So I went in for the follow-up mammogram this morning. First thing that greeted me was an illuminated image of my right boob (that would be Daphne, as opposed to the willful left breast, Diana). In the middle of my pancaked breast was a whitish tangle of lines with a circle drawn around it. About 2 inches above and to the right was a larger whiter tangle with no lines drawn around it. There was also a technician in the room, and for all the handling she did of my breasts you would think I would remember her name, but I am evidently a whore.
This time around we did the Extra Strength Turbo Compression mammogram. And as Tech X explained later, the extra compression spread the new tangle out so the doctor could get a clearer picture of what was up, and everything was fine.
Lessons learned:
1. Mammograms can get even more painful and awkward than the basic yearly mammogram!
2. White blotches = good. Black blotches = bad.
3. I am a fickle MammoWhore.
I sat in the parking lot and debated if I should call Mom first or Gary first. Mom won. She had made funny remarks previously that all my breasts needed were a little air, for God’s sake. Stop covering them up!
Then, because if your breasts have tangles they might need a massage, I called Gary.
“Hi, hon,” I said, “Everything’s fine.”
“What’s up?”
(pause) “Everything’s fine.”
“Do you want to have lunch together? Is that why you’re calling?”
(Pause for me to drop my voice to wintry arid tundra pitch.) “Nooo, I’m calling to give you the results of my follow-up mammogram.” (Hear the wind whistle across the tundra! Brr!)
“OH! OH! Yes! The mammogram! Is everything okay?”
(hissing) “Yes. As I said, it is fine. You, however, are worthless.”
“Wait! No! I’ve been worried sick!” (Riotous laughter in the background from the Pussy Posse.) “No, really, I’ve been thinking about it all morning!” (More giggles.) “Well, okay, I totally forgot. But I’m glad you’re okay.”
See, this is the down side of being brave and rational. Screw this. Next time I’m freaking out; just watch me.
8 responses to “Let’s Hear It For The Right Breast!”
Sigh. Sometimes men seem incapable of independent thought. “Oh, no problem? Okay, no problem”, and their minds go blank.
Well, I suppose he should get credit for listening to me.
What you had was an old fashioned tit zit. It needed to be firmly squeezed and the mamomachine did this. Humph.
Ladies and gentlemen … my mother!
So glad you’re ok! *I* was worried.
What did I tell you?
So, is everything okay, then?
I’m sorry, Marcia, did you say something?