Today was my annual mammogram/torture visit. Usually it’s a multiple-trip fun fest, due to my fibrocystitis (try saying that three times fast) and family history of cancer in general. But the imaging center is used to seeing me now, so it’s slightly easier. Still, I brace for a phone call every time I go. I can’t breathe properly again until after about a week.
They’re very professional there. Friendly, but not presumptuous. Businesslike, but not uncaring. A typical outpatient office, I guess. It’s somewhat familiar now, but it always makes me a little edgy. It was this kind of office where my mother got her diagnosis (after 2 biopsies). I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately.
I used to put this off, back when the recommended starting age was 40. A big copay and coinsurance can do that. Thanks again, Obama. Truly – I know I’m not the only woman who gets regular checkups because now, she can. It’s mandated coverage, and it’s pretty awesome.
The procedure is uncomfortable, true; and if the office isn’t set up for us vertically challenged types, it requires a bit of standing on tiptoes. But my mother is alive and cancer-free right now because she got a mammogram.