pancake breakfast

Did I tell you I got a mammogram?

Well, I did.

I was sitting (if that's what you call it) in the gyno's office when she began lecturing me about getting my first mammogram. Most women don't need them until they are in their forties. I, on the other hand, am blessed with a family history of breast cancer. Therefore, I get to begin the pleasure of boob squishing at a much earlier age than most.

I've been putting it off for a few years. The reason for this is stupid. It stems from something I once overheard about mammograms. I have a vivid memory of my aunt saying, "Mammogram? More like a pancake cook-off!"

Seriously, that image of my boob being flattened to a pancake stuck with me. Ow. And cook-off? Does it burn? Eek! Even though my own mother died from breast cancer, I kept letting the image of that damn pancake guide me.

Well, the gyno wasn't having any of that. "Listen," she said, "Do you want me to sit in here while you call and make the appointment? Because I'll do it if that's what it takes."

Geez! I thought gynos were supposed to lecture you about STDs and contraception, not irrational fears stemming from breakfast foods. "Fine, fine," I replied. "I'll go. I'll have my pancake and eat it, too."

So, I went. It wasn't that bad. Basically, you have to take off your shirt in front of a nurse. She looks at boobs all day, so it's no big deal. She puts your boob up on a shelf and then you have to lean in while a piece of plastic is lowered, lowered, lowered onto your boob, squishing it against the table. It really doesn't hurt. It's just uncomfortable.

In all honesty, the worst part is that I wasn't allowed to wear deodorant. Not only do I live in Florida, but I'm part Italian. I don't sweat, I ssswwweeeaaattt. I stashed deodorant in the car to use when I left, but it had partially melted in the thirty minutes it took to get the mammy. So I drove home with soupy, freshly-scented pits.

Well, I thought no deodorant was the worst.

I really wasn't prepared for when they called me today, asking me to come back in for more testing. The radiologist saw something concerning on my film and they want to "investigate" further.

Pancakes, I can handle. But this?