Pink Story: First Mammogram

I had heard all the horror stories from my mom.  I had heard about how they squish your breasts so flat it feels like they are forcing them to fit into an envelope, then they turn the machine the other way and squish the opposite direction.  I had heard my mother talking with her friends about the experience: the squeezing, the turning, the pain. I had read the jokes written about what a man would do if he had to stick himself into that mammogram machine.  It is an understatement to say that I was nervous for my first mammogram.  Being the obedient type, I went without question, but with trepidation.  

The lady walked me back to a little room where I could change into this flattering floral shirt resembling old curtains, I tied it in the front.  I placed my clothes in a locker and took the key with the purple plastic bungee bracelet.  Because this was my first mammogram, I had the privilege of watching a video explaining what they were going to do and why they were going to do it. I decided I would just get it over with and I turned the television off.  

The first lady I saw had short brown curly hair like someone from the 50's.  She had me sit on a table.  She was kind enough to talk to me for a little while explaining what she was looking for.  I know this is medical.  I know its no big deal, but for me, it was a little much.  I felt very self conscious.  I know what is happening, but that knowledge doesn’t automatically make me comfortable with sitting half naked in a cold room.  Finally, I layed down on the table and she conducted a physical breast exam explaining exactly what she was looking for.  The best part about this exam is that I knew immediately if she found something.  I passed the first test.

I put on my stylish shirt and waited for part two.  I walked into a 12X8 room.  There was the mammogram machine to the right.  Straight ahead was a computer with a big plastic screen blocking it from the machine.  This tall lady with long, brown hair who was probably 10 years older than me was very sweet, yet business-like.  We didn’t have much small talk.  She asked me to take my arm out of the sleeve of my shirt.  She controlled the machine that attempted to turn a melon into a pancake.  She walked behind her plastic shield, pushed a button that made a noise then released me from the clamp.
“You can relax now.” she said.

I relaxed the best I could.  I backed away from the machine, but the rest of me was anything but relaxed.  I am now awkwardly standing half naked not knowing what to do with myself.  Do I keep my back turned?  Do I put my shirt back on?  What do I have to do next?

She turned the machine sideways and re-clamped me from the side.  She repeated her steps, I repeated mine.  Finally she told me I could put my arm back into my sleeve and take the other arm out so she could make bread from my other breast.

The video would have been much more informative if it had told a person what to do with their arms, eyes, feet and thoughts during this procedure.  I knew what they were going to do and why.  I wanted to wrap right up in that fashionable shirt.  Perhaps their training should include telling people what they can do with their arms.  What does “you can relax now” really mean?

“You can relax now.”  She said, finally followed by, “you can put your shirt on, we are finished!”  I added the exclamation mark.  I used my key with the purple bracelet to unlock my clothes, got dressed in more acceptable fashions and left.  My first mammogram was finally behind me.