Getting with the ‘Gram

Have you ever seen those posts exposing the pains behind the perfect Insta pictures?

The lengths someone will go to in order to curate the perfect image/aesthetic to post can truly be incredible, if not amusing to someone like me who basically only dabbles in filtering her pictures of everyday life. But people – celebrities and wanna-bes – often have whole teams helping them conceptualize and develop and then shoot these shots for perfect posts.

I brought in a team of experts for my latest ‘Gram. It needed to be professional, technical, thorough.

But these shots weren’t actually for Instagram.

These shots were for… My First Mammogram. (Phew.)

So do you want to talk about the “pain behind the picture”, let me tell you a little about my perspective regarding the discomfort, for people with breasts, behind getting this important medical test.

Except … my discomfort started a few days before the test for me.

No it wasn’t physical pain, like I was having suspicious symptoms.

It was emotional discomfort because as much as I knew I needed to get this test done…

I also had to confront the reality that my mom lived with breast cancer for over 20 years, ultimately passing away from it when I was 24 years old.

Yeah. Oof.

Since I have a close relative who has died from breast cancer, it’s actually been recommended I begin this kind of screening earlier than the recommended 40 years. In fact, some medical professionals recommended I begin them about 10 years prior to when my mom was diagnosed (at age 39).

Ideally that would have made me 29. But since age 29, I’ve had 5 pregnancies and nursed kids for years at a time, thus making actually getting a clear image from a mammogram practically impossible.

Once I got as close as being done nursing, having my annual GYN exam, and getting an order for one. The slip sat in my car for a week or two (you know as one does with their need to get tests). And then I figured out (surprise!) I was pregnant, so the mammogram was once again OFF the table!

So the need to have this test sat on the back burner of my mind as something that I knew I needed to accomplish.

And while that didn’t freak me out that much, from time to time it would. And there are these … hmm … unique ways of thinking I seem to have… about cancer.

Fast forward to now.

Of course, I’d confronted the reality of my mom’s struggles with cancer and death from it as I grieved her. I lived at my childhood home again before getting married, and became something of a hands-on caregiver in the year prior to her death. I’ve seen first hand how much pain and frustration and dignity cancer (and treatment) can steal from people who must endure it.

But this was different.

This was me, asking medical professionals, to peer inside me and tell me about my immediate future.

This was me, knowing how much everyone says I look and am just like my mom, wondering if I’d be like her in this way too. With cancer, lurking in my body, growing and threatening me and the beautiful life I have.

This was me, who once heard herself say in therapy, that it’s not that I wonder if I’ll get cancer someday; I wonder when I’ll get cancer.

Because somewhere in my mind, cancer became this thing that was just destined to afflict me too.

Remember my saying I had some unique ways of thinking about cancer? Apparently that certainty of my someday having to endure cancer struck my therapist as a little odd. I mean, I wasn’t calling myself anxious or a hypochondriac, but maybe (just maybe?!) she made a special note in my file after that admission.

So yes, it was time to re-confront this idea that cancer was all but written in my book, and begin the process of trying to look for it and determine where it might be hiding, waiting to torture me, and ultimately take my life.

Luckily, as the date for my testing approached, I was mostly able to catch and confront that idea that this was a routine test and not a death sentence.

I reminded myself that my mom got testing done because she found a lump and had pain, and I had nothing like that (outside the occasional wild nursing toddler bite).

Anxious thoughts still found moments to creep up though. Had I been ignoring my well being too much? Was I doing damage to myself by being an inconsistent exerciser, a sleep-deprived mom? Was I increasing my likelihood of cancer by still carrying around some post-baby pounds?

I voiced my anxiety to my husband so it could be released. So that he too could remind me that all was very likely to be well. So I could tell myself that cancer caught early can be treated much more effectively than cancer first discovered in 1985(as my mom’s was).

Fast forward to now.

I drove out to my appointment, giving myself plenty of time to find the location since I’d never been there. I drove out, also discovering I had almost ZERO gas in my car thank you husband dear, so I needed to stop somewhere for a VERY quick refill to insure I wouldn’t miss or be late for this VERY IMPORTANT appointment.

That did NOT help my nerves.

But I got there in plenty of time, took deep breaths in the parking lot, and took the elevator to the 2nd floor. I was screened again for Covid risk, put the required mask over my cloth mask, went through a few more screening questions, and signed off on the required paperwork.

They ushered me back almost immediately. I was given a roomy oversized patterned smock, told to lose the bra and top, but keep my pants. A changing room and locker space was provided.

I adorned myself in the roomy get-up and pulled out my book to read in hopes that it would help me relax. Or at least look relaxed.

But it’s weird to sit, bra-less in a strange shirt in a room with other women, also adorned in the same patterned oversized smock. We’re all different ages (though I appeared to be on the younger end at 42), different sizes (as go people and boobs), and different levels of experience with getting mammograms, but at the end of the day, we were all there for the same reason: to get smooshed, to get screened, and to take care of ourselves.

Within a few minutes I was called back and wandered down a maze of hallways to an exam room. The tall technician told me she shared my name, went over a little medical history, and then got cozy with me.

Yes, it takes a VERY comfortable technician to cozy up to her patient, pull you into her, hoist their boob on to a clear plate and position it and then twist the plate and bring down another plate to smash it on every side.

Cuddle. Reposition. Re-hoist. Re-adjust. Re-smoosh and re-image.

To help with your mental image, you should know I’m about 5’2 and she must have been 5’9 or 5’10.

Like, I consider myself pretty darn body positive, but just the cozying and positioning was a very unique-unto-itself kind of embarrassing and awkward and oh my, just so uncomfortable.

Not to mention the smooshing. OUCH.

(Though nursing toddlers have probably done me more damage.)

Anyway, ultimately, even in my embarrassment, I had to laugh. And feel relief that even though I wasn’t, this technician was so comfortable in her work that she just went about, knowing the routine, taking care of this very cringey business, and taking the pictures she needed to take.

At the end, I asked what was next… who I’d hear from.

She told me that I’d get a mailing in 2-3 days time if everything was OK. I might get a call if they needed further imagining, which doesn’t always mean there’s a problem.

And I was on my way.

(After giving back my stylish smock and getting my top and bra back, of course.)

I stopped for a milkshake on the way home because I’m basically a super mature middle-schooler at heart and … I figured I deserved a treat.

Two days later, I saw I had a voicemail from my primary care practice.

And then I remembered – gasp! – a call might mean I was going back in.

Crap.

I took a deep breath and listened to the voicemail.

Everything was normal. Apparently they decided to call me just get my blood pressure popping and to ensure I take those meds of mine. Or because I’d remembered what she told me incorrectly. Or because my provider was just being weird.

Who knows.

Overall, it was a good first experience. I’m thankful all is well, that I am well, at this moment in time. I am thankful for the times I get the check ups, and the routine care I need, because it is easy to avoid all that stuff in a busy life. It actually makes me feel like a good adult when I manage to take care of myself in these concrete ways.

With my family history, I’m sure there will always be some nerves and apprehension with mammograms and screenings, and heck, even routine check ups.

But it is so very important that we acknowledge our discomforts, and strive to care for ourselves ANYWAY.

Self-care can look like a lot of different things, but today I’ll advocate for those check-ups, those screenings, those tests, those vaccines, those medication refills.