A Brief Personal History of Boob Squishing
Book your mammos, boob-havers, this pandemic ain’t never gonna end!
I am extremely sweaty right now because I just spent about an hour on the phone making mammogram appointments for myself, my sister, and my mom. The administrative person who made our appointments was just lovely, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am:
Totally out of practice at making phone calls or even talking to people in general
Very nervous about health-related appointments, especially mammograms, which make me want to barf due to stress
At my first mammogram, a nun had to talk me down in the waiting room of a very fancy radiology clinic in Manhattan. She was wearing the full habit and everything and I’m pretty sure I was her good deed for the day. It also occurred to me that maybe she was there for a follow-up and already coping with bad news but had to put it aside because she was a nun and that was her job. To compensate for my behavior, I helped her figure out the fancy teapot in the refreshment area. As she explained, they didn’t have fancy teapots at her house.
After the nun helped me remember how to breathe, I went into the mammogram room and started hyperventilating all over again. Eventually, I got so nervous that I very nearly shit my pants. The only good thing about that was that I got distracted wondering how I’d get back to Brooklyn with my pants full of poo and I forgot that I was having a near-death experience in the radiology suite. The tech managed to squish my boobs and send me on my way. Then, a week or so later, I got a letter saying that I had dense breast tissue and although there were no findings during this screening, I might need secondary screenings in the future.
(Note: “Findings,” FFS. Just say “tumors.” You’re not fooling anyone with this “findings” business, medical terminology wizards.)
The next time I was due for a mammogram, I told my gynecologist that I couldn’t possibly get one, because I would die.
“Um-hmm,” she said, with a kindly expression. “Have we talked about antidepressants at all? I see from your chart that you used to be on them.”
I was, of course, very offended. It must be super fun to be a doctor, especially when you’re right and no one listens to you. (I am now on Lexapro, which has literally changed my life. Every time I think about it, I think about Glennon Doyle’s song, “Jesus loves me, this I know/for He gave me Lexapro.”)
My doctor settled for giving me a Valium for my appointment, which I needed because this time, there were “possible findings.” Several single-dose scrips of Valium and a needle biopsy later, I was given a clean bill of health and sent on my way. I now have a tiny scar on my bosom and a titanium tag inside it, so that future radiologists can look at my films and say, “Hey is that a FINDING? Oh wait, no, it’s one of those titanium tags.”
Anyway. In two weeks, I get another mammogram. I’m a little late (read: one year late) because of the pandemic, so I am in no way extra nervous about it. If you need me, I’ll be filling my Valium scrip.
This week’s newsletter is early because I’m taking tomorrow off from internet things. In practice, this means that I’ll only be online 50% of my waking hours, which is obviously not enough time to press “publish” on a newsletter.
In the meantime, if you like this newsletter, I’d be honored if you’d share it on social media. And if you really like it, you can always become a paid subscriber here.
Do you have a family history of pre-menopausal breast cancer? My family history is post-menopausal breast cancer (they're entirely different breast cancers). Plenty of it. I'll probably get it. Just embrace the cancer and catch it early. That's your best bet. And Valium is always the right answer. Works better with whisky.