I've heard about the experiences of others, who are more experienced. I've seen the cartoons depicting the procedure as a car running over your boob. It was time for my first mammogram, anticipating extreme discomfort. I walked into the pink and beige, Laura Ashley decorated office. There was soft music playing, flowers, and froo froo coffee.
All this soft, feminine calm only made me more anxious. The technician lead me back to a dressing room which was better decorated than my own house. Here I removed my shirt and bra, put my things in a locker, wiped my breasts with a "mammo-wipe" and wrapped myself in a cotton gown. The whole while I got to keep my cup of French Vanilla froo froo coffee.

My ladies were once working girls, now retired. In my teens and 20's they looked fantastic (if I do say so myself.) When I took my bra off they would pretty much stay put, and they were just the right size. The ladies stepped up when duty called, and nursed for a total of 18 months nourishing 2 babies into strong boys. After that, they've been a little deflated. And after the mammogram they felt a little more deflated.

The technician gently laid one breast upon a plate, and angled me for the picture. Then the machine pressed in down upon the plate. I thought, "Oh, this isn't that bad", then she pressed the plates together just a little more. The technician told me I could breath, but don't move. As if I could possible move while being painfully and tightly held by my right breast. I took a deep breath and exhaled. During the following 3 more poses and pictures, I thought back to a woman I met a few months ago. I was in Honduras on a mission trip, and a woman came into the clinic that we had opened for the one week our group was there. The woman's breasts were full of lumps so big you could see some. It is safe to assume she has never had a mammogram in her life. After a doctor examined her, he told her she needed a double mastectomy right away. But this woman was 3rd world poor. Although a double mastectomy would only cost $2,000 down there, her obtaining $2,000 was about as unlikely as me obtaining $2 million here in the states. She left knowing her body's betrayal, and knowing there was nothing she could do.

I think about how helpless I would feel knowing I had cancer, but could do absolutely nothing to fight it. This thought draws me to the conclusion of how privileged I am to be standing here, with my breast squeezed into this digital mammography machine to detect the slightest inkling of a cyst. And if something is seen, I have access to doctors, equipment, and hospitals ready to join my fight against it.

After the mammogram is over, I get dressed, and my ladies jump into their brassiere themselves, like wounded animals yipping and crawling back to their cave. Ah yes, soft support. The doctor will evaluate the X-rays and call me in a few days. If everything is great, then I don't have to do this again until I'm 40, then annually after that. And darn toot-in I will get examined as frequently as my insurance will allow. The whole ordeal was uncomfortable, but not painful - like a dental visit. Oh that reminds me, I have another appointment to make that I keep putting off.
By Susan Q. Kasten 2006

05/15/2006

Author's Note: If monologues can be written about vaginas, I can write about my breasts.

Posted on 05/15/2006
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