Waiting for the Mammogram

Growing up I often dreamed of the dark, handsome man, the beautiful wedding, and the perfect children. These dreams didn’t turn out quite the way I thought they would. The handsome man is a redhead; the wedding, well, I thought it was beautiful (the parasols were probably a bit much), the children, though I wouldn’t trade them, are far from perfect.

During all these dreams, discussed with numerous girlfriends, did the dream of my first mammogram ever come up; oh, now I know why. No woman can truly imagine what it is like. As an adult, I did recall horror stories coming up from friends of the painful experience and quote, “I tired my entire life to keep them up and in one visit they are pushed all the way down.” With this trepidation, I made my appointment on the last day of my fortieth year. The reassurance of the nurse that having it in the morning I would have the entire day left for me.

The day finally arrived as I crawled out of my bed during summer vacation at the ripe time of seven a.m. to arrive promptly at my appointment, which was scheduled for eight a.m. The automatic revolving door was already a problem, not for me, but for the elderly woman in front of me who was afraid to walk through the door as the computerized voice came on telling her, “Please continue to walk forward; please continue to walk forward.” I tried not to laugh as I figured one day that will be me, but the smile came on m face as I finally made my way to the Hers Women Health area.

The door was trimmed in a beautiful oak and the artwork was nothing short of a masterpiece, but where the door should be there was a garage door. No, I am not kidding. A huge, commercial, silver, metal garage door stood between me and my first ever mammogram.

The confused look on my face had me turn to the mature woman sitting at the reception desk. The volunteer lady, who I now had to explain that my appointment was at 8 a.m. I was not late; in fact, I was ten minutes early. I had planned this perfectly. I knew I would have time to fill out the history sheet. I had got up simply ready to go in take off the t-shirt and have my boobs examined. How could this be?

“No, you are in the right place to have your boobs examined. They open at eight,” answered the silver haired beauty with a smile.

So, I waited and waited for the metal door to clang open as the other patients started to enter the clinic. The sign on my forehead read, “You know it! These boobs are going to be felt up and squished by some weird lady. Please God, let it be a lady.”

What it Means to be 40?

What I have learned about being 40? Well, for one thing I really don't feel as old as I thought 40 would. I think my mind feels 20 plus, until I catch my legs in the mirror and see cellulite hanging there; until I see the 20 plus girls in size 3s and realize my size 10 is really a size 15 if I realize the enflation of sizes since I was the 20 plus. I feel 20 until I party with my 20 plus friends and no one asks for my ID, and the next morning I still wake up at 6:30 a.m. and feel like shit. Forty plus is great until I realize my life is half over.

Why do this Blog then if 40 is so depressing? Well, 40 plus has its perks. What you ask? I know at 40 that I can still be sexy if the skirt is just a bit longer; I pluck the black hairs from my chin before I go out, and the lights are just a tad dimmer. I know that at 40 plus I can tell someone to go to hell in a manner in which they won't even know it, but I feel better. I know that at 40I am strong. I lived through the dateless nights, wedding, and babies. I know at 40 that it is okay to take chances. I also know that 40 means I really am not that much more confident, but I can fake it better now.