Well, hello male readers! How are you doing today? I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all of you for reading Twenty Four At Heart. I love men. My favorite friends are men. I love my male readers. That being said, I doubt if today's post will hold any interest for you. I'm going to be talking about my boobs. You'll find it very boring. My feelings won't be hurt at all if you stop reading now and come back again tomorrow. Smooches and hugs to all of you! Bye now!
Okay ladies, how are you? I love you too! I wouldn't want you to think for a minute that I don't. Today's about girl talk. Specifically, today I'd like to talk about my boobs.
I have big boobs. It's embarrassing really. I sprouted size D's in sixth grade. I know a lot of women think this would be great, but I was only 11 years old in sixth grade. It was humiliating. Girls resented me and boys flocked to me for all the wrong reasons. I envied the girls who could go braless in skimpy little halter tops. All my life I've wanted the freedom of going braless, but it's damn uncomfortable. It also attracts a lot of unwanted attention.
ANYWAY, last Friday I had to go in for a mammogram. No big deal, right? I've had them before and they're usually pretty quick and uneventful.
There's a women's breast center in South Orange County with a great reputation. I showed up and, after the usual paperwork (and a short wait), I was shown back to a changing room to undress "from the waist up." I was given a shirt/gown to put on over my braless beauties.
Then I was ushered back for a digital mammogram. (All of today's pictures are from Google Images.)
Every woman knows, without question, mammogram machines were designed by men.
So, um yeah … there's the Boob Smasher. The top and bottom come together to smash a tit into a pancake. I don't know what is worse – being big breasted with more to smash, or being tiny and trying to find something, anything, TO smash? Also, the machine turns completely sideways to smash you flat from different angles. If there are any men still reading, let me say this … the Boob Smasher smashes a boob flatter than you can imagine is possible. A boob becomes a thin pancake. Yes, it does!
My boobs are not designed to do that.
The technician in this photo looks way too happy about smashing the other woman's boobs. Also, the "patient" still has her gown on. When I had my mammogram done I only had one arm in a sleeve at a time and the gown was pretty much a joke. I was basically just standing around bare breasted during the whole thing. I'm not shy, so no big deal. I'm just pointing out the above picture may not be very realistic. Where are the naked tits?
I'm going to take a minute here to say that I am absolutely pro-mammogram. I encourage each of you to get them as often as your doctor recommends. I don't want anyone to read me bitching about my mammogram and feel afraid of getting one. Yes, they can be uncomfortable. Sometimes they're even a little painful, but not for long. And then they're done. Mammograms are important !!
As background, I had a tough week pain-wise last week. The Torturer is trying to strengthen my bum arm. My chest and back muscles no longer work correctly. Because of that, I already had a lot of chest pain going into the mammogram. My pec (chest) muscles were on fire, burning, when I would breathe last week. (Remember my Under The Influence post?)
My technician greeted me and exclaimed excitedly, "I remember you! You're the woman from the terrible car accident."
I swear I've never seen her before in my life.
I looked at her puzzled. This, unfortunately, has happened before. With five surgeries in a two year span, I was very drugged up for months at a time. My memory during my drugged up periods is sketchy at best. There are a lot of huge gaps in my memory.
She went on to tell me she'd done my last mammogram and remembered having to move my arm for me. She knew I'd gone through multiple surgeries and blah, blah, blah. Hmmm. Well, I do know I've had one other mammogram since the accident so I just smiled and nodded as if I remembered her too. (Never seen her before in my life, I swear!)
No, that's not me. It's just another Google picture. A discreet one at that, because where are the tits?
So my friendly technician had to move my arm for this mammogram too. (Can you see in the above picture how the patient's arm is up on top of the machine? I can't do that, so the technician had to put my arm up there for me.) Then she pulled and stretched my boob clear to the other side of the room and smashed it into nothing but dust.
Shit, it hurt like a Mo Fo!
I'm not exaggerating. Really, I've never had a mammogram hurt so much. I honestly had to concentrate on not passing out from the pain. I'm sure it was a result of my injury. Obviously, last time I was there I was all drugged up because I don't even remember the lady who knows so much about me.
All those drugs must have masked the pain last time.
Fortunately, mammograms don't last very long. I did some deep breathing to get through the pain. I transported myself mentally to THAT PLACE in my brain, where I've learned to go when pain is unbearable. I scolded myself for not realizing a pain pill ahead of time would have been a very good idea. Fifteen minutes later I was done.
In spite of the pain, I'm certainly glad I had a mammogram. (Albeit the most painful one I've EVER had!) If, however, I get a call requiring any follow-up pictures, I will be taking a pain pill before I go in.