I'm truly grateful to live in a country where the powers that be believe in preventative medicine. Once you hit fifty, the barrage of tests start to come in every two years. There's the poo test, the skin check - and for the women, there's the mammogram.
Fun. But it's easier to do them and have the piece of mind that you're still running well.
The great thing about the mammogram is that it's over in about five minutes.
That you're not charged for it, even better.
That the clinic I go to is in David Jones in the city - fabulous.
And the mammogram itself doesn't hurt. yes, it's uncomfortable, but the machines are a lot better than they were - the plates are now plastic rather than metal.
Yet, there is something very discombobulating about having somebody position your body, hoik your breasts about the place, tell you when to breathe, when to move.
Not accustomed to being touched, I jumped a mile when the operator tried at first to put me into position. It wasn't the touching of my breasts - it was my back.
It was over in five minutes.
And though it's by no means a traumatic experience, I found myself in Koko Black buying a small packet of almond nougats, which were demolished on the way to the tram stop.
A few hours on and I'm still feeling the lingering heebies from this two-yearly test.
From memory, I felt exactly the same after the last one.
No comments:
Post a Comment