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a passionate repentance

Okay. I now know what my breasts look like from the inside. In…

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may God stand

I now know what my breasts look like from the inside.

In other words, a lot like something from Plan Nine From Outer Space. I fully expected Jacques Cousteau to come swimming through in a diving suit and one of those camera sleds you see them use on National Geographic. Lots of long thready things. The occaisional black spot of a blood vessel. And hello..a nipple. Just in case you get mesmerized by the surreality of it all and need a reminder of what you're looking at.

Ultrasound is kinda groovy.

On the other hand, mammograms are torture. Basically, get a car compacting device. Add an x-ray-machine. Now in the presence of more people than your Sunday School class, get undressed. Push your boobs in between the two plates of the car compacter. Let the two ladies who are operating the machine squish, knead, pull, push, and otherwise maul said boob until it loses all resistance, and lies there as helplessly as a new puppy at the vet's.

Now lower the boom. Close the car compacter. Keep going. No, really. Keep going. It's *meant* to hurt. If it doesn't hurt, you're not doing it right. Keep going. Suck it up and be a woman, dude.

Now. Never mind the desire to scream, don't move. Don't breathe. Don't even think about thinking about breathing while they shoot your boobs full of radiation.

Okay. Good. Now let's do it all again.

The machine was called the Mammomat by the way. I asked Kneader and pusher number two if I stuck a quarter in, could I get a piece of pie?

She didn't get it.

Something about mauling other people's tits must have sucked all the humor right out of her.

Well, in conclusion, I'm normal. No bad things visible. Which isn't an ironclad guarantee, but what is? I was happy to bid farewell to Petey the Happy Car Compacter for the year.

Why don't MEN have to do this?
  • They probably should. They aren't immune to breast cancer. I'm glad you had a good result...and that it's over for another year. :)
  • Oooh, I can't wait till I'm tall enough to go on that particular carnival ride.

    /totally not

    Randomly? Best icon ever. :D You are so completely on my pirate crew.
  • Ahh, mammograms. I, too, have to go once every year to have my breasts pummelled and pressed into the shape of a brace of bourbon biscuits.

    Only ultrasound I've ever had was a scan at 36 weeks pregnant, though. It's nifty, isn't it?

    I love your icon.

    • Yar matey! Scuttle them doctors for a land lubbin' bunch of lily livered teat squeezers.

      Personally, Captain Cool, I think if men DID have to go through the mammogram experience on one of their more tender parts, science would have LONG ago invented a better way to do it!
  • My proctological exam for prostrate cancer's in five years. Holla back at your white Anglo-Saxon Protestant.
  • YARRR!!

    Love the icon! ::grin::

    I'm bang along side the idea that if guys had to squash their testicles in a mammogram machine there'd be a damn quick turn around on a brand new mammogram device that would lovingly cups our breasticals and be nice and warm and fuzzy... and serves martinis.

    Yeah. I gotta make that.

    I'm glad to hear you are free and clear for another year, babe. ::hugging::
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