My first mammogram….

Note: I wrote this after my first mammogram (back in 2017) Since then I have had one a year (and worn pants to each and every one!) I’ve also started getting ultrasounds (which is a much nicer experience) because of my “extremely dense tissue.” Yep, I’m not just dense; I am extremely dense!” And while my first experience was less awesome, I share this to provide a super helpful pro-tip: wear pants!! And to assure you that if I can do it, YOU CAN TOO! 

Yesterday I joined the ranks of many women who have gone before me as I had my first mammogram. And all I can say is:

How is it, that with all of our extraordinary and breathtaking scientific advancements, the best the medical community can offer women for mammography is a glorified Panini press?!?!

Y’all, I had NO idea! None.

I didn’t even know that I was going to be squished and pressed like a panini yesterday. It all happened while experiencing the other joy of womanhood—the well-woman exam.

As if laying there on the table in your paper gown in all your glory while trying to pay attention to the doctor’s idle chit-chat isn’t bad enough (I mean seriously doc no amount of chit-chat is going to make this experience feel normal!) Then the doctor casually mentions that women over the age of 40 really need to start having mammograms and that, conveniently enough, they now offer them right down the hall.

I get dressed and follow the signs to the mammography suite (because calling it a suite makes it all better!)

I am warmly greeted and welcomed to the “club.” There’s lovely music playing and the color pink is everywhere.

“Sugar,” a kind older woman calls out to me, “We can take you back now.”

She leads me to a small dressing room and points to a basket, “The gown opens in the front. Then just head through that door when you’re ready.”

I open the “gown” only to discover that it’s a vest. A short—only to the waist—paper vest.

Why is this a problem??

Because I’m wearing a dress!!!

You see, I have this neurotic fear of a doctor walking in the room while I am in a state of partial dress. Yes, I know the doctor is soon to see me in a much less, but for some reason I have this need to undress as quickly as possible to avoid the dreaded walk-in. And so I wear dresses to these kind of appointments. Easy on, easy off.

But now I stand here, holding a paper vest, feeling the blood drain from my head.

Maybe it looks longer on, I rationalize.

It doesn’t.

So now I stand in a pink paper vest and my underwear, weighing my options.

I try pulling my dress on like a skirt (stupid small neck line) I try wrapping the dress around my waist like a sarong (it’s too short) I try creating shorts out of another paper vest (sadly, I now look like I’m wearing a pink paper diaper!!!)

My neck is covered with purple splotches. Surely this is not happening. Surely I am not going to have to leave this (un)dressing room in my underwear!

“Jennifer? Honey? You ok in there?” the woman calls.

“Um….I don’t have pants,” I reply in a hysterical yelp.

“It’s ok,” she chuckled. “Just come on out.”

Dear Lord, has it really come to this?

I peak through the door like a mouse assessing its surroundings.

Just the one woman.

Deep breath. I can do this.

I step through the doorway.

“Bad day to wear a dress huh?” I hear myself say.

“Go ahead and step over here,” I am told. “Step right to the machine and I’ll position you.”

Oh dear Lord! She positions me with all the gentleness of a mover trying to shove a sofa through a narrow doorway. I am not well-endowed, a fact that becomes painfully obvious as  she starts pulling all the available skin from my neck, abdomen and back to have something to cram into the machine!

She pulls and tugs and yanks (all while I stand pant-less). And then just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, she says, “Ok, lots of pressure coming,” and she closes the panini press, giving it one last tug!

“Just breathe,” I am told.

I’d really rather not. In fact, passing out sounds really good right now. Not only will I be oblivious to my pant-less stance, but I won’t fall because my boob and all the skin from the surrounding area is firmly held in the panini press!!

I am told to stop breathing for a moment while she takes the image.

Way ahead of you lady!!

We repeat the process on the other side.

Finally, we are done. The tech says words. I don’t know what they are.

I make my way back to the dressing room, feeling like my once small chest is now touching my knees.

I throw the paper vest away and put my stupid dress back on.

I walk out of the room, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Do I need to check out? I don’t care. I exit the waiting room. I’m sure they will just send a bill or something.

As I flee from the “suite” a woman is entering. She looks wide-eyed, unsure, and around 40, She’s wearing a dress. Oh, poor thing….

***Important Disclaimer: although my experience was less than helpful for my self-esteem, I am SO grateful that mammogram detection has saved countless lives! So, go get your mammogram!!!  After all, if I can do it, you can do it. Just do yourself a favor and wear pants!!!