Mammography on the Small Plates

When I went for my pelvic exam a couple of weeks ago, they also gave me an appointment for today to get a mammogram. This will be my second mammogram.

I had my first 5 years ago at the age of 42. I figured it was time for a “baseline” and being the good medical consumer that I am and wanting to be proactive in discovering any problems before they turn into large problems, I broke down and went.

The lady who did the test was very pleasant. Actually, had we met under other circumstance we would probably have become friends. She did and said everything just right to put me at ease.

I had been told all kinds of things about this test. I was told it was horribly painful and it felt as if they were laying your boobs on the road and running over them with one of those asphalt packing machines you pass on the interstate.

I had women tell me if they had been forced to stand there another second they would have screamed or passed out. Folks, I have an extreme fear of embarrassing myself, and screaming or passing out while one of my boobs was squished between two plates of glass would qualify in my mind as very embarrassing. I mean can you just see me hanging there by my flat breast, unconscious?!?

Needless to say, to admit I was a bit nervous would be an understatement, but like a good girl I went. She was very nice and she got right down to business, handing me the required paper ½ gown. (We won't even get into the “One Size Fits All” bullshit. Look back to my post on Pap Smears, PCOS and Ambush of a Rectum for that rant).

While I am undressing “from the waist up”, (did I look so country and hick that she actually though I would undress completely if she didn't give me step by step instructions?) she is putting the film in the machine and adjusting the height. Once she gets that done, she reaches and picks my boob up and lays it on this piece of glass like it was a lump of dough she was getting ready to knead.

She then begins to lower the top half of the “squisher” and all of a sudden she stops. I can’t figure why she just stopped like that. I mean there I was, all set, already holding my breath to try and make my belly look a tad tighter then it is, and she stops and walks to the other side of the room.

She picks up this glass plate almost like the one my boob was still laying on and tells me to step back and let her “put the smaller plates on the machine”. WTF????? “Smaller plates”????

Sure effing enough, she takes the “large” plate off and puts this little bitty thing on there that looked like it was made to squish golf balls at the most. Here I was with my B+ cups that I had heretofore been quite proud of and she’s hauling out the miniature plates!

These boobs breastfed two very healthy, very large babies. For what they have been through, even with the stretch marks and the fact that they point “downward” more than they point “outward” now, they’re still decent looking girls.

After all was said and done, I will admit she was good and she was fast and physically there was no pain, but the mental anguish will haunt me forever.

Now I know how men must feel when they get those spam emails urging them to buy their product in order to “Make your dick bigger”.

I think when I get there today, I will go ahead and tell her to please fetch the small plates before we even begin.