Well, you remember last time, right?
So, I'd been for my ultrasound, but the doc had wanted me to go for a mammogram too. It was scheduled for November 1. I was nervous, because I hadn't heard any good stories!
Then, last Friday I got a phone call that they needed to re-schedule my appointment. After playing phone tag, I finally got in touch with the women's clinic on Monday.
"We have an opening today at 2:50."
Holy crap. Immediate diarrhea tummy ache.
But, I am a GROWN WOMAN, so off I went. I registered, and walked nervously down the hall of the hospital to find the women's clinic. I walked past the little donut/coffee shop where I bought coffees during that awful time my Mom was in the hospital. I made sure to avert my eyes. Bad memories.
I checked in at the desk, waited for just a few moments, and then was called in to get changed into your basic hospital gown. In the changeroom, there were different plastic purses to put all your stuff in.
I had a dilemma about which purse to choose. I like pink, but isn't that too frou-frou? No. I'm not choosing pink. That's the BREAST CANCER COLOUR, damn it. How about blue? Too gloomy? What if the colour of purse I choose, decides the OUTCOME of this mammogram?!? GAH! CHOOSE GREEN!
Also, why do the purses all have animal print tape on the top? It seems ludicrous--like it's someone's good natured, but misguided attempt to add a touch of feminine luxury or something.
Sitting there in the waiting room with my hospital robe on, I soooo wished I'd forced my sister to come with me. I hope my Mom is somehow here in spirit.
Time for the mammo!
Yeah, like I was going to draw a mammography machine. First, they do an up-down squasheroo
Then an angled squash-o-rama! I liked the part where the technician lady had to pull my fat armpit out of the plates before she continued compressing at one point.
Hey! That wasn't so bad at all! I felt a little man-handled afterward, but it wasn't painful--just mildly uncomfortable and WEIRD. After my boobs were released though, THEN they kinda hurt a little bit. But it was that ITCHY kind of hurt, you know? The kind where you want to give your boobies a good scrubby scratch to make them feel better?
Anyway, while I waited for the lady to put my sexy hooter photies into her machine or whatever she does, I couldn't stop staring at the stupid sign of the mammo machine. It read "Hologic." I hate words I don't immediately know how to pronounce. Is it like "hollogic" like "hologram?"
OR, is it like HO-logic, as in, the logic of HO'S? Like, these are machines crafted by really sexy scientist women in fish-net stockings and killer heels!!
And then, of course, I get a song in my head almost immediately...
sung to the tune of "Volare."
Hologic is always the best!
The first choice for SQUASHING your breast!
And then I imagine it's like a movie, and the room fills with all my poor, scared sistren and we SHED OUR ROBES AND OUR FEAR AND OUR SHAME, AND WE BREAK OUT INTO A REALLY SNAZZY SINGING/DANCING NUMBER! HOORAY!
But, that didn't happen. Obvs.
I had to wait a few minutes to see that the pics had worked and stuff, and then I was set free.
There was a cute woman around my age in the waiting room looking like she felt all total yuck. I wanted to hug her, or say; "hey girlfriend, it's okay," or something, but I just smiled at her, slipped into the change stall, got dressed, and left.
But if I could, I'd have said to her, and you, and you and you:
Stay strong, girlfriends. Stay strong.