I had a mammogram today.
I don’t usually share such a personal detail in my blog, but mammograms are just so strange.
Of course, I find the idea of any preventative health care strange.
Last year when I eye doctor tried to get approval from my insurance for a procedure and they contact my primary care physician, his office told them that I was no longer a patient because he hadn’t seen me in over four years.
But I do have mammograms, or at least I’ve had two mammograms so far. Which is two more than the number of annual physicals I’ve had since I graduated from high school.
The first odd thing about this particular procedure is that you can’t wear deodorant. It’s a bit worrisome that a little deodorant can screw up a machine that I’m sure costs tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of dollars. What is in that stuff, anyway?
As a deodorant addict, I was just about in withdrawal by the time mammogram was over and I could put on some antiperspirant. (Yes, I brought some with me.)
And my armpits felt so dry. I think if I had moved my arms back and forth, I could have started a fire.
Then, when I went into the little booth to take of my shirt and put on a too-small hospital robe, I was confronted by this picture:
Isn’t it uncomfortable enough to be undressing in a hospital? Why do we need to be stared at by creepy/cute babies dressed like butterflies?
Of course the whole act of the mammogram is awkward. Standing there half-naked making small talk while a woman plays with your breasts, moving you this way and that so you form the perfect pancake.
I can’t even imagine what it must be like to do that all day, move boobs around. I suppose you get used to it, but who chooses to do that for a living?
I wanted to ask the technician what would happen if I had put on deodorant this morning. Would they send me away or make me wash it off? But I got all distracted by the nakedness and smooshing and I forgot.
I survived the ordeal and even got a free breast cancer awareness bag, which might as well have been a “I got my boobs squished today” button judging by the looks I got as I walked out.
I know it’s the right thing to do and if, heaven forbid, they find something I’ll be glad they caught it early. But the whole thing, from the lack of deodorant to the baby picture to strange woman touching my breasts, is embarrassing.
Although not as embarrassing as blogging about it, I suppose.