“You’re naturally lumpy,” my doctor informed me during my check-up. “Let’s schedule a mammogram to establish a baseline. That way, I’ll know which lumps are benign and which ones need attention.”
Naturally lumpy? I never thought much about the internal landscape of my breasts, but apparently, at 37, they were akin to the insides of an old mattress or a poorly mixed bowl of oatmeal.
The thought of a mammogram filled me with dread. My imagination conjured images of a cold, sterile room where a stranger would mercilessly squash my chest in some sort of horrifying contraption that would flatten my poor lumpy breasts into painful pancake shapes.
But to my surprise, the experience was nothing like that. The room was warm and inviting, and the technician was friendly and gentle. The procedure was quick and mostly painless—maybe just a tad uncomfortable—but it was over before I even realized it. The entire experience was shockingly uneventful.
Almost four years have passed since that day, and I’ve come across several women who share my initial fears about mammograms. So, for anyone out there who feels intimidated by the “Boob Crusher,” let me recount my latest experience to demonstrate just how unfrightening the process can be.
The waiting area was quiet, with only a bewildered elderly couple flipping through a magazine. (“Who is Katy Perry? Is she related to Matthew Perry? Oh, you mean the one from Friends? No, you’re thinking of the other one…”)
When my name was finally called by a technician, whose badge read “Lucy,” she struggled to pronounce my hyphenated last name. I chuckled, “Close enough!” (It wasn’t really, but I didn’t want to offend the person who was about to be in charge of my impending mammogram.)
“Let’s just head back, Ma’am,” she said, using that term again, which is becoming all too familiar.
Lucy guided me to a dressing room and instructed me to remove my top and put on a gown that was neatly folded on the shelf. The gown was thin, stiff, and smelled faintly of cleaning products. Upon stepping out, Lucy took one look at me and laughed. “Um, Ma’am, you might want to turn your gown around. We’re not taking pictures of your back today!”
Oops! I had put the gown on backwards. If I wanted my lumpy girls to be examined by the “Chest Crusher,” they needed to be accessible, after all. I adjusted the gown and followed her into the mammogram room.
There it was—the “Breast Buster.” It was a tall, sleek machine with rounded edges, giving it an oddly soft appearance despite its solid nature. Lucy positioned me and my breast on the machine, and you might wonder if it feels strange to be half-naked in front of a stranger. Honestly, it’s really not that odd unless you make it feel that way. Medical professionals are adept at creating a distraction. They often engage you in conversation about anything from the weather to your hobbies. One OB-GYN even got me talking about my entire work history during a routine exam.
Lucy arranged me on the machine, and before I knew it, I was flattened into what can only be described as a “boob pancake.”
Now, the burning question: Does it hurt? For me, the answer is no—not really. It’s less painful than stubbing your toe or getting lemon juice in a paper cut.
Once Lucy was satisfied with my positioning, she retreated behind what I can only describe as the “Super-Safe Anti-X-Ray Radiation Barrier” (definitely a technical term). From her safe spot, she instructed me not to move and then added, “Don’t breathe! Don’t breathe! Don’t breathe!”
Let me tell you, there’s nothing quite like the urge to breathe when someone insists you hold your breath. It’s almost a primal instinct to rebel against the mammogram machine.
The rest of the exam was quick and straightforward: position, flatten, retreat, and repeat. I only needed a do-over on one of my breasts (I breathed—don’t judge me).
So, don’t let fear hold you back from getting a mammogram. Remember this:
- The gown opens in the front.
- It won’t feel weird unless you make it weird.
- Don’t breathe!
Everything else is a breeze.
You know what’s more frightening than the “Pillow Press”? Breast cancer. Thankfully, my results were normal, but many women aren’t as fortunate. If you have the opportunity, a family history, or are over 40, just do it. It could be a completely uneventful hour but one that may save your life. And who knows, you might have your own amusing encounter with the “Knocker Nabber.” If you do, feel free to share your story—you can even call me Ma’am.
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In summary, mammograms are not to be feared. They are a crucial part of healthcare that can lead to early detection of breast cancer. Remember, the gown opens in the front, and the experience is less frightening than you might think.