Smooshing The Girls

As part of my benefits at work, I get a paid day off every year to have a physical exam. Friday was that day. I always get the first appointment, since I have to have a fasting blood test. Visions of a reward after my appointment - a vanilla latte and piece of cinnamon swirl coffee cake at Starbuck’s - kept me focused. There was a new nurse, which thrilled me. The previous nurse was nice, but hey, she was cute, blonde and skinny. The last thing I need when I’m starving is to be put on a scale by an adorable little 110-pound cutie. I made it through the blood draw, with a minimum of face scrunching (I really, really hate needles). Then came the Hurry Up and Wait part. I always race to get undressed, and then end up waiting for about 15 minutes for the doctor’s arrival. Even though I have given birth twice, and feel like I have had hordes of doctors see my lady bits, the annual physical always makes me blush. Try as I might, I can’t stop picturing the view from my doctor’s end of the check-up. It makes me grateful I never had a yearning for a job in the medical field. After the physical, I moved on to the second un-fun procedure - the Mammogram. Every year I hope technology has moved beyond smashing my boobs between two pieces of plastic. And every year I’m disappointed... and embarrassed due to being topless and felt up by a total stranger. Sometimes after snagging your boob and squashing it flat, the tech will say “Don’t move”. Umm, hello... boob’s in a vise! I’m not going anywhere! I have never been able to look down at the Girls when they are flattened. It’s just too disturbing... poor little things. At least technology has progressed enough lately for the tech to know immediately if the image is a good one. A few years ago, you had to wait a while for the film to develop and possibly go through the squishing process again. In the end, it wasn’t that bad. I was done until next year. I tucked my boobs into my socks and went merrily on my way.