The Mammo

The Mammo - DinoW

Finally you go through the dreaded door! You’re asked in a monochord voice to remove top, bra and jewelry. Half nude, a bit cold and very insecure, you answer the nurse’s questions about your family’s medical history.

She shows you how to put your breast on the cold metallic surface and not very gently adjusts it and squeezes the “thing”, since it’s how it feels, between 2 metallic bars. She asks you to hold your breath and to stay still otherwise she’d have to repeat the process. You feel the pressure of the bars on the “thing” as if the intention is to reduce it to the flat consistence of a frying pan (Tom & Jerry kind of pan). When you feel like you can’t take the pressure any more, it stops. Do you think you’re done? Not a chance! Again with the “thing”, only vertically this time. Repeat performance with the left “side story”. Done. You can breathe again and are about to go to wear your clothes when the fed up nurse  (fed up with your ignorance! You should have consulted a crystal bowl about the process) stops you in your tracks asking you to wait till she checks if the x-rays are good or you need to repeat the process.

Thankfully it’s good. Cold and hot at the same time, glad it’s done you’re about to leave when she advises you tiredly that you’ll have to wait again outside till they call you for the echography. You forgot about that! But you remember that your gyno told you that, in order to obtain the best results you need to do a mammography and… an echography.

15 min later you have to undress againnnn!!!  and to lie down waiting half naked, on a medical bed, this time. 25 min later you’re freaking out playing the worst scenarios in your head and almost watching your family cry at your own funeral, when the door bursts open and the doctor comes to your side with a poker face. Now you’re sure that the results are bad and that you have Cancer/ Crab in your “things”.

In a trembling, small voice you ask the doc about the results. He looks at you for the first time, unsmiling of course, and says in the most inexpressive tone of voice that in theory all is good but you still need to do the echo to be 100 per cent sure. Relief washes over you and you thank God and all the Holy Saints that you had rediscovered for your good fortune. At the same time you’re very angry about the sadistic suspense but you learn later that the doctor is such a perfectionist that he takes all his time to go through results.

“Cold and Colder” because of the gel he spreads on your breasts (you’ve recuperated them now and you’re proud of them to be still healthy). 15 minutes later you get a lean bill of health. End of the ordeal! You almost hug the doc and mumble fervent words of gratitude to The Representative of the God’s Syndrome. Is it your imagination or  you detect the shadow of the beginning of a smile on his lips?

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