Me and My Girls

Whoever decided that burning the bra was a good idea, obviously never had to lug around double D's. Perhaps you're thinking that there can absolutely be no reason to not be happy with "puffy pillows" (ever read Stephen King's novel "Carrie" where the coo-coo mother refers to her daughter's breasts as "dirty pillows"...YEESH!), but with age, sometimes I feel like these girls are ticking time bombs. And they get in the way when I'm trying to run, or dance, or pull weeds in my garden, or lay on my tummy. Nowadays they even get in the way when I lay on my back. haha

But I have to admit, being well endowed in that department certainly came in handy last week. I had to go for a mammogram and ultrasound because my doctor felt a little bit concerned, which of course in turn, made me feel a little bit concerned. Ok, I'll readily admit that I was whole heartedly freaked right out. But we're supposed to walk around like "everything will be ok", that it's just routine and that it's probably nothing at all....we're just being safe instead of sorry. So I spent a month convincing myself that it was nothing, and then when they cancelled my appointment because their machine was on the fritz, I had another whole month to think about what nothing it was. But when my hoo-haws are flopping around incessantly, it's really hard to pretend they're not there and that they might be holding more than they should be.

And you've all heard the mammogram horror stories, of how your boobs gets squished so much in the machine that afterwards you have to roll them up like those leather fruit roll-ups that kids eat, and tuck them back into your bra. And I don't know about you, but I had this image of an old battle axe, telling me to toughen up, while she slapped my breasts around like Silly Putty being bounced off the walls. What am I... a squash ball? And I figured her hands would be really cold and dry and scratchy, and she'd grunt a lot, which would lead me to trying to interpret her Neanderthal language as "lump or no lump"? But it wasn't like that at all.

Obviously, these professionals know that women are walking in to this joint highly sensitized. I think I shed my first tear when I was putting on my gown in the change room, and they just kind of continued to roll spontaneously, quietly, throughout the course of each test. And as time passed, I felt more and more assured that not only had it been a good idea that I had these tests done, but that I would probably not be coming back for hopefully a good long time, if ever. Whew.

And I actually laughed. I laughed when I glanced down at my poor squished ta-ta and exclaimed that it looked like a boobie pancake. The technician said she sees about 20 boobie pancakes a day. That's ten women per day that go through the same process I went through, and we all know that ten women don't get the same results that I did, but I really wished that it was that way.

Because really, our breasts are such an incredibly important (and sometimes even powerful) part of our body. I found myself having boobie flashbacks...checking them out as a child in the bathtub and wondering what the heck they're for, or the first snap of the bra strap by the loser that sat behind me in grade seven...And what about those God awful training bras that we had to wear, which was basically a cropped off undershirt with an elastic band around it?! Talk about humiliating, especially when others noticed it underneath your clothing and teased you for actually growing. How weird is that to be teased about growth? I thought about those awkward moments as a teenager with my boyfriend. I thought about the power that breasts could hold over another person. I thought about the importance of nurturing and nourishing my beautiful new baby boy. I thought about the horrifically painful mastitis,and I thought about that stupid breast pump and those ridiculous breast pads. I thought about how my boobs exploded when I was getting my hair done and it took longer than usual and I needed to get home to feed my son....KA-POW! Man, breasts are loaded milk guns during lactation time. I thought about bathing suits; some better than others. I thought about the hilarious fitting experience with my best friend at a Victoria Secrets store in New York...it's amazing how many memories can actually be attached to mammaries.

So don't be afraid to have the tests done. Have the tests done, no matter how scared you are. It really didn't hurt at all, and I'm not just saying that to convince you to get it done. It felt the same way that it feels when you get your blood pressure tested on your arm. The technician says that most people think that it hurts simply because their prior knowledge from other women tells them so. She says that the women are just so freaked out by foreign machinery and by the prospects of what they might have, that they just can't stand anything touching them, and that causes a lot of stress. I think my "girth" (ahem) came in handy as well, because squished fat just doesn't feel the same as squished muscle. You should also keep in mind that pain goes away, as does the memory of it. Think of all the women out there that have had many, many children. And delivery hurt like a bitch, hands down...but we keep on doing it because it's important.

And you're important. Take care of yourself. If you're feeling unsure of what you're body is doing, go and get your girls checked out 'cause you still have jobs to do, Sista! (And they probably do to!)