Ok, so it’s that time of year, again. Annual check-ups, dental, optical…tires, brakes, oil. But none of these appointments are as eventful as the quintessential woman’s annual exam: the mammogram.
Some may argue that a pelvic exam is equally as poignant, but not me. I maintain that the annual mammogram visit is much more profound than a date with a speculum. Pelvic exams are short-lived in the life of a woman- I’ll be going for that annual mammogram long after my ovaries shrivel up and call a cease fire on my fertility.
When I get a mammogram, there is something more than health care in the air. This annual excursion is an immersion into the world of women … with all the love, nurturing and anxiety that implies.
When I schedule my appointment at Breast Care Specialists four to six months in advance, I plan to be out of pocket for half a day. I don’t really mind clearing the three to four hours on my calendar -- I know I’m doing something for me, I’m taking care of myself -- it will take as long as it takes.
When I walk through those double glass doors, I enter a definitively woman’s world (I’ve heard that there is one man on staff – the IT guy -- but I’ve yet to ever see him). There is something special that happens in a women-centered medical environment where women are in a world of their own.
It starts in the outside waiting room, systematized like a well-oiled machine. Everyone knows their role: our hosts, women behind the counter collecting insurance cards and credit cards with soothing confidence; and their guests, women perching on the edge of their chairs, filling out forms on clipboards, awaiting instruction. Companions comfort those returning for follow-up procedures. Many of us have been there before, and know we could be there next week. With genuine compassion, we envelop them in a quiet reverence.
My name is called. I am escorted to the changing area and directed to select a blue gown and go to the second waiting area. Waiting area 1 is for those recently returning visitors whose companions must now wait outside - some things we must each face on our own. Room 1 is still empty. I feel buoyed by that, celebrating the success of early detection, confident in the process as I settle into waiting area number 2.
Within minutes I meet Flo – awesome, strong, clear & confident. She leads me to her mammogram room where she is the master of her universe. She tells me about her grown children as she turns me to face the machine, squeezes my breast between two lucite plates, instructs me to hold my breath. We talk about her fourth marriage to the love of her life, the choices she makes in life now that she’s over 50. She loves her work, and it shows. I know I am in good hands (no pun intended).
Back I go to waiting area 3, confident in Flo’s professionalism. With cystic breasts (more than you want to know, I’m sure) and visits in waiting area 1 under my belt, the ultrasound is a routine part of my annual exam. I settle in - chit chat with a few other well-endowed women, text a little bit with my hubby (who, gratefully, does not need to be with me at this routine visit), and am soon called to join Laurie in her lair of kindness.
Now Laurie couldn’t be more different from Flo. She is sweet and kind, more the nurturing type. She, too, loves her work, which she discovered a few years ago after staying home and raising her two now-teenage children. I can hear the longing in her stories – she loved those years at home. We talk about her concerns for her son, a senior in High School, as she smoothes the warm ooze across my breast. She remains calm and optimistic as she takes her leave to find a colleague – she just wants to double-check one area. She is so soothing I honestly think nothing of it. I’m accustomed to multiple steps in this process.
Back to waiting area 4 – the final frontier, the last station before they call you back to see the doctor. Here I listen to a group of women who are talking with each other, but choose not to participate. Sometimes its nice just to listen. I’m feeling pleased at how quickly the day seems to be passing, the lovely encounters I’ve had with Flo and Laurie, when I hear my name called.
The voice is coming from waiting room 3. Here we go. I feel like I’ve just landed on a downward slide near the end of a game of “Chutes & Ladders.” It’s Laurie, again, just wanting to get one more picture. We visit a bit more, talk about some new options she might pursue for her son, and she works swiftly. Still, I’ve landed on another slide -- back to waiting room 2.
Another mammogram tech, all business, takes me to get one more squeeze. When she is done, I climb the ladder back to waiting room 4.
This time I enter into the conversation. There is a woman from the military –a blue gown on top and fatigues and boots on the bottom. And there are two women who’ve taken the day off of work and driven to Atlanta together. We chat and amuse ourselves, talking of the time spent (mine now at 4 hours) and our mutual annoyance at the crooked painting on the wall. I get up to straighten the frame and I am joined by the woman in combat boots. We right it together. I love being in a world of women.
The rest of the visit goes as you might suspect. The doctor, all 5 feet of her, is clear and confident, and invites me back next Tuesday for a biopsy. I’ve been sent back to the beginning, Chutes & Ladders to continue for a few weeks of uncertainty.
Scheduling complete, I change and head to the check out counter. There I re-encounter the woman in combat boots, who asks how it went. I tell her I’ve got to come back, and she understands – the fear, the frustration and anticipation heavy in my words.
It’s amazing to me how this woman I don’t know and will likely never see again is just the person at that moment to make me feel at ease.
As I leave the office my mind races, aware of many things. I realize that the apprehension about our annual mammograms is not the fear of the squeeze, it’s the invitation to return. And while I’m not thrilled to be returning, I know that I am following in the footsteps of millions of women whose lives have been saved by the miracle of early detection. Whatever happens, I will handle whatever comes. I trust the world of capable women professionals who are committed to excellence, and they will steward me through my process. And I will turn to the women in my life – and those I don’t know in the waiting rooms – for the support I need along the journey.
When I went back for the biopsy, I left my husband in the entry waiting area with several other partners, their computers and wi-fi. I took my place in room 1, and I waited.
I’m still waiting. Whatever happens, I know that in a world of women I am well supported by understanding, I am part of something bigger, a system at play much larger than me.
This blog also appears as part of my regular column on ShareWiK.com.