Tomorrow, I get my up close and personal annual compression. It's (gulp) mammogram time.
|OMG! It's that time of year again.|
Alas, I forgot to forgo caffeine like I usually do the week before the big test, so I may regret that, but in preparation, I have been dutifully doing my exercises. Not the running around the block or stomach crunches kind of exercise. I still stink at doing that. But there are certain specialized exercises that can help any woman psyche herself up for her annual appointment with the torture machine. Out of the kindness of my heart, I share them with you:
Put a pair of metal bookends in the freezer, and leave them there overnight.
Invite a stranger over to help.
Next day, strip from the waist up.
Have the stranger place one of your breasts between the bookends. (This may require considerable stretching.)
Have him/her smash them together and hold.
Repeat with the other breast.
Open your fridge door and place one breast between the door and appliance.
Ask your biggest, strongest friend to slam the door on it, and to lean on it for a few seconds for good measure.
Hold your breath while (s)he holds the door shut.
Repeat with other breast.
Go into your garage at 3 AM, take off all your clothes, and lie on the cold concrete floor. (If you don't have a garage, the driveway will suffice.)
Ask a pal to slowly back the car over your boob.
Turn over and repeat with the other one.
OK, so maybe I exaggerate. (But not by much.)
Here's a poem that's been around for years, so you may have already seen it. Unfortunately, no one seems to know who wrote it, but now is the perfect time for me to share it with you. It's called
ODE TO A MAMMOGRAM
For years and years they told me,
Be careful of your breasts,
Don't ever squeeze or bruise them,
And give them monthly tests.
So I heeded all their warnings,
And protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully,
And my bra I always wore.
After thirty years of astute care,
My doctor found a lump.
She ordered up a mammogram
To look inside that clump.
"Stand up very close," she said,
As she got my boobs in line,
"And tell me where it hurts," she said.
"Ah, yes! There, that's fine."
She stepped upon a pedal.
I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate pressed down and down,
My boob was in a vise!
My skin was stretched and stretched,
From way up under my chin.
My poor boob was being squashed
To Swedish pancake thin.
Excruciating pain I felt
Within its vice-like grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing,
My poor defenseless tit!
"Take a deep breath." she said to me.
Who does she think she's kidding?
My chest is mashed in her machine,
And woozy I am getting.
"There, that was good," I heard her say
As the room was slowly swaying.
"Now, let's have a go at the other one."
Lord, have mercy, I was praying.
It squeezed me from up and down,
It squeezed me from both sides,
I'll bet she's never had this done,
Not to her tender little hide!
If I had no problem when I came in,
I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there,
It would have popped Ker-pow!
This machine was designed by man,
Of this I have no doubt,
I'd like to stick his balls in there,
And see how they come out!
On a serious note, breast cancer is nothing to laugh about, and every woman should be diligent about getting those annual mammograms, no matter how much we dislike them. I've lost several dear friends to breast cancer, and I'll bet you have, too. Do yourself and your family a favor: if you haven't had your test yet this year, call and make that appointment. Please. And men, make sure your wives, mothers, and daughters take care of themselves, too.
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.