I’m happy to report that my boobs are in excellent condition, even if the rest of me is falling apart. My recent mammogram says so.
My male readers may wish to skip this post, unless they really like reading about boobs. (I can hear the clatter of all those computers, tablets and smart phones being shut down.)
Even at my advanced age, mammograms are recommended as a preventative measure every few years. I ignored my doctor the last time he gave me a script for one, but at this year’s annual physical, I agreed to present myself to my local hospital’s radiology department forthwith. I figured I had turned my back on enough of my doctor’s recommendations, and I didn’t want to get a notation in my chart as a “non-compliant patient,” so off I went.
There is one huge advantage to being an obese older lady – mammograms are so much easier with larger breasts. I remember going for my first mammogram as a young woman (prior to childbirth), and I remember how much it hurt when the technician was trying to flatten my then tiny boobs on the scanning tray (or whatever it’s called).
My local hospital is quite efficient. I had, of course, made an appointment, and a receptionist called me a couple of days before to pre-register me. On arrival to the hospital, I was able to skip the line at the front desk and go right to the radiology department. I may have imagined it, but I swear I could feel daggers being thrown from the eyes of people who walked into the hospital after me and were forced to stand in the registration line.
Anyway, I turned over my insurance card and photo ID. I am so glad they ask for photo ID ‘cause you know there are so many people who might steal my identity for the sole purpose of absorbing x-rays. Another lady in the radiology line was getting an abdominal CT scan, and she was also asked for photo ID. I’m sure there were lots of shady people hanging around who were simply dying to take her place and drink that soap-flavored contrast.
But I digress.
From the radiology admission window, I was directed to the inner waiting room. While awaiting my test, I watched the other patients and the hospital personnel. At one point a very handsome young man in scrubs approached the waiting room, and all I could think was, “Please, don’t let him be the one doing the mammograms today!” How embarrassing would that be? Thank heavens, he went on past.
After about 20 minutes, I was escorted to the mammography room by a very pleasant 40-ish woman. The room was all pink-and-white – even the machine itself was white with pink banding. Fortunately, I happen to like pink, but I know quite a few women who might object to that color scheme. It is, after all, just a wee bit sexist.
The test itself took all of 15 minutes and was not the least bit uncomfortable since now that I’m fat, there was plenty of breast material to work with. I admit it was a little weird having that material stretched to the side for the lateral shots, but it wasn’t painful.
Once the test was completed, the technician had me wait in the room while she took the x-rays for review by the in-house doctor, who pronounced everything was A-OK. (The technician did not relay that mine were the most beautiful boobs the doctor had ever seen, but I’m sure that must have been the doctor’s opinion.)
All done! While I have many medical related worries, at least the likelihood of breast cancer isn’t one of them. That’s a very good worry to set aside.
I love to hear from my readers. You may comment on this post, comment on my Facebook or Twitter pages, or email me at email@example.com or firstname.lastname@example.org
Image by Cordelia’s Mom