Thursday, August 03, 2006

Scattered, scattered, shadoobie

No, I have no flipping idea what the real words to that Stone's song are, and I'm not going to look them up.


OK, I am. They're here.

My personal fave stanza:

All this chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter 'bout Shmatta, shmatta, shmatta (note: author's emphasis on the shmatta-ing) -- I can't give it away on 7th Avenue This town's been wearing tatters (shattered, shattered) Work and work for love and sex Ain't you hungry for success, success, success, success Does it matter? (Shattered) Does it matter? I'm shattered. Shattered.

Somebody needs a hug.


I followed a car into work this morning with the following license plate: WMDNTRNK

Think about it.

Perhaps the following bumperstickers, affixed to the aforementioned car, would help you decipher it:

"Kerry/Edwards 2004," "Mission (Not) Accomplished," and "Sorry I wasn't in church, I was busy practicing witchcraft and becoming a lesbian."

I thought it was funny. Pretty daggone ballsy too.


Did I hear someone ask me how my mammogram went the other day? Yes? Well, bless your heart, I didn't think you cared.

It went just fine, really, once I traversed the open road the middle of god-knows-where to find the weensy medical center that houses the mammography machine. Why they have one in the middle of Franklin County is beyond me, but perhaps there a big call for that kind of thing up there. Farmer's wives, and all that.

Anyhow, after I got registered and chatted up the gal at the desk (learning that she has PCOS and is 16 years younger than her husband and that they're trying for a baby and it's been three years already and the injections last cycle caused a bloom of 23 follicles and a softball-sized ovary), I was invited to go back to radiology, where I waited in the tiny anteroom with 2 translucent old ladies for at least10 minutes while the ladies in the back finished up their chat about something to do with wet back slaps or something that sounded like that ( I couldn't hear very well, with the rushing of blood in my ears from being pissed off at the wait).

After killing some time watching grainy teevee reception of some soap where an old guy was welcoming his granddaughter back to the family (she called him "grandfather," ick), I was called back and invited to disrobe from the waist up and don a lovely gown ("open in the front, hon!"). The gown was made for someone half my size, or about the size of a 12-year-old boy. No matter, pretty soon what was being barely covered would be out in full view for all and sundry to see.

And touch.

And maneuver and manhandle and massage like they were slabs of raw meat.

"Lift your arm, hon," "Step toward the machine, hon," "Put your other arm under your other breast, hon," "Keep your chin back, hon," "now relax, hon."

The plastic plate descends, and my boob, once a modest D, balloons outward to somewhat frightening proportion, being smashed and pressed into x-ray penetrable submission. 2 views for each boob, and we're done.

Didn't even hurt.

Which is why they had to do it again.

Apparently, I have "dense breasts." Which means that the smooshing action had to be turned up to 11 to get those feeb x-rays to zing all the way through my poor mashed titties.

Holy crap - the ballooning was impressive. Pamela Anderson impressive. Anna Nicole SMITH impressive. Damned impressive. And only a little bit painful.

During the second process I chatted up the tech a little, you know, to distract myself, and found out that she only wears gloves if there's an "open or weeping lesion." Sweet hoppin baby jeebus, I did not need to know that, and hoped to heaven that they autoclaved the plates before putting my ta-tas on them. I asked her very few questions thereafter, but did find out that she's mammographied a lot of men (perhaps a few of which had lesions, but I already knew better than to ask that question).

Anyhow, after the maneuvering and smashing and ballooning part of the show was over, the tech let me look at the developed films. Which, irritatingly, show a curious little lump or 2.

And so, goddammit, I might have to go through it all again if the radiologist is the suspicious type.

Here's where my inner Polyanna takes over and goes "oh, hey, the films you had done almost 9 years ago looked a lot like that. It'll be FINE! Sure thing, ya hey." (because my inner Pollyanna? Is apparently a little bit Swedish).

Until I hear otherwise, I'm taking her word for it.


trinamick said...

My mom has that same problem. She has to have mammograms every six months. She just got good results back from her last one, but she had to have six views on each side. She said it felt like she'd been through a wringer washer.

Anonymous said...

