Take Off Your Shirt & Bra

That's what the tech said to me as I walked into the room for my mammogram.  Yup.  Me.  Mammogram.  As mentioned, I had the annual physical.  I showed up this morning, changed into the gown and waited.  When my health care practitioner came in, I got the full meal deal.  I got injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected.  During the process, she noticed a lump on my chest wall.  She murmered "you just bought yourself a mammogram".  I told her it was likely a cyst.  She argued back.  I incysted.  She said that it was better to be safe than sorry and that was it.  The torture exam continued.  Digits.  Palpations.  Coughing.  You know the drill.

Somehow there was a cancellation, and I got an appointment for the same day.  The list is 4 months long.  So, Nancy at my side for morale support (and some morbid curiosity, I'm sure), I showed up at the hospital.  Where I routinely bring them business.  Oh, there was a raised eyebrow or two, but it wasn't unpleasant.  At least until I actually had to go through the damn thing.  Yes, there was enough, er, tissue to sample, thank you.  After the images were made (yes, it was very uncomfortable), the tech went off to get a preliminary reading to see if they were adequate.  They must have been, because the next thing I knew, I was undergoing an ultrasound exam.  I should be hearing the news next week.

Oh - The American Cancer Society estimates that in 2007 some 2,030 new cases of invasive breast cancer will be diagnosed among men in the United States.  In 2007, about 40,910 people will die from breast cancer in the United States (40,460 women, 450 men). Breast cancer accounts for about 0.22% (two tenths of a percent) of cancer deaths among men.

So, it happens.  I literally never thought I'd have to submit to a mammogram.  And yes, I'm now a little more sensitive.