an elevator door.
The technician places a "bibi" sticker on the part that they are investigating and I am moved forward to rest my right breast on top of a plastic plate. This plate is then raised and the top plate comes down upon the top of my breast to make it like a pancake of skin. It was tight, but by no means painful at all. She asked if I was okay, and in which I responded, "After my reduction I lost a lot of sensitivity in my breast, and I'm finally seeing the positive in this." She laughed and then told me to not breathe while she took the shot. My breast is then released from the grip of death. I am thinking that I'm not surprised that most mammogram techs are women, as this could possibly haunt any man who had to witness a breast pancaked between two plastic plates like that. I mean seriously, if I saw a penis smashed like that, it could possibly reignite the whole celibacy thing for me.
The next shot is where I lost it. The plate was raised underneath my breast and then angled. This was more uncomfortable, as it was pulling up my skin under my breast. I told myself this was good. It was lifting my muffin top upwards even more, giving me a more slimming figure. Then she asks me to grab this bar out to my right side. The top plate crushed upon what I can only describe as the top/side boob. I was then asked to pose with my left hand behind my head, elbow up in the air. That's when I lost it and started giggling. I was like some bad medical porn. My pose resembled that of some fresh, young woman striking a pose holding onto a sailboat mast or something, only my breast was contorted in a bad taffy factory position. When she told me to stop breathing I did, but I also gave a big grin as if I were posing for High Point Regional Hospital's Hooter Of The Month Club. It was completely ridiculous.
After the mammogram, I was told that I indeed needed to have an ultrasound as well. I was then led into the room that was like every other ultrasound room that my ovaries had endured, only this time it was a different girlie part being investigated. I was instructed to strike my Playboy pose again, only this time it was my right arm posed behind my head while laying down. Now, I think that considering my odd imagination combined with the fact I am ready to snap with all I've endured this last week, my brain goes into survival mode and is trying to find humor whatever way it can. So as they did the ultrasound on my breast and took pictures, I watched the screen like a new mother. When they found the culprit, I asked, "Is that it?" She nodded. I wanted to ask if it was a boy or a girl? I wanted to ask for a printout of it to carry in my wallet, as this could likely be the closest thing to a baby I get to encounter. After the initial ultrasound, the doctor came in to ultrasound me again. I thought about names for my culprit. It was born in the South, so it needs a Southern name. Bubba. I smiled. I have a Bubba in my boob.
And then I realized I was crazy, and the reality of it all hit me. I bit my lip and kept it together for the five-minute walk to my car, and then lost it. And then I started laughing as I imagined the warped porno pose for my first mammogram.
I hope I make Miss October.
