Behold this instrument of torture, crusher of boobs, harbinger of unbearable pain. I set out yesterday at 7 AM to get my “annual” mamo. They sent me home because I was supposed to have a doctor’s order, even though my insurance doesn’t require it. That meant I was spared the agony but only for 30 hours. When it comes to preventative health care screenings, “annual” for me is usually “whenever I get the nerve to endure physical pain,” which usually translates to around every three years—or longer. To wit, the mamo I’ve been putting off since 2017.
Interestingly, today is national day for the following:
- Don’t Cry Over Spilled Milk (or mashed mammaries)
- Inventors (Only a man could have invented the mamo screening machine, or is that screaming machine?)
- International Women and Girls in Science (Yay us women of science! Now ladies, can we invent a more boob-friendly way of screening for lumps?)