Monday, 18 May 2009

My Cup Runneth Over

Tomorrow afternoon I've got a special outing to look forward to. Yes, it's three years since I had my last mammogram and my call-up papers arrived a couple of weeks ago.
How to train for a mammogram
Well actually, it's probably a bit under three years, because I was one of the lucky ones who had to go back and get it done again because of some technical flaw.
To get me in 'fun' mode, I received a 'call up' for my smear test at the same time and enjoyed that alternative medieval pleasure last week (and the nurse very sweetly told me that my cervix had started to bleed - I don't blame it in the least - so not to be surprised if I had to go back and get it done again because there might not have been a sufficient scraping of cells).
I wonder who I'll see when I arrive in the waiting room (the screening centre is on a floor of a building in Nelson Mandela Place in Glasgow's city centre) tomorrow. Like many friends, relatives and acquaintances, I go to a largish medical practice on the southside of Glasgow and we all seem to get our call-up round about the same time. So, I really should look upon it as a potential social outing.
A friend of mine refers to the process as 'tits in the mangle', but I think the following pretty much describes the experience.
Get Your Mammies Grammed!
For years and years they told me,
Be careful of your breasts.
Don't ever squeeze or bruise them.
And give them monthly tests.
So I heeded all their warnings,
And protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully,
And I always wore my bra.
After 30 years of astute care,
My gyno, Dr Pruitt,
Said I should get a Mammogram
"OK," I said, "let's do it."
"Stand up here real close" she said,
(She got my breast in line),
"And tell me when it hurts," she said,
"Ah yes! Right there, that's fine."
She stepped upon a pedal,
I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate came slamming down,
My hooter's in a vise!
My skin was stretched and mangled,
From underneath my chin.
My poor breast was being squashed,
To Swedish Pancake thin.
Excruciating pain I felt,
Within its vise-like grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing,
My poor defenseless tit!
"Take a deep breath" she said to me,
Who does she think she's kidding?!?
My chest is mashed in her machine,
And woozy I am getting
"There, that's good," I heard her say,
(The room was slowly swaying.)
"Now, let's have a go at the other one."
Have mercy, I was praying.
It squeezed me from both up and down,
It squeezed me from both sides.
I'll bet SHE'S never had this done,
To HER tender hide.
Next time that they make me do this,
I will request a blindfold.
I have no wish to see again,
My knockers getting steam rolled.
If I had no problem when I came in,
I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there,
It would have gone "ker-pow!"
This machine was created by a man,
Of this, I have no doubt.
I'd like to stick his balls in there,
And see how THEY come out!
I'm afraid I don't know the name of the person who penned it - if anyone does, please let me know and I'll add in the well-deserved credit.
Mammograms, smear tests and giving birth are all part of the joy of womanhood - something that us women folk just have to go through - and it's very important that we don't miss these check-ups - even if the instruments of torture have quite obviously been designed by sadistic mysoginists.

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