WHAT’S IN A DAME : Another milestone in the rites of women
Posted on Tuesday, July 22, 2008
URL: http://www.nwanews.com/adg/Style/232066/
So there’s a pressing issue that I’m relieved to get off my chest.
Literally.
My first mammogram.
At my last annual checkup, my doctor noted that I had approached another one of those important milestones in a woman’s life — just like driving at age 16, voting at age 18, drinking at age 21 and cursing her metabolism at age 30 (I, however, was an early bloomer when it came to this last one. I’m pretty sure I was 8 ).
Now that I have turned 35, she told me, I was privy to another one maturity’s exclusive rewards.
The right to have my breasts smooshed like a panini.
While yearly mammograms are recommended for women ages 40 and up, my doctor recommended I consider having a baseline test performed so that there would be a record to compare future mammograms to. Maybe not immediately, just whenever I got around to it.
If I’ve learned nothing else about myself in 35 years, it’s that if I don’t do something immediately, I will never get around to it. So before I drove away from the doctor’s office, I called and made an appointment at a nearby medical center and pounced on the first opening they had. The less time I had to dread the event and indulge my cyberchondriac tendencies by Web-surfing worst-case scenarios, the better.
Of course I obsessed, I mean researched, a little. I wanted to be as prepared as possible. And I learned things while Googling; for example, I wasn’t supposed to wear deodorant, which could possibly interfere with the test, on the day of my appointment... so conveniently scheduled for one of the hottest days of the year.
But then there was the other information I found. I stumbled across more than a few emotional articles and blogs about women who went for their baseline tests in their 30 s, only to discover they already had cancer. But, I reminded myself, these women are still here — sharing their stories and urging other women to seek testing — thanks to early detection.
When I arrived at the medical plaza, I found the suite, filled out a form and produced some cards. Then I got comfortable in a cute chair, caught up on the morning news on a flat-screen TV and flipped through a copy of Architectural Digest while an artsy wall fountain burbled. I might have forgotten why I was in the pleasant waiting room were it not for the patient ID wristband they fastened on my arm. (I did find it curious later when the technologist told me she needed to check my wristband. I didn’t ask why but wondered: Are there women who try to sneak in, like at a club, because mammograms are such big fun ?)
When my name was called, I was led to one of the private dressing rooms, which also had a TV and good magazines, and was asked a few medical history questions. I was directed to take off everything from the waist up and slip on a teal cape.
“If you’re wearing deodorant, you’ll need to wipe that off,” the nurse said as she was closing the door, motioning to a box of wet naps, perched next to a convenient can of spray deodorant for later.
“I know ! I read that online !” I thought proudly as I got ready to be led to the mammography machine. Although I failed to read the part where you’re supposed to pull long hair back, so they provided me with an elastic band.
The technologist asked if I had any moles or scars (“ You mean besides stretch marks ? ” ) and explained what would happen. One breast at a time would be compressed between plates for imaging purposes. And then the process would be repeated at another angle. There was a lot of “Move forward,” “ Arm here, ” “Feet toward the machine,” “ Chin this way, ” “Stay right there” to get everything aligned and mashed properly. “This isn’t so bad,” I thought, at least until she tightened the vise-like contraption right before taking the image. It wasn’t pleasant, but the discomfort was short-lived. More intense than my distress was my fascination as mountains were turned into molehills and then eventually, ouch, matzo.
When it was over, she asked if I wanted to see the twin girls on the screen. Sure, why not ? Oh my, because they hadn’t been air-brushed — that’s why not !
She pointed out areas of dense breast tissue and fatty tissue — ahem, I’d prefer they be referred to as “curvy.” And she told me I could expect to receive a letter in a few days. If there were concerns I’d get a phone call — many healthy women do with their first mammogram because there isn’t a history to refer back to if something looks questionable.
And as of the writing this, no one has called. Neither the medical center, nor Hugh Hefner. Stay abreast, e-mail: jchristman@arkansasonline. com What’s in a Dame is a weekly report from the woman ’hood.