Thursday, January 20, 2011
There is a certain brand of elation (bordering on exultation) that comes but once a year, at the conclusion of the universally dreaded and oft-postponed annual mammogram.
Let's face it. Breasts were never intended to be lifted, stretched, scrunched, smashed, and nearly detached from the chest wall. Especially by another woman! Where's all that "I bloat, bleed, and give birth, too" sisterhood when you really need it? Gone. Vanished, like our pre-mammogram innocence. (And with it goes the not unreasonable assumption that our most vulnerable and tender appendages will always be safe within our purview and protection.)
Hey, those suckers belong to us, right? (Sorry. Poor word choice.) But seriously, isn't it enough that our babies get to do their utmost to drag 'em down to our knees? Now we have to hand the soon-to-be-flattened set over to the evil mistress of the mammogram machine. Whatever happened to the concept of sovereign domain, anyway? Do we really have to let Terri the technician have her way with us?
Of course, we all know the answer. It's a resounding YES!
But we don't have to like it...
SUE'S MAMMOGRAM COMPLETE - 01/19/11
Care to join me?
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