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| My First Mammogram Or The Pretzel Machine By Annette Jones |
October 9, 2006
I walked into the brightly lit offices 10 minutes before my appointment. I was a little bit nervous
because I’d never had a mammogram done before. The cute receptionist, who couldn’t have been
more than 19, handed me a clipboard with a few forms on it and a pink pen and told me to have a
seat.
Ok. I can do that.
I filled out the first few forms – your standard doctor’s office fare – and then I saw the last piece
of paper. It was a black and white drawing of a pair of pretty impressive-looking breasts, with
several blank lines underneath.
“Please make note of any distinguishing marks, moles, scars, etc., and draw them on the figures.
Describe in the space provided.”
Hmmm. Ok. I guess I can do that.
I make chitchat with the other ladies waiting for their appointments. One woman was very
comforting to talk to since she had this procedure done every year. Plus, she knew everybody in
the world and had lots of good gossip to share.
Gossip Lady and myself were called back at the same time. Good.
They showed us to these tiny, curtained-off dressing rooms, handed us a hospital gown each, and
told us to remove our shoes and all our clothes from the waist up. I’m not sure why the shoes have
to come off but when in Rome and all that…
Ok. I can do that.
We sit and wait some more. There’s a lovely selection of magazines for us: Fisherman’s Weekly,
Cat Fancy, Popular Mechanics, and, of course, National Geographic. I thumb through a couple of
issues of Cat Fancy and spot one of the fattest housecats I’ve ever seen in my life. The thing looks
like a basketball with toes! But I digress.
Gossip Lady goes in first. I don’t hear any screaming, so I figure things must be going well.
“Miz Jones? You can come on back now.”
Ok. I can do that.
I walk into a room that’s about 12 feet to a side, and most of it is taken up by an enormous
machine. It fills one wall, and has a protrusion out of the front that holds what looks like two clear
plastic pancake griddles.
“Hi Miz Jones! I’m Lisa and I’ll be your server today!”
Ok, so maybe that’s not exactly what she said.
Lisa instructed me to take off the hospital gown, and then she gave my boobs a good once-over.
She put a round thing over the top of a mole I have on one of my girls, and two more over my
nipples. Fun. She walked me over to the pancake griddles, picked up my right breast, and plopped
it down on top. Then she lowered the other griddle and kind of mashed it flat. It didn’t hurt, but it
sure did look funny.
Ok. I can do that.
I panicked just a tiny bit when Lisa walked off behind the leaded glass wall and started pushing
buttons. The griddles were tilting! Hang on a minute! There’s something I’m kind of fond of in
there!
They stopped moving just before the point where I would have really started to squeal, and Lisa
came out from behind the wall.
“Alright,” she says, “just move your feet a little to the right. Good. Now move your head to the
left. Lift your right arm up and put your left arm behind your back. Good, let me check something
right quick. Don’t move.”
She runs back behind the wall.
“I need you to lean back just a bit. Right, arch your back a little. Ok, now leave your head exactly
where it is, but move your torso to the right. No! Don’t move your feet.”
I now feel like a pretzel.
“Perfect, Miz Jones. Now hold your breath and remember – RELAX.”
She’s kidding, right? Ok, I don’t think I can do that.
We repeat the process on the left side, complete with the reminder to RELAX. Have you ever
wanted to staple someone’s bottom lip to their eyebrows and then wanted to tell them to RELAX?
Yeah.
Me neither.
But at last it was over, and it didn’t take as long as it felt like. Times passes slowly when you’re
being folded, spindled, and mutilated. In about a week I got a letter telling me that my mammogram
was clear and I had nothing to worry about.
YES!!!!
This was something I’d been worried about, because in November of 2005, my sister was
diagnosed with breast cancer. On January 18, 2006, she had her right breast and surrounding
tissues removed, and the skin expander for the reconstructive surgery implanted. I remember this
date well, because it was my birthday and I spent it in the hospital. Slept right next to her all night
long.
She began her chemotherapy in March. Lost all her hair and a few wits. She had her last chemo
treatment in August of 2006, and I’m very happy to report that she is officially 14 months cancer-
free! She has her hair, and her wits, back.
She survived because she had a mammogram done and caught the cancer early. As uncomfortable
as the process is, it’s important to do it so that YOUR chances of survival (should something
happen) will be as good as hers. Men are not immune to breast cancer just because they don’t
lactate, either. It’s just as important for the guys to do self-exams as it is for the gals. Do your self-
exams every month, and ladies, get your mammograms yearly.
It’s not painful, just uncomfortable. It only takes about 15 minutes of your time. It could save
your life!
