Can’t come up with the exact date these yearly appointments began, but suffice it to say it’s been at least 3 decades. When this procedure was suggested I was between 40-45, a few years after we moved to Michigan. All of a sudden your family doctor wants you to get certain body parts checked at regular intervals.

I was well past having another baby as our youngest was in his mid-teens. “You’re in your 40’s, now is the time to start having a Pap smear and mammogram,” Dr. Adamcyzk said. “If you want to go to a gynecologist, I can refer you to someone, otherwise the Pap can be done here and the mammogram is done at the hospital.” I did not want another doctor, so I went with his suggestions.

From Jackson, to North Muskegon, and back to Jackson, my PCP (primary care physician) took care of scheduling these 2 tests every year, until about 5 years ago. Seems like women in my age group rarely get cancer of the uterus so I’m done with that. But he has not mentioned a time frame for stopping the mammogram.

Many years ago I was working at a nursing home in Spencer, Iowa. One of the female residents was being helped with her shower (she was blind) when the aide discovered a large lump. An appointment was made with a specialist, who ordered a biopsy, which showed she had an aggressive form of breast cancer. Within a month she underwent a mastectomy. She was generously endowed, so after her breast removal she was so lopsided she couldn’t walk straight. I felt incredibly sorry for her and thought, dang, if and when I get to be her age please God, don’t let me go through this.

Which kinda makes me think mammograms for me are about done. But this is not a sad story, how did I get so morbid? Anyway. For many years after I stripped from the waist up, “gown is open in the front” is the first thing they say. I have a brown mole which is fairly close to my right armpit. Whoever was doing the test would get a small round bandage and plop it on top of the mole to rule out something suspicious for the radiologist’s diagnosis since it was so close to my boob.

You stand up near a machine, one arm extended to a handle while she maneuvers a vise that smooshes your boob completely flat, trying to locate the tiniest bit of cancer that might lurk about. “Hold your breath,” while the camera rotates. A couple shots of each boob and you’re done. Most of the tech’s were very good, but I had one gal who honestly seemed to thrive on my discomfort with the smooshing part. I remember I couldn’t turn my head either way for several days because my neck/throat were so stiff from being stretched beyond a reasonable length. My neck! My boobs weren’t the only things flat and deflated that trip. She was flat out mean.

Over the years there’s been a couple of dicey early call backs where the radiologist spotted something amiss, thus I had to go back a few days later for some better close ups of the area of concern but there’s never been anything to worry about.

So about 3 years ago I walk in with the gown open in front, clutched in my hand to hold it closed. She asks all the same questions, “any family history with cancer? Breast implants? Noticed anything different in your monthly self exam?”

She starts telling me to grab the bar with one hand when I stop her. “Where’s the bandaid for my mole? The techs have always used a bandaid on this brown mole by my boob. I don’t want to come back for more intensive testing because this mole looks like breast cancer.”

“Umm, there’s really no need to cover the mole,” she says. “How can that be,” I ask. “What’s changed?” Blushing and totally embarrassed she glanced down at my saggy, deflated chest and tried to explain the logistics of gravity without hurting my feelings, “your mole has not changed locations. Your breasts used to stand at attention right next to that mole. Now, they’re just casually resting a few inches south of your mole, closer to your bellybutton.”

“That’s hilarious,” I said, gasping for breath between giggles. I wasn’t offended at all. Could it be we really don’t see how much our body changes as we age? (I certainly feel those changes some days) Do we barely/rarely glance at what we really look like to ourselves (and others)? Wonder how come that never occurred to me…