I had a Mammogram today. It
wasn’t the first time. It won’t be the last time. There is certainly no humor
in breast cancer itself and I have no intention of making light of serious
illness. Yet after undergoing this very quick procedure to screen for breast cancer, I
found myself curiously visualizing the comical absurdities of the entire
experience. If you've ever had a mammogram, I suspect you may have felt the same emotions.
Spoiler Alert….if
you’ve never had a mammogram, PLEASE remember, I am only joking. Do not
let my macabre humor dissuade you from getting this vital, life-saving test.
Having said that…. this is a
test only a man could love...but not for himself. And it's got to be a test only a man could have invented. First
off….it’s downright medieval. It’s humiliating. It’s bombastic. Here’s how it
works. A woman, already nervous, stressed and worried about the possible
results….enters the exam area. She is told to undress and wrap her upper body
in a hospital gown the size of a cocktail napkin. Launch humiliation process
now. In my case, being the robust woman
that I am…..I grabbed 2 gowns…..one for each side. Luckily, the technician was
pleasant, friendly and had a good sense of humor.
Upon entering the testing
room, you will observe an enormous steel contraption that resembles the “rack”
from ye olde, gruesome, medieval torture chambers. Yes, it’s a tad off-putting
but mentally go to your happy place. As the technician was working to lift and
position my duo body parts on the shiny, cold metal rack/slab, I could tell she
needed assistance. Suddenly, she pulled out a red whistle and blew a shrill,
ear-splitting SOS call. Immediately a giant construction crane crashed into the
room, operated by two hefty women in hard hats, orange vests and aviator sunglasses
who looked liked they had just made a quick and dirty break from a prison work squad on the interstate. In seconds,
the crane hoisted my endomorphic upper anatomy onto the slab. The giant vise
machine roared into motion and cranked downward. Lower and lower and lower. I
was squeezed, squished, compressed and flattened to the steel slab like an overcooked, mammary pancake. There was no escape. Then I was told: “Hold your breath, hon.” Photos were taken. Then more photos. Finally
I was allowed to breathe again. Then the test was over. My gown was tossed back
to me. The construction gals slapped me on the back, laughed raunchily and
disappeared. Presumably back to their cell blocks. The technician smiled
sweetly and said I was free to go.
I survived the ordeal without injury except to my pride along with occasional nightmares of construction cranes. I recommend mammograms to women because they've been proven to save countless lives. BUT for the love of God, in this
uber techno, super sophisticated society, why have they not come up with a more
civilized, kinder, gentler, super, pin-point accurate way to check women for
breast cancer? There has got to be a better, less sadistic way. Would a man EVER subject
himself to a similar test for prostate cancer? I submit the answer is: Never!
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