My sitter was late as usual. This time I was sure to let her know that I had to be in Greenwich at 10:00. With the morning traffic it could take an hour. Luckily it did not today. I had the joyous event of a yearly mamogram. Yes you read that correctly. Yearly. (Except this time I am two years behind) I have bumps and lumps and I am fibrous and dense. (And this is after 3 kids have already sucked the life out of them.) It’s all to err on the side of caution and I am happy with that. Besides, it’s lovely to have a legitimate excuse, that does not involve wine or food, to get away from the little Cling-On. I had 3 hours to myself. Some of it was spent in the car — my ultrahip minivan — where this Yummy Mummy was belting out the tunes from the CD player… only when I realized that I was beebopping to the sweet Miley Cyrus did I turn on the radio to find something a little more age-appropriate. I never stopped my beebopping though. Most likely due to our public school’s winter break 1-95 was more like a runway than the parking lot it tends to be. I got to my appointment 20 minutes early. I enjoyed those extra 20 minutes flipping through some of the glossies and catching up on all the upcoming Spring fashions and learning what purchases would need to be made in the next couple of months. I read book reviews, make-up tips, recipes. Lost in another world I forgot I was in an upscale radiology office. I forgot about my kids too!
When my name was called I followed the technician (not sure what they are called) and went into a little dressing area changed in to an ugly gown — very much like the ones I labored in 9,7 and 2.5 years ago — leaving the opening in front as I was told to do. I locked up my belongings and placed the locker key in the pocket of my jeans.
I went in to the diagnostic area directly across and answered some questions. She asked about my LMP. I told her I had no idea and she looked at me as though I had two heads, perhaps possibly even a third. “Look,” I told her. “I have too many other things to keep track of and that’s on the tippity bottom of a very long, scratch that, never-ending list.” Then she asked me if I was pregnant or if there was a chance of my being pregnant to which my response was “Oh shoot me now!” I was trying to be funny. I wondered if this woman had any children and if she had more than two, because if she did, she would surely understand me. Wouldn’t she have?
So it’s time and I am lead over to this big metal column and am told to take my right arm out of the sleeve. So, of course I take the left arm out nit-wit that I am. No, I am of an age where I need to have the life squeezed out of my breasts and I do not know my right from my left. Eventually I figure it out and my breast is hoisted, yes hoisted and not placed gingerly as it ought to have been, up on to a metal tray in a not terribly gentle manner and pulled out and flattened out so that I can practically see the map of the world through the pasty white skin. Not to mention the metal is freezing. I compare myself to a roll of sugar cookie dough placed onto a freezing baking sheet (nothing like Silpat, but cold, hard metal) about to be rolled out by not a rolling pin, but a steam roller or pasta machine — pick the one you find most painful and voila! I am told to relax. I can not relax. I am told to hold my breath. Fine, I can not breathe. I am in agony. My full figured self is now as flat as the Gingerbread man. I need to endure this not once, but three more times. It’s a miracle I made it out alive.
I have no idea what the results are. I will find out in a day or so if it is bad news, and probably never if it is good news.
For now I will focus my energies on bigger and better things for today… my oldest baby boy’s Birthday. Happy Birthday Christopher! I love you! MWAH!