I've been cranky since I made an appointment for a screening mammogram. I showed up for my appointment and told the women at the registration desk that I was there for pain and torture.
Ha ha, she laughed. "It's not that bad."
"Yes, it is," I said.
There is nothing natural or good about have your tender breast smooshed and trapped in a vise even if it's "just" for a few moments. Plus isn't all that repeated radiation of mammogram after mammogram going to cause cancer eventually? If I'm in that much pain then I must be dying, therefore, I had a near panic attack.
I am angry that as a woman I have to worry about breast cancer. I am angry that one aunt had breast cancer, so now it's in my family history. I am angry I haven't had children (not my fault), so my breast cancer risk increases. I am angry that my breasts were manhandled by a technician like they are just blobs of fat instead of cherished part of my body which houses my soul, my humanity.
Don't give me all that pink, la-la-la song and dance that mammograms save lives. I know that. That's why I was there. I do not feel better for taking care of myself and doing the right thing. I am angry that a better screening device hasn't been invented.
When I got back into the privacy of the dressing room, I took the stuffed puppy out of my bag and buried my face in it. Yes, I'm a grown woman and had to bring along a "transitional object" or security toy because I find mammograms to be that bad.
On the way home, I swung by Steak 'n' Shake and got a milk shake for being such a good patient (not swearing at anyone).
I came home and my heart was still beating fast and hard after escaping such a harrowing experience. You would think I had been chased by tiger. Finally, I had to partake in a controlled substance.
Now my stomach hurts because I kind of forgot I'm lactose intolerant and I feel fat from the milk shake.
I do not feel close to God right now. I just feel angry and achey. And fat and bloated.
I hate pink ribbons.