B is for Boobs
What is the magic of breasts? Preteens want them. Men desire them. So do babies. Those with small ones covet the larger ones. We augment them, reduce them, cover them or show them off. We strap them in, push them up, lift and separate.
Where is this leading?
It leads to today and my 'date' with the mammogram machine. This encounter was set up by my doctor. I trusted him and his match-making skills. But, as I went into my appointment, I began to wonder if perhaps we'd missed a step, or two. I think this machine should have at least bought me dinner, maybe sprung for a movie, before doing the things it did.
This is the life of a woman, I thought as the mammy squished my boob. Modesty? Well that's out the window after your very first OB exam. We are poked and prodded in the most private of places, all in the name of medicine. Not that I think we shouldn't. My mom is a breast cancer survivor and I believe strongly in preventative and all kinds of medical treatment. It's just that, it seems, we women are subject to much more invasion than our testeroned counterparts. I don't see any machines that squish their delicate protuberances. You even mention something coming in contact with that and they all cringe in horror. As I was bemoaning my upcoming appointment, my son mentioned that they have to 'turn your head and cough'. Oh, my, poor thing. Have you ever seen a speculum?
So, back to the boobs. This was my first mammogram and I'll admit, it wasn't as bad as I'd expected. The tech was a very nice, older woman who was completely professional. And, it was over fast. But, when I got home, my daughter, (who I'd had to explain a mammogram to) couldn't quit laughing. She kept saying 'squish your boobs'. Thought it was just. so. hilarious.
Ha, ha, girlie, laughs on you. What you see as so funny now, is your future.