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Volume 16, Spring 2004 |
Health
Mammograms: "Gooey" but Essential
Copy Chief
Why am I worrying about my smell? Doesn't the possibility of a lump seem more pressing?
It's a hot day to not wear deodorant; but, that's right, I'm not. I'm getting my first mammogram, and levels of aluminum and other compounds that the deodorant industry so kindly put in its product interfere with breast-health technology. I can't wear perfume or talc either. Why am I worrying about my smell? Doesn't the possibility of a lump seem more pressing?
I sign in to the doctor's office and think that I should not worry at all. I should keep a positive mindset and think that nothing is wrong until an expert tells me otherwise. If I think something is wrong, it is more likely to turn out wrong, and be worse. I tell myself to think positive. The visit can turn out positive, and positive thinking can lessen the bad. Not that there is anything necessarily bad, I tell myself, trying to deploy this mind trick.
What is the use in worrying? Worrying doesn't lead to a solution. Seek a solution and you will have nothing to worry about. Coincidentally, if there is no solution, worry is also pointless. Why worry about something I cannot do anything about?
She thanks me for being easy-going. She says a lot of patients complain about the procedure.
The technician says it will hurt. She apologizes with every lift and squeeze into the machine. "Don't worry," I say. "It's not that bad," I tell her. She thanks me for being easy-going. She says a lot of patients complain about the procedure. "Why, it could be much worse," I say.
I get free brochures to read while I sit in a gown and wait for phase two: the ultrasound. A different technician is similarly upbeat, like checking for breast cancer is on par with enjoying a big bowl of ice cream.
She is also apologizing. This time it's for the "goo," an affectionate term for the KY Jelly she smears all over me in order to make the process work. I'm getting a kick out of the surreal nature of all of this. I think of scientists developing ultrasound technology trying to figure out what type of goo would best make their experiments work.
I stare up at ceiling tiles as the ultrasound begins. I think it would be the perfect place for a cutesy sign, picture or quote.
I stare up at ceiling tiles as the ultrasound begins. I think it would be the perfect place for a cutesy sign, picture or quote to take the worry off of the mind of the lucky person laying here. The calendar on the wall is of a cat at a desk, with a thought bubble that says, "Your ridiculous little opinion has been noted." Put up something like that, but put it on the ceiling.
I remember my dentist putting something similar on the ceiling at the very spot I was stuck looking at while the he fixed my oral cavity for way too long. But in the dentist's office, the picture was a big mouth that said something like, "Hello down there."
It is all done, and the technician leaves so that I can wipe off the goo and get dressed. I get another kick out of how they have just moved my boobs around and now they give me privacy to get dressed. It seems like such a formality.
I wander out the door with pamphlets in hand and see the lady at the front desk. She says my primary care physician will get the results in three to five business days. I wait and try not to worry.
Catherine E. Galioto, a junior journalism/professional writing major at The College of New Jersey, is the unbound Copy Chief; so if you find any mistakes, please blame her. She is also a freelance writer with several accolades who appears regularly in more than seven publications. Outside of that, things get much harder to define.