Ok? You can do that!
I walked into the brightly lit offices 10 minutes before my appointment. I was a little bit nervous
because I’d never had a mammogram done before. The cute receptionist, who couldn’t have been
more than 19, handed me a clipboard with a few forms on it and a pink pen and told me to have a
seat.
Ok. I can do that.
I filled out the first few forms – your standard doctor’s office fare – and then I saw the last piece
of paper. It was a black and white drawing of a pair of pretty impressive-looking breasts, with
several blank lines underneath.
“Please make note of any distinguishing marks, moles, scars, etc., and draw them on the figures.
Describe in the space provided.”
Hmmm. Ok. I guess I can do that.
I make chitchat with the other ladies waiting for their appointments. One woman was very
comforting to talk to since she had this procedure done every year. Plus, she knew everybody in
the world and had lots of good gossip to share.
Gossip Lady and myself were called back at the same time. Good.
They showed us to these tiny, curtained-off dressing rooms, handed us a hospital gown each, and
told us to remove our shoes and all our clothes from the waist up. I’m not sure why the shoes have
to come off but when in Rome and all that…
Ok. I can do that.
We sit and wait some more. There’s a lovely selection of magazines for us: Fisherman’s Weekly,
Cat Fancy, Popular Mechanics, and, of course, National Geographic. I thumb through a couple of
issues of Cat Fancy and spot one of the fattest housecats I’ve ever seen in my life. The thing looks
like a basketball with toes! But I digress.
Gossip Lady goes in first. I don’t hear any screaming, so I figure things must be going well.
“Miz Jones? You can come on back now.”
Ok. I can do that.
I walk into a room that’s about 12 feet to a side, and most of it is taken up by an enormous
machine. It fills one wall, and has a protrusion out of the front that holds what looks like two clear
plastic pancake griddles.
“Hi Miz Jones! I’m Lisa and I’ll be your server today!”
Ok, so maybe that’s not exactly what she said.
Lisa instructed me to take off the hospital gown, and then she gave my boobs a good once-over.
She put a round thing over the top of a mole I have on one of my girls, and two more over my
nipples. Fun. She walked me over to the pancake griddles, picked up my right breast, and plopped
it down on top. Then she lowered the other griddle and kind of mashed it flat. It didn’t hurt, but it
sure did look funny.
Ok. I can do that.
I panicked just a tiny bit when Lisa walked off behind the leaded glass wall and started pushing
buttons. The griddles were tilting! Hang on a minute! There’s something I’m kind of fond of in
there!
They stopped moving just before the point where I would have really started to squeal, and Lisa
came out from behind the wall.
“Alright,” she says, “just move your feet a little to the right. Good. Now move your head to the
left. Lift your right arm up and put your left arm behind your back. Good, let me check something
right quick. Don’t move.”
She runs back behind the wall.
“I need you to lean back just a bit. Right, arch your back a little. Ok, now leave your head exactly
where it is, but move your torso to the right. No! Don’t move your feet.”
I now feel like a pretzel.
“Perfect, Miz Jones. Now hold your breath and remember – RELAX.”
She’s kidding, right? Ok, I don’t think I can do that.
We repeat the process on the left side, complete with the reminder to RELAX. Have you ever
wanted to staple someone’s bottom lip to their eyebrows and then wanted to tell them to RELAX?
Yeah.
Me neither.
But at last it was over, and it didn’t take as long as it felt like. Times passes slowly when you’re
being folded, spindled, and mutilated. In about a week I got a letter telling me that my mammogram
was clear and I had nothing to worry about.
YES!!!!
This was something I’d been worried about, because in November of 2005, my sister was
diagnosed with breast cancer. On January 18, 2006, she had her right breast and surrounding
tissues removed, and the skin expander for the reconstructive surgery implanted. I remember this
date well, because it was my birthday and I spent it in the hospital. Slept right next to her all night
long.
She began her chemotherapy in March. Lost all her hair and a few wits. She had her last chemo
treatment in August of 2006, and I’m very happy to report that she is officially 14 months cancer-
free! She has her hair, and her wits, back.
She survived because she had a mammogram done and caught the cancer early. As uncomfortable
as the process is, it’s important to do it so that YOUR chances of survival (should something
happen) will be as good as hers. Men are not immune to breast cancer just because they don’t
lactate, either. It’s just as important for the guys to do self-exams as it is for the gals. Do your self-
exams every month, and ladies, get your mammograms yearly.
It’s not painful, just uncomfortable. It only takes about 15 minutes of your time. It could save
your life!
Ok? You can do that!
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