My first mammogram was fine—the process and the results.  Women should inform other women that the experience is not that bad.  I’ve always heard horror stories, and the procedure is a breeze.  It’s not as fun as having the ear doctor suck dry skin out of your ear, and it’s not how I’d choose to spend an afternoon, but it wasn’t painful.  I can see how it would be tough if you have tender breasts, but if you can schedule your appointment whenever you want, I think you can adjust accordingly.

I figured I’d make conversation with the mammographer (a title I prefer to technologist) while my bosom was being squished between the plastic plates.  That’s what I do with the phlebotomists to pass the time.  I asked whether it was easier to do a mammogram on a busty woman or someone flat chested (the category I’d put myself in).  She explained that they were hard for different reasons.  A big bosom is hard on her wrists as she places the breast on the machine.  A small bosom can be hard to grab a hold of.  And she added, “But your breasts are just perfect.”  I’m assuming that the rest of that sentence is: for a mammogram.  And I suspect she says that to all the girls.  Still, if you haven’t noticed lately, apparently I have perfect breasts.

Just ask my Grandma.  When I told her this story she said, “Well, I think you have a nice handful.”  Between all the compliments, I’m not sure whether my ego should soar or I should seek therapy.  We both had a good laugh when she said it out loud, and I’m grateful I have my Grandma to boost my ego.