Keeping Abreast of Things

Usually it’s a man’s mind that is preoccupied with the female form. But today it’s my turn.

See, my mum’s beaten breast cancer twice. For various reasons I’m also in a high risk group and it’s almost time to see the Oncologist again. Yay me.

And now I hear that the lady doctor who diagnosed and treated herself while stationed at the South Pole 10 years ago, has finally succumbed to the dreaded disease.

For those not familiar with the story, Dr Jerri Nielsen was the medic stationed at Antarctica in 1999 when she discovered a suspicious lump. That was in June, but the serious weather down there meant she couldn’t be flown out for treatment for at least 4 months. So she taught staff on site how to do a fine needle biopsy (using raw chicken meat for practice!) and then gave herself chemotherapy after the drugs were dropped in by parachute.

But she died recently after the cancer came back and spread. She was only 57.

Such a shame. The world needs more women like this- not less!

It got me thinking about my mum and her doubly brave battle against this insidious illness as the date looms for me to have my annual screening. Yeah, due to a family history of the disease, and my own scare a few years back, we attempt to flatten my breasts into pancakes once every 12 months.

Now, anyone who has ever enjoyed the experience will be feeling my pain right about now. And for those who haven’t, let me educate you a little. It kinda resembles some medieval torture device, and it has to have been thought up by a man (can you imagine a similar contraption being used to check for testicular cancer?! I rest my case).

You go into a room with a complete stranger, strip to the waist, and have said stranger (often with cold hands) put one of your breasts onto a cold metal plate, lower a cold plastic plate onto it, tighten the vice, then send radiation through your precious private possession. Then repeat the process with the other boob.

For added enjoyment, they squash ‘em sideways too.

Oh and for safety reasons, the radiologist gets to retreat into a little booth while they take the images. Bit hard for you to do when you’re attached to the region receiving the rays.

Oddly enough, I always find it easy to comply with the “hold your breath” request- I’m simply too darn scared to move lest the machine rips my bits right off! I’m already standing on my tippy toes to reach the plate (shortass that I am), and leaning back so my girls can have all the limelight, so what’s a little lack of oxygen in the name of science?

Usually the entire process takes just a couple of minutes, and thankfully your bosoms are squeezed in this man-made machine for about 30 seconds. Oh it all works well in theory. In practice it can be quite different.

There has been much debate about who hurts most- the flat or full chested ladies. I’m in the latter category and I can tell you, it certainly doesn’t tickle! Because I am so generously endowed up top, instead of the few seconds it usually takes to scan the mamms, the poor old machine whirs for anything up to a minute trying to get a decent image of what’s inside. Even the radiologist apologises every time we have to do this, explaining that I’m so dense (in the boobie sense) that the x-rays are having trouble getting through! Again, yay me.

To add insult to injury (and believe me, there can be injury!) I then get to go into another room with another stranger who squirts freezing cold gel all over my girls, and proceeds to map out the mammaries much like a clock, checking for anything the mammogram might miss.

If I’m lucky, the sonographer will take pity on me and give me a heads-up whether there’s anything to worry about this time round. Or else I wait another week or so before I see the oncologist (who thankfully warms his hands before he begins the examination) who will brief me about my bosoms.

So far so good, and I’ve only had to have a needle stuck in the one time (trust me, that’s a whole different ball game of fun!) and I can go back to keeping my dignity for another year.

Having lost one school friend already to breast cancer, and others who’ve come close, I am truly grateful that I only have to do this once a year. I’m one of the lucky ones.

So before I go make a boob of myself yet again, I’m going to prepare for the procedure using the techniques proposed by an unknown author some years back:

Exercise 1
Open your refrigerator door and insert one breast in the door. Have one of your strongest friends slam the door shut and lean on it for good measure. Hold that position for 5 seconds. Repeat with other breast.

Exercise 2
Visit your garage at 3am when the temperature of the cement floor is just perfect. Remove your clothes and lie comfortably on the floor with one breast wedged under the rear tire of the car. Ask a friend to slowly back up the car until your breast is sufficiently flattened and chilled. Turn over and repeat for the other breast.

Exercise 3
Freeze two metal bookends overnight. Strip to the waist. Invite a stranger into the room. Press the bookends against one of your breasts. Ask the stranger to smash the bookends together as hard as they can. Set an appointment with the stranger to meet next year and do it again.

You are now properly prepared!

Jx
©2009