I’m here with ice packs on my chest after being assaulted during my annual mammogram by a woman the size of a tank.
Charisa was her name and I thought she’d kill me.
“I’m not one to take unnecessa’ feelms’ , so I need to get it just right,” she said, after practically removing my left boob like a vacuum cleaner attachment.
“Well, I can appreciate that,” I tell her, “but you are hurting me.”
“Oh, don’t you go bein’ so dramatic. Try bein’ a big girl.”
If she wasn’t the width of Texas I”d have slapped her.
“You’re vera skinny, so it’s hod’ to get a good pa-sition,” she said, smiling.
See, there it was, my thinness behind her cheery brutality. Like it’s my fault she weighs a ton, but I’ve been here before. Fat people hate me, it’s just the way it is, and my chest in all its innocence was paying for it.
When she finally got me where she wanted me, my collarbone about to snap, I notice the picture on the far wall.
“Is that the Titanic?” I ask, hoping to be wrong.
“Wha’ yes it is,” she says, as my boob got a breather.
“That’s not very comforting.”
“Well, what would you’d ratha’ see up there?”
“I don’t know, daisies, cats, but certainly not a boat that sunk.”
“Oh there you go again, bein’ dramatic. Have you ever thought about goin’ on the stage?”
I’m counting down from 100 so I don’t choke her with my bubblegum pink gown now tied around my waist like a life jacket.
Finally she’s done.
“Ya know Charisa, I think you need to practice a bit more. Haven’t you ever heard of the breaststroke?” I said, my attempt at humor, despite being doubled over.
“Oh, there ya go again, bein’ dramatic.” 
SB
I have to make my annual squeezing appointment and I’m going to make sure they don’t give me anyone named ‘Charisa’, ha ha! Luckily, I’ve only had very nice and sympathetic technicians. As for the décor, I find it hilarious that they put the Titanic up. Next visit, you should bring a pic of something more comforting, like apples in a cider press.
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The medical community at least here, has gone nuts. I love…squeezing appointment. That’s what I’m calling it from now on, and I still haven’t the results. I may have to walk there to get them since they don’t answer their phones. Women of New York are lucky they’re not all dead. Really.
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My 16 year younger sister was crying once. It turned out she somehow heard about pap tests, probably in sex ed. She blubbered out, “I don’t want to have a pap slap!” I’ve called it that ever since, ha ha! Much more accurate.
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A more accurate description. pap slap…love that.
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You know what’s sad? Charisa has no clue how lucky she is to still be alive, and that her size saved her life. If she was smaller I know her tongue would have been in that machine without batting an eye.
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She really was rough, I’m not just being dramatic. Makes you not want to go anymore. They say unless you have a history, it can be bi-annual, but I went anyway, the little neurotic, dramatic soldier, Titanic survivor that I am.
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As a breast cancer survivor I know all about mammograms. There are technicians and then there are brutal technicians who learned under Josef Mengele. A mammogram did find my cancer (you couldn’t feel it) so I have gratitude but seriously! One time I yelled that she had caught my lung in the damn machine. She thought it was funny (I’m very dramatic!) but I was sincere! Hope your babies are ok…eventually. Love the suggestion for a cider press picture. So appropriate!
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Tell Top Down. I love the Josef Mengele line. Sigh…so sorry. I hope I didn’t offend you in any way. It was harrowing but, yes, gratitude for the test itself.
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No offense taken. I can be grateful but still annoyed when they catch my lungs in the damn machine! There must be a better way.
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What’s up with that? Did they never have one, could that be it?
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Not all squash them to smithereens so I wonder if their training is different. Like a man did the training instead of a woman.
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Now there’s a theory and a half for ya. I just came back to get the results because I couldn’t get them on the phone. I’m fine but they could use a tutorial in efficiency and manners.
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I think a word or note to the dept head is in order. She was unprofessional and rude and needs a talking to. I wouldn’t hesitate to say something.
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Well, I’m just grateful I’m okay but the next time will take my business elsewhere. I’m glad I could write about it at least.
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🙂
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I think medical technicians can get so used to their jobs that they become inured to patient complaints. When my wife broke her wrist, they told her she had a low pain threshold when she was practically screaming in pain when they switched out the cast after a few weeks. Nope, turns out they had screwed up and it wasn’t fully healed. At least this ordeal is over for you for the time being. 🙂
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That’s a horrible story about Leah’s wrist. It’s no excuse to be so used to a job that it steals away your humanity. These treatments are tough and anxiety ridden. Those who perform them should have compassion checks from time to time.
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Hahaha!
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Listen to you. All I can say is, my boobs and I need a quiet holiday to recover. Charisa? Jail time. 🙂
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Wishing you sunshine and roses, dear. I’m not really so sadistic.😉
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I know, but I did try to see the humor in it. As you may have noticed, I’m always trolling for an essay to write. She gave me great material. Karmically, she’s in for it because one day, she’ll be on the other side of that machine looking at the Titanic. 🙂
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Is there a machine big enough?
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Maybe at Coney Island or the next Worlds Fair. Oops. Now that wasn’t nice. 🙂
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