My first mammogram was fine—the process and the results. Women should inform other women that the experience is not that bad. I’ve always heard horror stories, and the procedure is a breeze. It’s not as fun as having the ear doctor suck dry skin out of your ear, and it’s not how I’d choose to spend an afternoon, but it wasn’t painful. I can see how it would be tough if you have tender breasts, but if you can schedule your appointment whenever you want, I think you can adjust accordingly.
I figured I’d make conversation with the mammographer (a title I prefer to technologist) while my bosom was being squished between the plastic plates. That’s what I do with the phlebotomists to pass the time. I asked whether it was easier to do a mammogram on a busty woman or someone flat chested (the category I’d put myself in). She explained that they were hard for different reasons. A big bosom is hard on her wrists as she places the breast on the machine. A small bosom can be hard to grab a hold of. And she added, “But your breasts are just perfect.” I’m assuming that the rest of that sentence is: for a mammogram. And I suspect she says that to all the girls. Still, if you haven’t noticed lately, apparently I have perfect breasts.
Just ask my Grandma. When I told her this story she said, “Well, I think you have a nice handful.” Between all the compliments, I’m not sure whether my ego should soar or I should seek therapy. We both had a good laugh when she said it out loud, and I’m grateful I have my Grandma to boost my ego.
