Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Now radiate

So yesterday was Mammogram Monday.  Johanna wanted to know how we celebrate this holiday (no joke), and I was all, well, we were going to celebrate with pancakes, but I got overruled by Daddy and Abby so we're having BLTs instead.

Wait, let's back up a minute.

Now that I'm 40, my doctor, whom I love and adore, announced it was time for me to start getting a yearly mammogram.  I won't lie, somewhere in the back of my head I was all, how exactly is it a good idea to squish and radiate a delicate area of the body? even though yes, I know, early detection saves lives and all of that.  Doesn't mean I can't wonder.

Squish and radiate.  Seriously.  That sounds messed up.

So I called and made my appointment like a good little girl.  Six weeks later, whatever.  (Un)fortunately they were able to get me in right away.  Yay.  Not that I was worried about it, mind you.  I've given birth twice, I am a powerhouse of awesome.  Just... squish and radiate.

Drive to the hospital, check in at the front desk, try to look like I know what I'm doing as I search for the elevator that will lead me to the basement.  Get to the right floor, check in at another desk, fill out some paperwork, try to play on my iPad but the hospital wifi is slower than the second coming so I got bored and pulled out my Kindle instead.  Because I have all kinds of poser devices to keep me occupied, hospital.  I don't need your stinking wifi.

My name gets called, I follow in the... nurse?... and get shown to a dressing room (undressing room, ha), get a quick tutorial on how to properly put on the gown, which is actually a cape.  Undress, put on my cape, feel like Superman except it's really cold down in the basement even with all the radiation bouncing off the walls and that takes away some of my cockiness as well as some of my superpowers.

So I wasn't sure what to expect, really, but it was a disappointment.  That's IT?  I mean, aside from quite a bit of breast molestation, it wasn't that big of a deal.  The squishing wasn't uncomfortable, not that I enjoyed standing still for those ten seconds or whatever it was.  The worst of it was taking off the nipple marker stickers while getting redressed.  Ouch.  I thought I'd just rip them off like a band-aid, which was not my best idea ever, just FYI.

Um, so that was all, except afterwards when the... nurse?... was leading me back to the waiting room she was all, I forgot to mention but we have spray on deodorant in the dressing room, just in case you're going back to work right away because we don't let you wear any here, and I was all, um, I don't actually wear deodorant anyway, but maybe we'll just keep that between you and me, and then she laughed, but then I wondered if maybe she was politely trying to tell me something.


Anyway, I thought it would be funny to have pancakes for dinner for obvious reasons, but Abby was all like, pancakes are for Lent, let's have BLTs, and Eric was all, I like how this girl thinks, and I was all, FINE.

So we had BLTs and fries.  The end.  But what do I do with that quart of buttermilk I have in the refrigerator now?

Anyway, the moral of this story is if you have to get a mammogram, don't sweat it.  No big deal, yo.

INXS, Mediate.  I had this whole thing memorized in tenth grade.  Mara and I used to sing it in Government class to help pass the time.  (You have the right to wear short sleeves, just so you know.)  Ah, tenth grade.  Thank God THAT'S over.

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