I am sure that I am not alone when I say there is nothing fun about the annual physical. The poking and the prodding, and that’s just to get my husband to go!
I will agree that the annual trip to the doctor’s office is no walk in the park for men. But I am here to contend that it is certainly no picnic for women either.
The childbearing years were one thing, but as I approached my 40s, a whole new dilemma developed and had me shaking in my boots — the dreaded mammogram. The years leading up to my first mammogram were riddled with horror stories from those who had gone before me. “I almost passed out from the pain,” my good friend Netta told me over a luncheon salad. “It’s humiliating, degrading and the worst discomfort you can imagine.”
“Be sure to take a Tylenol before going in,” another naysayer advised. “And then brace yourself because if you black out during the procedure, it’s not pleasant to wake up tethered to that smashing machine.”
The jokes certainly weren’t any better. Preparations for mammograms included, but were not limited to, lying on the cold hard cement in the garage and having your husband run over you.
When the day of my first mammogram finally arrived, I broke out in a cold sweat. I sat in the waiting room and did my best to remain composed as I tried to mask my fear and the fact that I was shaking like a leaf. When my name was finally called, I stood up and made the long walk down the hall. Although the tech was dressed in cute pink scrubs and was as cheerful as a bright sunny day, she might as well have been sporting a ghoul’s face and been dressed like the Grim Reaper.
I walked slowly and purposefully and did my best to gather strength. I might have appeared calm on the outside, but my inner Lori was kicking and screaming and forcing me to mentally drag her down the passageway.
“How are you doing today?” the pinkclad gal asked as she pointed to a chair in the chamber. The inner Lori wanted to tell her to stop with the chit-chat, cut to the chase and get this over with. But the outer Lori was raised better. So I simply smiled and offered up, “I’m doing good,” and tried to keep the trembling in my voice down to a minimum.
“Is this your first mammogram?” she asked.
“That obvious, huh?” I replied.
“It won’t be too bad.” She didn’t have a unibrow or sinister eyes that glowed with burning timbers as she said it, but she might as well have.
As I prepared for what was promised to be excruciating pain, I pondered many things up to and including, “There has got to be an easier way.”
Finally I was all hooked up, things were in place and the tech walked around the corner and said, “Take a deep breath and hold it.” She might not have thrown her head back to let out a sinister laugh, but the inner Lori was quite certain that she did.
Then came the pain. “Was it horrific?” you might ask. Was it the equivalent of smashing an appendage or having a large anvil fall on your head?
In a word, no.
While it certainly wasn’t comparable to stretching out on a bed of roses, it was nothing like the garage floor nightmare or a twoby four to the chest.
In fact, I’ve had paper cuts that hurt worse.
“That’s it?” I asked as she wrapped things up. “No swinging hammers, no chest suspension, no blacking out from the white hot flash of pain?” Although I was giddy with relief, I was almost mad at the naysayers who keep women from having this all too important test done.
October was Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and now is the time to get your mammogram done. Put on your big girl britches, call your doctor and make the appointment.
In all reality, the medical world is full of professionals who make the experience as pleasant as possible. Take it from my inner Lori, it ain’t so bad.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].