Mammogram Woes
WARNING: I just had my yearly mammogram this week, and I have a few things to say about it. (If a man can exit a bathroom and feel the liberty to brag about a job well done, I can complain just a little about the mammogram machine to you mammogram people.) My observations (i.e. complaints) are as follows:
- I can literally fit 3 people my size into the thin top they give me wear into the x-ray room. As if not already self-conscious about being naked under there and facing torture, must I feel like I’m six-years-old, and I’m playing dress-up? Is it really that hard to offer a few different sizes? Or is this experience meant to double as a self-image test?
- I’m cold. Turn up the heat, people. We’re naked in there.
- The lights are on. Seriously, you can’t figure out a way to dim the lights to protect my dignity? Just give the technician a flashlight or lead me to the x-ray machine with a rope or runway lights. Or an M&M trail. That would be more respectful and would take the edge off the experience.
- It hurts. You’re putting 22.9 pounds of pressure on the tenderest part of my body (I checked the gauge while I was holding on for dear life). This machine must have been invented by a man. Hmmm. I’m thinking of a machine idea that could give men an equal experience …
- I’m told to hold my breath the whole time. That’s not too hard–they’ve just squeezed the breath right out of me. The difficult part is drawing a second breath so I don’t pass out and end up dangling from the machine with only my breast to keep me attached to it.
I go home and find out later. I can’t get out of that place fast enough. Delayed results, I must say, is a big improvement for me, so I give them kudos for that. And my mammogram appointments used to take about 2 or more hours of my life every year; now I am in and out in 30 minutes.So my complaints pale in comparison to the blessing of modern technology. I am thankful for the mammogram machine and for health insurance and for my health. I am fortunate.
Everything good comes with a cost–a little soreness. A little pain. But well worth it.
Thank you, modern machine of female torture.
The Conversation
I laughed out loud! Thanks!
You’re welcome. It was a community service blog for all women everywhere. I celebrate our solidarity.