Nipple Confidence

I had my first mammogram. In case you haven’t had the pleasure yet, I will walk you through it now so you are prepared...

I finally did it. I got my boobs flattened. And yes I know they’re already flat, no need to be sassy. This time I got them completely squished. Professionally. Not like that time I got wedged between the wardrobe I was installing in my backroom and the door frame, but, on purpose.

I had my first mammogram.

In case you haven’t had the pleasure yet, I will walk you through it now so you are prepared:

Where I live, they do them at the local hospital in the x-ray department. In general, I am not a huge fan of hospitals where there could be unexpected barfing and there are way too many germs but I MUST GET MY BOOBIES SQUISHED!! I’m basically hiding in a corner near a trolley full of Johnny shirts when I get called in. Nurse wastes no time. She asks me a few questions and then says, “Now take all your clothes off, except your pants, and come into the next room”. And off she goes. Say what now? I am looking all around for a Johnny shirt to cover my girls up but there are none. Was I supposed to bring one in from my hiding spot? I peek into next room and ask…”So, I just come in here all guns blazing?” She is tippy tapping on her machine asking me to clarify my date of birth…she doesn’t even look up so I do a little boobie shake test. Nothing. Just a “yes”. Tough crowd. I say “You didn’t even have to buy me a drink first.” Still nothing. She’s super fun and friendly.

So there I am in my boots and black leggings (which, when you are *cough cough* fake 37, as I am, should never be worn without something long enough to cover your jelly but I clearly did not think my outfit through today). I attempt to walk in all la la la, check out these bad boys, nobigdeal. Exuding nipple confidence. But it was actually more like trip, tippy toe, tippy toe, check out my butt in leggings, gasp in horror, arms awkwardly placed across the boobs, eyes averted.

She tells me to wash my deodorant off. For future reference, don’t wear deodorant when you go get your boobs squished unless strutting about with your nips out in front of a stranger isn’t weird enough for you, and you wanna add some arms flailing, boob jiggling, armpit washing. Whatever floats your boobie boat.

One of my sisters told me it hurt so bad I better take drugs first, and try hard not to punch the person. The other one rated it only a 2 on the pain scale. With ten being an ‘I’m sorry but I am going to have to kill whoever is causing this pain right now’, and a one being ‘Did you just breathe on me?’ So, a two. Please. I’ve had two children. I got this.

Here’s the thing, when you have itty bitty boobs, there is a lot of grabbing, pulling, and yanking that needs to occur in order to get enough of your mini boob onto the little shelf of the machine. While keeping legs forward, head turned to side, chin up, chin UP (she was bossy!), cheek pressed hard against the cold machine. I keep moving my feet and putting my chin down to look at my boob. This is chalking up to be a lot like my attempt at salsa dancing. Sister # 1 not as tough as I thought. This is not too bad. Check me out. Then she pushes a button which lowers a top see through shelf ONTO the bottom shelf – you know the one where my boob is resting peacefully? She makes me take a deep breath in and then out, and then “NO MORE BREATHING!” – as she sandwiches my tiny boob into what could easily be mistaken for a little piece of ham! SONOFABITCH!! Sister # 1 was right! I fight off growing urge to throat punch nurse each time she maneuvers my boob into a new position and then pancakes it. I think about how this is a small thing in comparison to what some of my family and friends have had to go through because of cancer. And then I can’t help myself…

I punch her.


All done in mere minutes. Punches thrown only in my mind.

I’d give it about a 4 on the pain scale so you may think seriously about punching someone (particularly if you’re a tiny boobed woman like me) but the urge is brief and it can be resisted. And you’ll be A-OK afterwards. Miraculously, my ham boobs popped right back up.

Thank you boobs.

So what are you waiting for? Go get those boobs squished because the C word can SUCK IT!!

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