Ain’t no big thing at all

Well, it’s a done deal. The girls have been pancaked and imaged and it’s all good for another year.

The hard part this time had more to do with breaking my workday routine than having the mammogram itself. Despite two pop-up reminders yesterday and a voice-mail message when I got home reminding me of my 9 a.m. appointment, I showered and dressed as usual for work. About the time I was sitting down at my PC, I realized I’d screwed up. Half an hour later, I was headed home to shower off the deodorant and lotion I’d applied earlier so I’d be “clean” for my mammo.

When a woman hits 40, a mammogram becomes an annual ritual. Or it should. I have an older friend who simply refuses to consider having one. I worry about her but she’s made up her mind.

The first time I had a mammogram, I freaked out. It was a claustrophobic feeling that I could do nothing about — my breast was smashed between two plates and there was no running away. That was at least 10 years ago.

Today, I chatted with the technician about our both being 50 while she positioned my breast on the plate. I tend to yap during the five or so minutes the process takes. The talking keeps my mind away from the fact that while a total stranger is handling my breasts and that they are being compressed to a slightly uncomfortable degree for several seconds. The next thing you know, she’s done!

The technology has improved a lot over the years, it seems to me. Heck, even the cover-ups they give you to wear have improved greatly. Today’s cover-up was adorable and of a soft, silky purple cloth with pale yellow flowers. They always open in the front — all the easier to photograph your breasts, my dear. The cover-ups used to be coarser cotton thingies with pastel prints that made me think of Grandma’s aprons.

For any woman fearing the dreaded M, it’s really less than five minutes of  discomfort. The total time your breasts are squished up uncomfortably totals about a minute, but in short doses, like maybe eight seconds. The rest of the time you’re chatting with a kind person who knows you don’t want to be doing what you’re doing. The hard part is finding out whether everything is OK. And that’s something you need to know.