"For my sister’s 50th birthday, I sent her a singing mammogram."
~ Steven Wright
A year ago my doctor encouraged me to get my first mammogram. I politely took a card for a clinic he recommended, then came home and discarded it into my pile of “Things To Do After Napping Gets Old” where it got lost among my petitions for school volunteering opportunities, bills and Michael’s coupons. At my recent visit, he was more insistent. “Did you get a mammogram yet? You need to get a mammogram. Here’s a place where you can get a mammogram. Will you go get a mammogram? YOU ARE OLD NOW, PROMISE ME YOU’LL MAKE AN APPOINTMENT FOR A MAMMOGRAM.” Not since my honeymoon had I encountered anyone so consumed with an activity concerning my breasts. He was so adamant about it that I began to feel as if ignoring him would be a serious mistake resulting in chemotherapy, so I came home and promptly made an appointment. I went on Friday.
I would like to start by saying that I was told a mammogram is not painful. I can’t remember who told me this, but I suspect whoever it was had shot up with heroin before their appointment, because nobody in their right freakin’ mind would say that a mammogram doesn’t hurt unless they have lightly coated their veins with an illegal substance first. “Take a deep breath and hold it,” the
Still, I can’t help but think that the Tower of London really missed out on this technology. And to THINK what Jack Bauer could do with this machine – the possibilities are endless. His female nemesis would be all, “I TOLD you Jack, I haven’t lactated in over a DECADE!” He’d crank it tighter, “TELL ME THE TRUTH!!!”
I don’t know, this all sounded funnier in my head.