I have big chubby boobs. I don’t tell you this to be dirty…I tell you this because I had to get a mammogram and an ultrasound this week. Yeah, not a pretty site, whipping the girls out in the middle of a stark office and having the nurse lift and mold your breast onto the cold slab of metal.
You try to act like this is a normal thing. I’ve been getting them since I was 35, so I’m used to them– but it’s always awkward. I no longer have my 19 year old body and any firmness has left this woman’s body. On the side angle one, you’re undraping your gown and letting it all hang out….my no longer flat tummy- the sag of the boob, which is the shape of things these days…yeah, glorious moments.
Then I get to go to the room next door and do it all again, only this time we use an ultrasound machine. What’s the etiquette as a stranger rolls a thing-a-ma-bob across your chest…look to the ceiling, watch the machine? I watch the ultrasound screen, much like I did when I was pregnant with children years ago. Only this time there’s no little baby on the screen, but lots of lines and spaces, and we’re looking for black circles or masses.
It’s an exciting life I lead, eh…..as I left the house my husband yells out…”have fun”….oh yeah, sure…party at the woman’s diagnostic center— sorry you weren’t invited.
Comments on this entry are closed.