Mammogram
Last week, one of my best friends died from breast cancer. I think I’m in the stage of grief Kübler and Ross called ANGER. I’m angry that my friend is gone, that I couldn’t be there for her, that I couldn’t attend her funeral and most of all, that her breast cancer wasn’t caught earlier; she may have survived if it had been. I’ve learned through this that it is not part of the routine doctor checkup to do a breast exam until you’re over 35, unless there’s a family history. Ask your doctor. Insist upon it. It may save your life.
I like to be constructive with my anger, so today, at age 37, I had my first mammogram. I promised my father-in-law that I would this year, when he learned that I had yet to get one. It’s easy to let these things go, when you’re under 35, for example, or when there’s no family history.
But get this, and pay attention, this is important: my friend had no family history and she was under 30 when she was diagnosed.
So I made an appointment, and, miracle of miracles, kept it.
This is what I look like when I’m serious, unhappy and steeling myself for a doctor’s appointment.
This week has been full of reflection, on friendship, health, the relationship women have with one another, and what we do to help one another manage and stay or get healthy. I’m blessed to have wonderful friends and family who look out for me, who are concerned when they see that I’m not taking very good care of myself. I like to think I do the same for them, even long-distance, when that applies.
This is a mammogram machine. There’s probably a fancier term for it, but this is it; the actual machine that performed my mammogram. The two horizontal plates come together with your breast between them and then scan the image into a computer.Some women find this uncomfortable or even painful but I have to tell you: it was no big deal.
It was not embarrassing, uncomfortable or painful. It was fine. In fact, as I told the technician the story of my friend and why I was documenting this whole experience with my trusty camera, it felt good; responsible. I mean, I had far less comfortable boob-related experiences in high school and most definitely when breastfeeding my seriously hungry children.
I thought, if I can do this, so can other women and it may just save someone’s life. It may save someone’s friend from missing them; someone’s husband and children from a mountain of grief; it may save someone’s parents the pain of picking up their daughter’s ashes from the funeral home and preparing for a life without her. It’s totally worth it.
And now, Internet, here is a picture of my boob! A gratuituous money shot it’s not, but I was fascinated by the infrequent opportunity to glimpse my insides. I am, of course, assuming everything’s all well and good; I have no reason to think otherwise.
In case you’re still on the fence, thinking, I don’t have time, I’ll tell you this: the whole experience took less than 15 minutes.
Don’t you have 15 minutes?
I spent ten minutes trying to think up a comment that was either smartass or obscene.
But instead I see that serious look on your face in the car picture and I realize how important this kind of education and demystification is. It’s so critical that fear and apathy don’t get in the way of women maximizing the health options available to them.
You are a good woman and you honor your friend, MJ. I’m proud to call you my friend.
Hang in there MJ — I’m thinking of you.
I’m sorry for your loss MJ. I finally got my first mammogram at the beginning of the year and found it to be no big deal either. I couldn’t believe how easy, painless, and quick it was. (sorry to be MIA- hard drive crashed and I lost my bookmarks. I’m glad I found your blog again)
Marijean, I got your blog address last month from Marcia. So sorry to hear about your friend. About mammograms, I have such mixed feelings. I was having them every year until I learned they are about 2 milisieverts each, more than half of background radiation for an entire year (I might double-check that), and I started thinking twice about adding that radiation burden to such a sensitive and cancer-prone area every year for the rest of my life. So, you see, there’s always a catch. Also, somebody should have told me all through my 40s when I was getting a mammogram every year that they couldn’t see anything! Dense breasts were the culprit, and they’re still very dense. I found out I could pick out as much as an ultrasound with my own fingers (at least cysts). Good to have a baseline mammo though, probably before 40. Oh, and for those just starting mammos, they just started placing small pads where the machine squeezes you, one small change that was not rocket science and makes it much more comfortable.
So sorry to hear about your friends. I’m 32 and I do have a family history. I have never been tested and I should. Thanks for the reminder.
Taking annual mammograms is generally recommended for women with an age of 35 years and above. But these radiology procedures are inconvenient and can actually be painful, since the breast needs to be squeezed between two metal plates.
20 years ago, the state of IL was changing HMOs. She wasn’t due for a mammogram for several years, but since the HMO covered it and the HMO was changing, her doctor said to have it done. They found a spot that wouldn’t have been a detectable lump for some time–and so my mother is here with us today, 20 years cancer free. We celebrated with a walk in the second annual YMe breast cancer walk–Mari’s Merry Marchers. Mammograms and early detection save lives. I am deeply sorry for the loss of Mayuri.