My doctor told me that I have very “dense fibrous breasts.” “Uh, excuse me,” I thought. “But this is a strictly professional relationship.” Actually, he’s German and possibly gay, which doesn’t mean that he can’t be interested in my breasts, but he only meant to recommend that I have a yearly mammogram.
The radiologist and I agreed that while we live in a time where I can see the flutter of a butterfly in Japan from my apartment in Marina Del Rey, or rockets can have accidents in space because there’s so much traffic up there, it behooves the medical sciences to build a Mammogram machine that does not function like a medieval torture device for women. I’m not saying that a female engineer couldn’t have conceived of a boob pancake machine for the detection of malignant lumps. I’m just saying that she probably participated in other sundry activities that blur the line between pleasure and pain. Actually, my friend The Internet, claims that a man named Albert Saloman invented the breast panini-maker in 1966. And, well, that was that. No need to revisit and make adjustments. I mean, we’ve only seen about 10,000 phone variations in the last three years and even my dentist is on his fifth chair. God forbid, the experience of finding out whether or not you have cancerous cells could be comfortable. We might forget that being a woman means unending passive aggressive inconveniences…[RANT ENDS HERE].
So, I have been subjected to this thing TWICE. Both times I got a call back. It turns out that the boob pancake machine DOES NOT REALLY WORK and I needed an ultrasound, which is a lot more gentle (why don’t we just start there?). It was fine until the technicians started talking to each other and saying things like, “What is THAT DARK SPOT? GET THE DOCTOR OVER HERE NOW.”
A really good-looking doctor then studied The Dark Spot on the screen and shrugged like, “I think we’ve put her through enough” and said, “I wouldn’t worry about it.” GIANT FUCKING SIGH.
Well, thank you Kaiser. I can’t think of a lot of ways to spend $50 that would cause that kind of anxiety, fear and depression. It was almost as good as the Tsunami/Earthquake YouTube video festival I sat through by myself in a trance-like state last weekend. END OF SARCASTIC TONE.
Just for today, I am very grateful for my health.