Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Thrice Squashed

Herself speaks.

It's that time of year again: mammogram time!

Usually I have no problem with this annual event -- it's a mildly uncomfortable procedure, but falls firmly into the "knowledge is power" category, and so, off I go to be squashed.

This year the technician had difficulty getting everything just right. (She was pleasant and competent, and I suspect it was primarily a size/volume issue.)  It took quite a while, and a fair amount of handling, to position everything properly into the machine. And one of the sticky markers (the small guide wire taped to the skin to show where underlying lumpectomies occurred years ago) did not adhere well, necessitating a repeat of the film for one side. I tried, unsuccessfully, not to look at the digital readout which indicated the pounds of pressure (25 pounds! Sweet mother of pearl!). Ow.

After the technician finished, she sent the digital images to the radiologist, who then requested a repeat of that same side. Perhaps it was the second sticky marker on that side that had slipped, I told myself. I tried not to think about the possibility that there might have been Something in the image that the radiologist wanted to see more closely. I am low risk, I remind myself. No sense worrying.

We shall see.

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