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PrintMammograms – Oh!
by Sashay Magazine's Keepin' It Real columnist Angela Bayley
It will come out of the clear blue on a perfectly good day when I am enjoying some totally unrelated topic of conversation or activity—the oh-yeah-this-just-popped-into-my-head question from my husband, “Aren’t you due for a mammogram?” He’s not one for tact, segues, lead-ins, or subtlety, this one. After my face falls, my body tightens and my blood rises into my ears, I tersely respond in a knee-jerk fashion in one of many ways, a) No, I just had one! (possibly lying), b) I don’t know (read: don’t bother me), or c) I’m not getting one this year (the most honest of all).
Quite frankly however, there probably is no “good” time to broach the subject of breast cancer screening with me. My past with mammograms is a storied one.
Having had a mother diagnosed with breast cancer in her early 40s who eventually lost her long battle with it, I feel as if I’ve got a giant capital C stamped on my forehead every time I reveal this information to a physician.
My personal story with mammograms began in my early 30s when my gynecologist ordered a baseline mammogram. But here’s the conundrum: mammograms on thin young women are extremely difficult to read. Hence the initial “baseline” mammogram was so inconclusive that additional films (magnifications) were required and ultimately a wire-assisted biopsy several weeks later was performed.
The whole ordeal was an absolute nightmare. This procedure necessitated the insertion of a large bore needle containing the localization wire while I was in the mammogram machine. Talk about a double whammy—it was excruciating! Finally I was sedated and the biopsy was done. When I was just barely coming to, I could have sworn the surgeon leaned over and spoke these words to me, “We didn’t get the tissue.”
But that couldn’t be; I must have been dreaming.
A few minutes later my husband came in and confirmed what the surgeon said, “The doctor said the wire slipped and she wasn’t able to cut out the targeted tissue.”
This failed biopsy set into motion a schedule of twice-yearly mammograms for several years. Not only did I remain in a state of breast cancer limbo all that time but (I’m going to give it to you straight here), some of the mammograms were exceedingly painful. Particularly if your appointment happens to fall the week before your period—Ouch!! Forget about what you read in advice columns, you know the part where they tell you to inform the technician if you are in pain and that there’s no reason to experience pain.
The facility that I went to made no bones about the amount of compression and by default, pain, through which you would be put. In fact, there was a sign posted in the mammogram exam rooms that said something like “We compress for clearer images.” One time I thought I was going to pass out and actually let rip an expletive just as I was permitted to “breathe” (since you have remain perfectly still and hold your breath as the radiograph is being shot). People must do that all the time as the technician didn’t even acknowledge my cursing and gasping as she casually instructed me to, “Okay have a seat back in the dressing room and we’ll let you know if we need any more views.” And off I’d go limping back into the little cubicle feeling as if I needed a sling, not a bra, for one or more of my boobs, waiting to get the all-clear, provisional though it may be, until my next visit.
Why do I tell you these things? To keep you from getting mammograms? No, I am simply committed to providing you with the unvarnished truth, my real, rugged, and refined sisters. Mammograms are not comfortable, they are not fun, they are stressful, they are often inconclusive, but so far they are the best that we’ve got to protect our health and our lives. Now that you know what to expect (if you are a mammogram virgin), I ask you, “Aren’t you due for a mammogram?”
