Had my annual mammogram recently. For whatever blessed reason, I wasn’t that
worried about it, going into the exam. I
did not have my exam last year, because my young female doctor affirmed that Some Institution had now concluded that
mammograms were needed only every other year.
Finally, I thought at the time. Mammograms. I told my boyfriend, I really wish you were
in that room with me. I think you would
be pretty surprised to see me, all naked, and hunched up, and squished this way
and that. It is really quite
unbelievable.
That said, this is a hard topic for me. As I am sure it is for a lot of women. So much of breast cancer prevention and
awareness just seems so intuitively wrong, on so many levels. OK, so you want to radiate me once a year, in
hopes of preventing a major disease? Every
time I do it, I think in ten years (5, 15…20?) this whole procedure will be
archaic, something like bloodletting, and we will all look back and think, I
can’t believe we did that, what were we thinking?
And don’t get me going on Susan B. Komen, and pink ribbons,
and breast cancer awareness…again, it’s a hard topic. Because so many women do get sick, and no
one, apparently, is immune, and everything, quite honestly, seems out of our personal
control – especially when you are just standing there, naked, and completely
vulnerable, and always afraid. But
anytime you get business, and I mean big business, (think about how many people
are employed by the breast cancer industry…Susan B. Komen, fundraisers, radiologists,
radiology techs, oncologists), at the very least you have a whole bunch of
people depending on the perpetuity of this disease to continue their income and
lifestyle. To me, that’s scary. And I can’t stand it.
But generally, I don’t want to say anything. Because yes, it could happen to me…and then
what? And already it’s happened to
millions of women, and I feel for them, deeply, so I don’t want to be raging
about pink ribbons and walks and mammograms and what not, but
still inside, I am whimpering….because…I am whimpering…because in my heart of
hearts, something seems…wrong.
That said, this year, I planned to get my exam. My insurance company had contacted me. YOU NEED TO GET YOUR MAMMOGRAM. The facility where I get my mammogram taken
had contacted me. YOU NEED TO GET YOUR
MAMMOGRAM. Yes, yes, I know. So dutifully, I made my appointment and
showed up on schedule.
And, for whatever reason, I wasn’t terrified or even
thinking about it when I went in, stripped down, and let a rather nice lady
squish my tits this way and that, hold my breath, hold my pose, do it again,
this way, now this way, now suck it, hold it, hold it…got it. So many pictures, so many angles. I did feel a little bit of my soul stolen
from me, and I think my shoulders were hunched just a tad more than usual upon
exit, but for the most part, ten years into this now, the routine is pretty
rote, and I just marched in, did it, and left.
And like a naïve fool, carried on with my day.
I think you know where this is headed. Not the next day, but the one following, I got
the call at 8am. Some new something, a
shadow, or honestly I can’t remember how they put it, showed up on one of the
images of my right breast.
Well, I’m going to cut to the chase. I’m fine.
And if anything, the two days of fear, mental struggle, isolation and
existential pain that followed, just makes me feel sadder for women who don’t,
in the end, get decent news and relief.
But, that said, what followed sucked.
I returned to the clinic two days later. More tit squishing. So many more xrays. “What the doctor saw is really far back,”
says the radiology tech, who is basically squishing my lungs into the mammogram
machine. Sadness. Sitting alone in a closet sized room, for an
hour, naked, awaiting results, which no one seems hurried or even too concerned
about delivering. An ultrasound. And then naked on a table by myself for 15
minutes, and then another ultrasound by, finally,
a doctor, who then slowly concludes (this, after two hours of nudity, waiting,
and trembling) and mind you it’s the first thing anyone has said to me about
anything, “Well we see no signs of the shadow we saw on your first exam. We just wanted to make sure. But it looks like you are OK.”
Of course, by this time, I am a completely changed
person. I am ragged and delirious and
all I can think is I want to hug this
doctor.
But the doctor does not leave it with a simple stamp of
clean health. He sits down before I
leave and gets serious. He says, “I know
there is some controversy regarding mammograms.” At this point, his face is really close to
mine and he is looking me square in the eye.
And mind you, this man does not know me, nor does he have any idea about
my subversive/conspiracy theory tendencies, but apparently I am not the only
person who is confused and concerned regarding mammograms and breast cancer
prevention. “But,” he continues, “talk
to any radiologist, anyone who does this for a living, for a life, and there is
no controversy. None. It saves lives.” And I tell you the two techs in the room with
him, chime in like in a chorus behind him.
“No controversy!” they sing. “You
need,” he says, “to get a mammogram every year, every year, no exception!”
And then he just stares at me for impact, and I stare back and say, “yes,
sir, I understand.”
Then crumpled, crippled, confused and elated I redress,
gather my things and leave, thinking, if skipping a year of mammograms, means
having to go through that, I will never skip my mammogram again…
It’s about eight minutes into my drive home, before I think,
but wait…
(I wish great good health to all women and all people on
this planet…all I’m saying is...?)
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