Soapbox

The Big Squeeze

    I went in for my annual (drat being old!) mammogram the other day. By now I know the drill: strip to the waist, put on the lovely paper "shirt" they provide and go sit and wait for your name to be called.  I have had several now, and I must say, I don't recall ever being "manhandled" in quite the way I was this time- and by a woman! But as with a pelvic exam, one stares at the wall and tries to pretend that what is happening isn't happening, I guess.

   For the last image, the technician stood back and frowned.
   "Could you turn a bit more to your right?" she said. "I'm trying to get more breast tissue."
    I laughed.
   "Let me know how that works out!" I said "I've been trying to get more breast tissue for 30 years!"
    Ha ha. Well, it's an awkward situation, you know?

   Afterwords I was sitting in the little waiting area beside a woman who, when she arrived, must have been well-dressed.  I took in the nice shoes, slacks and expensive haircut and considered my own blue jeans and scuffed chukka boots. I noticed that we were both sitting in the exactly the same manner, however: arms tightly crossed, clutching our paper shirts closed, hunched slightly forward in our chairs. And because I have a perverse sense of humor, I sat back and grinned.

    "I love mammograms" I announced to the wall before us.
    "Uh… really?" she said. She cut her eyes nervously in my direction, and I suspect she was wondering how much longer she would have to sit there next to the crazy woman, but politeness won out and she asked, "Why is that?"
    "Oh yeah. Because it doesn't matter if we arrived in a Mercedes or in a Chevette, wearing Gucci or Salvation Army. And it doesn't matter if we're built like Dolly Parton or, " I looked down ruefully,  "like Boy George. Yep, when we're sitting around waiting in the ole pink paper shirts… we're all just women. It's the great equalizer, don't you think?"

   She smiled at that.
    "I think they're making these shirts smaller every year" she confessed tugging at the bottom of her paper shirt. "I swear I'm colder every time I'm here. What would it cost- about 3 cents to make them a little longer?" We both laughed as a technician approached.
    "Patricia? Your films are good- you can go. We'll send you a card in the next day or two to let you know the results."
    The woman stood and collected her purse. "Good luck" she said to me with a quick smile as she went to get dressed.

    Oh yeah. That's another time when we're all the same: when we're waiting for the results. Good luck to all of us.