Curse you, Albert! Curse you, Patrick! Curse you all involved in this invention! Not really. It is a good thing for womankind and any man with moobs.
The mammogram: the art of compressing a boob (mammo) to the size of a gram or smaller between two plastic slides on a gigantis microscope.
I attended the Annual Crushing of the Boob yesterday. It's not a Viking drinking party, although it should be. There isn't one nice thing about it. Well, except early detection. Get yours done now. Mine went like this:
RECEPTIONIST: Good afternoon, fill out these forms in this glassed off confidential area and when you are finished, come sit in the waiting room where Ellen is. (points)
ME: Ok. Thank you.
(I filled out my form with enthusiasm and vigor because, by golly, I was going to see Ellen in the waiting room. They had excellent customer service!)
ME: (peeking in waiting room) Hmm. No Ellen. No people.
I went out to the reception desk.
ME: Ma'am, I can't find anyone. Where did everyone go?
RECEPTIONIST: Excuse me, Ma'am? You are the only one here.
ME: Uh. You said Ellen was in the waiting room. I can't wait to meet her. I love Ellen.
RECEPTIONIST: (points to television)
ME: Oh. Oh. You really need to work on your customer service and false advertisements just to get people in here to smash their boobs. Sadists, I tell ya.
RECEPTIONIST: *blink*blink* (no humor-stone face) Someone will call you when they are ready. Please have a seat in the waiting room.
Did as I was told. That woman skerred me.
I got in about 5 seconds of Ellen before a nice-nurse-technician-lady-whomever in scrubs asked me to come in the back. Apparently, to distract you from thinking about your precious body parts getting crushed under the machine, you are to deflect thoughts for 5 seconds on humor from Ellen and not a second more before the impending doom begins. I did appreciate their promptness. No screwing around. (which would have led to VD and other problems spreading nationwide)
She told me to get top naked, not bottom naked and to wait in another waiting room like that with other top naked people with gaping gowns. It was weird. It was actually like we were getting checked for boob harvesting. I know that is a BAD visual, but I was just praying nothing was wrong with my goods because breast cancer runs in the family. I was nervous. During the waiting in the top naked waiting area, we were only allowed to watch Rachel Ray. I found her squeaky voice annoying because it reminded me of the machines needing oil that were about to penetrate my happiness.
It didn't take long before I was ushered back into the dark room which made me feel I was about to consent to some type of free will molestation. My gown was ripped open and I was on my tippy toes, pressed up against the gigantus (it changed from gigantis to gigantus because it was much bigger than I pictured) slide machine. The nice scrubs lady plopped my boob on the slide like a piece of meat and told me she was going to tell me not to breathe at two points in the process.
SCRUBS LADY: You can breathe now. Later I will tell you not to breathe.
ME: Oh. I guess I was practicing or fright just set in. (weak smile)
SCRUBS LADY: I will talk you through it.
Scrubs Lady took the upper slide and brought it on top of my left boob and then CRANKED the holy hell out of the knobs until my boob was a millimeter in depth. Let me tell you that spread that size C breastusis all over Indiana. I'm sure everyone was grateful to have boobs everywhere.
SCRUBS LADY: Ok. I 'm going to crank a little more.
SCRUBS LADY: Don't breathe.
SCRUBS LADY: Ok. You can breathe. Now diagonal.
SCRUBS LADY: Ok. Same process.
My now flattened boob got plopped back up on the gigantus slide and she cranked again.
SCRUBS LADY: Ok. I'm cranking as far as I can go. Pressure.
SCRUBS LADY: You are dense.
ME: Yes, I have been told that before. How can you tell. I haven't said anything.
SCRUBS LADY: No, your breasts.
ME: Is that good or bad?
SCRUBS LADY: That is neither. It is just how you are.
SCRUBS LADY: Now we will move to the right breast.
ME: Oh. Goody.
SCRUBS LADY: Same process. Scoot closer. Scoot closer. There.
So she plopped my right boob up on the slide like a piece of prime rib. Meanwhile, my left boob hit the floor and I almost stepped on it. So much for perky boobs. They were going to be shot after this visit.
SCRUBS LADY: Pressure. And I am cranking.
SCRUBS LADY: Don't breathe.
click click The machine took at least 20 minutes. Swear.
SCRUBS LADY: Ok Breathe. One more time.
ME: (weak smile)
SCRUBS LADY: Don't breathe.
click click click click
SCRUBS LADY: Ok. Now for diagonal. And pressure. Cranking.
Time stood still and my eyes popped out of my head and I am sure that I went into a temporary coma. I don't know if I did everything I was supposed to because I checked out.
SCRUBS LADY: Ma'am. Ma'am.
ME: Yes. I think a peed a little.
SCRUBS LADY: We are done. You may go get dressed now. Are you OK? I usually watch every one's face and I can tell if it is really painful and on that last one, your face told me to move fast.
ME: Yeah. That one was tough.
SCRUBS LADY: You were a trooper. Go ahead and go back to room 1.
ME: Do you have a wheelbarrow?
SCRUBS LADY: Pardon?
ME: I have to get my boobs off the floor and into the room and then I need a forklift to put them in my bra to carry them home. What do you recommend to get them perky again? If you smash out cancer by compressing my boobs in the slide machine, does that mean the cancer breaks and dies or does it get spread easier?
SCRUBS LADY: Um. That's not how cancer works. This will give us a good picture of your breasts and we can screen for anything suspicious.
ME: That was worse than water boarding.
SCRUBS LADY: Um...I don't follow you.
ME: Thanks very much. Have a great day!
SCRUBS LADY: Ma'am. Here is a card to check on your results within 24 hours.
ME: Thank you! I got my boobs smashed and all I got was this stupid card. No t-shirt?
SCRUBS LADY: No t-shirt. Sorry.
All I can say after that is...ladies, SAVE THE TA-TAs!