October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Naturally that makes me think back fondly to my first mammogram many years ago—the same way one might think back fondly to their first root canal.
Seriously though, thanks to my first very kind and efficient mammogram technician, I do not fear the mammogram. I hate it, but I don’t fear it. And I continue to have them faithfully whenever the calendar and the latest medical advice suggest. I think that makes that first technician a smashing success. Sorry.
To help dispel any fears you may have about the procedure, I’m going to walk you through my first experience. I was already tense when I arrived, so I almost canceled when the receptionist asked for an emergency contact. I hated to think what sort of emergency there could be during a mammogram.
I felt better when she asked if I had implants. I asked her if I really looked like I have implants. But she said she had to ask everyone that.
After filling out my paperwork, I met the woman who would be doing the procedure. Just an aside here. I’ve had a few mammograms since that first one. And each time I’ve been helped by very caring technicians. It seems like the sort of job bullies would apply for—and men. But I’ve met neither at what I, being a journalist, now refer to affectionately as “the Press Club.”
Anyway, the technician gave me a little poncho to cover myself as well as a wipe to remove my deodorant. I didn’t think this was the kind of experience I should go through without deodorant. But she said it could show up on the pictures and she didn’t think I’d want to do retakes.
Then she explained what she was going to do, which was essentially flatten my bosom in a giant vice, though she didn’t put it like that. She remained determined, but reassuring throughout this procedure despite my whimpering and the fact that I wasn’t wearing deodorant.
She never once said, “Don’t be a baby,” or “Is that all you’ve got?” She was gentle and sympathetic but that didn’t stop her from doing what she had to do. And what she had to do was put my breast in the vice, tighten it, then go out for coffee.
I’m joking! She was actually very quick. I only had time for two worries. First would I faint? I reassured myself that I probably wouldn’t. And even if I did, I couldn’t very well fall to the floor—not with my chest in the press like that.
Secondly, would I “bounce back” after my mammogram? I know it sounds crazy, but I was convinced everyone I saw for the rest of the day would be able to tell I’d had a mammogram just by looking at me.
And then it was over. Really the best thing about mammograms is that they’re fast. Oh yes, and they save lives. But that’s really all you can say for them.
After that first mammogram, the technician gave me a gift—a small bottle of hand lotion with the logo of the Press Club on it. It was thoughtful, but I think a tee-shirt would be a more appropriate gift, not to mention, a better way to advertise. On the back it could read, “I did the right thing. I had a mammogram!” Then on the front it would say, “I wasn’t always this flat.”
Dorothy Rosby is a blogger and humor columnist whose work appears regularly in publications throughout the West and Midwest. She’s the author of four books of humorous essays all available locally at Mitzi’s Books and on Amazon.