Have you ever had one of those days where the only words to describe the events that unfold are “WTF?”
Yes ladies, this is one of those posts.
I’ll start by mentioning that if you’ve ever doubted the power of the self-fulfilling prophecy, don’t.
It’s all too real. I promise you.
I say this because as I slowly drank my first cup of coffee this morning, I kept thinking, “Today’s going to be a bad day.”
Why was I thinking this? Because today was “mammogram day.”
For any of you who have had to undergo the excruciating experience, please back me up when I say it sucks.
Nevertheless, there are some situations in life which can’t be avoided and like a fearless warrior, I put on my coat and embarked on my mission.
The first thing I noticed upon my arrival at the breast clinic, was that there was an unusual amount of women waiting.
(A good thing, since it means women are taking breast-care a lot more seriously.)
After a few minutes, I became aware of constant mumbling between some of the women sitting close to me.
Hushed voices exchanged phrases of “I hope I don’t get him,” and “It’s my first time so I definitely don’t want him” and even more alarming, “He has huge hands so imagine the pulling.” WTF?
I couldn’t imagine what these women were chattering about but I decided it was none of my business.
So instead, I turned my attention to my latest issue of Glamour.
Suddenly, a large, burly man made his way to the waiting room and called out a name.
I heard someone gasp behind me.
Two seconds later, a woman was walking away head held low; her purse squeezed between her hands.
Again the murmuring started. “Poor thing,” “What bad luck!” WTF?
Why and where was that woman being taken?
I should have been aware of the foreshadowing, but at that instant I spotted a coffee machine in the hallway.
No sooner had I taken three sips of my coffee, when the woman who had been called came out of one of the x-ray rooms, flustered and red-faced.
Instead of dwelling on the why of her predicament, I turned my attention to my cup of steaming coffee.
The large, burly man again made his way to the waiting room and called out my name.
This time, the murmuring seemed louder than ever.
Five heads turned in my direction and I could swear I saw pity in their gazes. WTF?
Innocently I followed the man into the little changing room and waited for the lady tech to make an appearance.
Imagine my dismay when ten seconds later the same large, burly man is instructing me to remove the clothing of the upper half of my body because “he’s” going to do the mammogram. WTF?
I wondered if I was even ready to disrobe for a stranger; to have him prod, tug, pull, and accommodate “the girls” between the cold planks of the mammogram machine.
In the few minutes it took for me to undress, all l could think was, “God, why do you hate me so much?”
An impatient “tsk” interrupted my reverie and I was left to do the only thing I could, bare my chest for the large, burly man.
I was mortified, to say the least.
I didn’t even flinch when he pressed what seemed like another thousand pounds on “Thelma.”
I just wanted it to be over.
Ten minutes later, I was instructed to “put my clothes back on.”
Like a stripper who just fell from the dance pole, I shamefacedly complied.
As I walked past the waiting room, I tried not to make eye contact with any of the other women.
However, that was until I heard the booming male voice call out the next victim’s name.
I couldn’t resist turning around to give the woman the same pitying look I had received twenty minutes earlier.
Call me retro and old-fashioned but really, when did men start doing mammograms and why in the hell wasn’t I informed?
I would have prepared myself mentally, practiced visualization, meditated, or worn a better bra.
Thirty minutes later, I was almost home. As I was about to cross the street, this is what I encountered.
It’s just one of those days, ladies. One of those days.
Have you ever had to do a mammogram with a man? If so, how was it?