The mammogram call back. Living in the upper Midwest, I should be super excited about springtime. But I’m not. Why? Well for me, it’s that dreaded time of year again. My annual mammogram. Emphasis on that dread part. Again…Dread…it.
I know, I know. It is, we’re told, the best way to detect a tumor, or even potential tumor, at it’s earliest stages. I get it. My beloved mom was diagnosed at Stage 0 in her mid 50’s and all turned out well for her. Which is why I’m a candidate for yearly exams starting at age 35.
So, to faithfully following this unwelcomed task assigned to me, I get tested every year. My tiny A cups being squished into that monstrous machine looks and feels almost ridiculous. Seems like a lot of fuss for just of few square inches of tissue, really! Can’t they just ultrasound me and send me on my way? Nope. They do me like they do the rest of you girls who struck the genetic jackpot of a B cup or larger. No fair, I say.
For me, the worst part isn’t even the exam itself. It’s the waiting. Waiting for those results to come in by letter, or worse, the phone call. (more…)