Flat and Sassy

Before I could get to the much looked forward to hair and nail appointment today, I had to undergo the dreaded mammogram.  It's part of the joy of being over forty and I had managed to put it off last year, but now it was time to face the music.  My gyno didn't find anything during my yearly exam, so this was just a screening, but having had one in the past due to fibrocystic breasts, having one was not something I cherished.  I had forgotten exactly how much I didn't cherish it actually.

I went into work to print out the bulletins for the lady who runs them off, and then headed back out to the medical center.  I was called back promptly, given a changing room and a locker and told to don the gown, opening in the front and then lock up my stuff, come out and have a seat.  I was already uncomfortable as I do not make it a habit to leave my home without deodorant and some other sweet smelling spray, both of which were now in my purse for when my boobie time was over. 

So, I put on the gown, which I would have described more as a cape with arm holes.  Having larger breasts (though thankfully shrinking some) I felt like I was playing some kind of game to not let the girls escape as I headed out to the waiting room, took a seat and made sure I was adequately covered.  I then waited forever until I was called back, but while I waited, I spent time trying to read the faces of the other women in the room.  Were they all routine?  Were some of them here because their doctor had felt something suspicious?  I was nervous, so I knew if anyone was there to rule out breast cancer, they had to three times as scared.

They finally called me and I went back and the tech asked me the usual questions.  Any history of family breast cancer?  Was this just a screening?  Had I ever had cancer?  Once those were finished we walked up the Tower of Terror and she slipped my gown off my right shoulder and had me step forward, reach up with my right hand to grab the bar to the back of the machine, turn my head to the right, and then she said, "Now, I'm just going to lift your breast up onto the platform.." 

I giggled.  Because I am five years old apparently.

But c'mon!  My husband doesn't tell me what he is going to do with my breast, so a complete female stranger giving me a narrative was just too bizarre!  Just do it already!  Don't talk about it!

So, she positioned...er...Righty, and then the Tower of Terror tried to smush my ample boobage into an LP.  For those of you who have never had a mammogram....this is more than slightly uncomfortable.  But I did it, held my breath and all.  Then we repeated the process on Lefty, including her narrative (just shoot me now, honey).  Then we needed a side view of Lefty.  When she didn't request a side shot of Righty, I questioned this, because I didn't want Righty to feel slighted or not as good as Lefty.  Both the girls are overachievers after all.

The tech could have just said no, but that would not have given her the opportunity to discuss my boobs again, so I found out that Lefty has a bit more girth to her than Righty and was able to fit all on one shot.  Peachy.  Sorry I asked.  It may be a fact of life for women, but mammograms are embarrassing to me for some reason.

Anyway, it was finally over and I was again clothed, this time with deodorant and sweet smelling stuff and headed back to work.

This afternoon, I had the hair and nails done.  I like the hair, but it is taking some getting used to and not because it is way shorter.  Because it is straight!  I don't think I have been without a perm in eight or nine years.  I think the summer after The Brit and I got married, I had it short and straight as I remember seeing a pic of me in Florida around that time. 

The picture doesn't do it justice as natural lighting would be better, but it is ugly and raining out today.  I'm considering highlights at some point if I decide to keep it straight.  The cut is similar to #1 but I had no perm left after it was cut, but I can mousse it or curl it if I want.



I don't think I take a good picture.  Period.