Men are lucky. The anxiety of having a mammogram is huge. Your breasts are squished onto a cold glass plate while a heavy machine is lowered onto them until they become flattened. You are asked to hold your breath. And then the technician says, "Just relax." As if that's even possible.
But it's not the discomfort that makes the visit dreaded; it's the imagination and the what if's that do. After the actual mammogram, I wait a few minutes and a doctor comes out and asks to see me. I think he has a funny look on his face. I think my life is about to change. I literally begin to feel weak in the knees. But he smiles warmly and tells me everything is good. I'm immediately flooded with relief.
Next is the sonogram. Within minutes of slathering up with a warm gel all over my breasts, I strike up a conversation with the beautiful, blond, dimpled Juliane. By the time the exam is over, we have shared confidences that are usually reserved for the best of friends. I immediately like her and start thinking. Hmmm. I would love to work with her. She is poised, gorgeous, personable, and men would love her. She looks stylish even dressed in a white lab coat. By the time I leave, we have exchanged cards, and she is excited about possibly joining my J. Hilburn team (well, actually she would be the first and only person on my team).
When the doctor comes in to tell me that everything is fine, I've almost forgotten why I'm even there.
No comments:
Post a Comment