So I got encouragement from my doctor a few months ago in the form of a wagging finger that I was overdue for Ye Annual MammoGrammo. Fine.
Like it’s not bad enough that I fail the family medical issues pop quiz every time I enter any form of Dr. waiting room before I even put the paper gown on?
ALRIGHT. I SAID I’LL GO.
Step 1: Look up address on GPS, make it there, but get confused & park in the back of the building by mistake just like 13 months ago.
Step 2: Debate entering at the EMERGENCY (convenient) entrance.
Step 3: Begin to hum “Emergency…E. MER. GEN. CY” by Kool & the Gang for the next 87 minutes
Step 4: Entrance Interview. This is the point where you feel like you should LOOK like there’s something wrong with you so you can get into the appointment.
Step 5: Prove you can Pay. Have available your insurance card, picture ID (because people have been known to just walk in and impersonate innocent appointment-making folks) and it helps to flash several colorful credit cards and also a glimpse of the meticulously balanced checkbook wouldn’t hurt. But the front desk person usually doesn’t really check to see if it’s balanced. Thank God.
Step 6: Wait for your name to be cheerfully called by the Happy Boob Nurse (HBN) I remember this HBN from 13 months ago because her name ends with an “e” just like my mom’s. We chatted jovially now, just as then and she showed me the dressing closet, the baby wipes (for removing that pesky deoderant, lotion & perfume) right next to the micro-mini cape that can only ever dream of becoming a full-fleged hospital gown. Oh and look. There’s a delusional not at all helpful snap which I completely ignored. Because really? In the quest for dignified modesty it’s just a losing battle at this juncture. I bet the person in charge of sewing those things on just shakes their head and chuckles all day long.
Step 7: Berating the irritating snap, artfully drape the cotton cape over bare shoulders, pull back the curtain and let the games begin.
Step 8: Listen intently while HBN instructs you what to hold on to and where to stand while simultaneously engaging you in conversation about the new grocery store, what you do for a living, the kids. Attempt to answer those questions while a spotlight shines on your untanned flesh which is being hoisted onto a giant thick microscope slide. Submit to further hoisting, fidgeting, positioning and general kneeding and flattening while wishing there was at least a poster or something to look at over there.
Step 9: Notice the red outlines on the giant thick microscope slide and wonder, “Are there really people that…uh…make it out to there?” and “Am I supposed to be pointing that direction?” Decide it’s HBN’s problem not mine and just look away.
Step 10: Crash course in internal remembrance of Lamaze Breathing as Giant Machinery descends to meet the top of perfectly positioned spotlighted flesh and Keeps. Moving. Downward. AFTERITSURELYSHOULDHAVESTOPPEDBYNOW ahhh whew. One down & one to go.
Step 11: Curse the stupid NOT helpful snap. Why do I even have the cape on at this point. Really.
Step 12: Oh wait. Another angle on the same side. Dayam.
Step 13: Rinse & repeat on side 2. Only with no rinsing.
Step 14: Rejoice that we are done for another year to 13 months. Smile graciously as HBN cuts off the wrist bracelet and frees you to go.
Step 15: Curse inwardly, roll eyes outwardly, and fantasize punching that chitty chatty smile away when HBN said, “…unless something presents itself before then…”
Step 16: Treat self to a full daily allowance serving of dairy in the form of frozen yogurt with do-it yourself toppings as a reward for diligent self-care.