Do you know how much I love that song? Thankyouveddymuch.

Oh, and clever license plate. Pffft.

tiff said...

trina - you know, I could have lived my whole LIFE without hearing that. Ow, ow, ow.

WN - you're welcome for the first point, and "sorry?" for the second. I'm surprised it was let through, really.

barbie2be said...

i love those bumperstickers/license plate.

glad that your mamo went ok... after a time or two. i have to play the same squishy squish game too. it's especially frustrating now because having lost 200 lbs the girls are mostly sacks of skin so there is a lot more smushing going on. :(

Tracy Lynn said...

The Teamsters, as they are affectionately known, do not like the mammogram, and protest vociferously every time it's sandwich time. They keep screaming for the union rep, to no avail.

I agree with the Swedish pollyanna. Uff Da! Whatever that means. Did I mention I come from a long line of Welsh vampires?

tiff said...

barbie2be - it's a real pleasure cruise, isn't it???

TL - hee!! the mammo is a nonnegotiable contract item, I'm afriad. OMG - a REAL vampire right here? How cool!!! My Swedish Polyanna's got nothing on that.

Deb R said...

WTF is with mammogram techs calling everyone "hon"??? Nearly every one I've ever dealt with does that! Of course that was better than the one who talked directly to my boobs, calling them "Lefty" and "Righty." Yep, seriously. Leeeeetle freaky.

tiff said...

debr - OMG , that's too strange. And funny! But mostly strange.

Prego said...

I've always been partial to the couplet

Uh-huh, this town's full of money grabbers
Go ahead, bite the Big Apple, don't mind the maggots, huh

I don't envy your mammogram experience. I'd hate to flop the beer-tits on top of such a device, especially after a hooker with an open lesion just dripped about 8,000 different kinds of viruses on it.

Hopefully the fun bags come out with a clean bill of health.


tiff said...

Say, Prego, you've got a way with words. Mmmm, hooker virus.

Chelle said...

take the polyanna's word for it. just give us the heads up when you go back in - K?

Love the license plate. very cool.

Kingfisher said...

I am completely unqualified to make any comment here.

Except "D boobies! Whoo-hoo!"


tiff said...

mmm3- I'll let ya know. you can't escape that. :>

KF - no apologies needed! Now, where's that daggone steel-belted bra?

rennratt said...

It was my turn to wear it, sorry.

I had the pleasure of a mammo 2 mos ago - first ever (get em early - family history and all!). I couldn't help but wonder when they started using tupperware in the machines...

MY tech called me SUGAR...AND she wore gloves. She even told me boob jokes to make me laugh.

Kingfisher said...

Yo, Tiff! Who decides who hosts the next 500 word thingy, and how do we know where to go for the next one? I just entered and I am completely hooked.

Don't tell me Hyperiass; he insulted me. Let me live, indeed!

tiff said...

renn - I like your tech....and let's hear those boob jokes!!!

KF - I e-mailed you. :> I love the new avatar, BTW.

Erica said...

Okay, as usual, I am behind on my blog reading and commenting. And I could not let this one pass. I have not yet had a mammaliogram (to quote Edina Monsoon), but I am 35 now and must begin doing so in order to get in good with the Red Hats someday. (NOT)

Anyway. My sister-in-law was an X-ray tech, specifically for mammograms. She had an ENORMOUS woman come in one day - just rolls and rolls of billowing, supple, flourable flesh. They got her boobs up there, pancaked them out, preparing for the photos - and discovered a half-eaten tuna sandwich lodged in a crevice.

"Ma'am?" said my sister-in-law, "Did you KNOW you had a tuna sandwich under... under there?"

"Lawsa-mercy! So that's what happened to it!"

Apparently, so she said, she had been eating lunch at the table (topless), the phone had rung, she had reached across to answer it, inadvertently snagging the poor sandwich among her rolls, and by the time the call ended, she had forgotten all about it, until the mammo.

She took it home in a plastic baggie.

I shit you not.

Anyway, thanks for relaying your experience. I look forward to my own someday. :-)

tiff said...

Erica? That's so far beyond gross I had to read it twice.