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.”