Today’s the day for my annual mammogram. Every now and then I’ll read some woman’s account of how painful a mammogram can be. I’ve heard that some women even refuse to have one because they’ve been told how excruciating the procedure is.
Well, I’m here to tell you that a mammogram caught my cancer at a very early stage. Following a lumpectomy I only had to have six weeks of radiation. I shudder to think what might have been the outcome had I not been a big believer in annual mammograms.
Do mammograms hurt? Not really. They’re a bit uncomfortable, but nothing compared to the pain following the double mastectomy one might have to endure if a cancerous growth goes undetected for too long. Just do it, friends. If nothing else, pretend you’re doing a photo shoot for Playboy. Yes, I have a warped imagination—and two healthy breasts.
Lately my life has been one weird event after another. I hope it’s just the isolation that’s getting to me. I am nearly 64 years old, so a bit of cognitive decline might not be too far-fetched.
This morning the heating and air technician came for the bi-annual checkup of our HVAC equipment at Doright Manor. I set my alarm so I wouldn’t forget, and ended up being up and about a good two hours before he arrived. I used that time wisely.
No, I didn’t. I spent a fair amount of the time playing Words with Friends on my iPhone. But I did think to call my optometrist’s office to enquire about the new eyewear I’d selected and paid for more than a month ago. I looked up the number in my contacts and thought I dialed correctly, but the phone made an odd beeping noise while I waited for someone to pick up. When no one answered I tried a second number.
This time there was an immediate answer, “Hello?”
Obviously not an office number. “Dr. S?” I asked.
“This is she.”
“Did I just call your personal number?”
She laughed. “Yes. First you tried to FaceTime with me. I figured you were having an emergency.”
I apologized profusely, told her I was trying to call the office, that I was fine. We said goodbye and disconnected. All I could think was, my eye doctor rocks. I’d forgotten she’d given me her personal number last year when I began seeing “floaters”. As I was writing this it occurred to me that I never did call her office about my glasses. Sheesh.
Then, at lunch I saw a woman’s naked breasts. I was sitting outside waiting for my to-go order when this buxom woman emerged from the restroom. Her one-piece romper had slipped down below her breasts. With practiced ease she hoisted the romper back into place and went in to order her meal, never missing a beat. I’m telling you, I was impressed.
I’m not sure anything else that happened today is going to top that.