Bosom Buddies

I had a mammogram Tuesday morning. The universe owes me a HUGE apology.

Anatomy, time, and disease have all conspired to make me a mammographic challenge of epic proportions. First, I’m not particularly well endowed. Also, I was born with a concave chest. That means my two hills are separated by a valley, geographically speaking. I’m in my early 60s now so things are sagging a little. I put bra-wearing on my fucket list several years ago, which means the girls are slowly slipping into my armpits. To make matters even worse – as if they weren’t bad enough already – I’m a little round shouldered.

Then there is MS. My arms, shoulders, and torso are not as strong as they used to be. When I’m sitting in my power chair – as I do for a good 10 to 12 hours every day – I’m supported by armrests, a backrest, I and an ergonomically designed cushion for my tooshie. Without them I struggle to maintain my position.

When I booked the appointment eight months ago, I told them I use a power wheelchair and don’t stand up anymore. I called again a few days before and reminded/warned them about my issues.

“We’ve booked you for 45 minutes, dear, so that should be plenty of time,” chirped the unsuspecting woman who answered the phone. She has no idea what they are up against, I think evilly to myself.

I’m pretty sure we used all 45 minutes and then some. The two women did their best to push, pull, contort, twist, manoeuvre, and manipulate me and my various appendages into position. It took a tremendous effort to pancake my breasts. After every scan they’d scurry over to their computer and check the results. Then they scurried back to me to try again. And again. And again. My wheelchair was a huge obstacle. I tilted and reclined and moved forward and backward as much as possible, but it restricted us quite a bit. I lived in terror that one of our six hands or arms would accidentally hit the joystick and propel me dangerously against the hard, unyielding equipment of the scanner.

I haven’t been this aware of the inadequacies of my little body since my disastrous Pap smear when my left leg refused to bend and stay in the stirrup. Instead, it froze sticking straight out in the air. Oh, the joys of being a woman. My experiences make me question whether women with disabilities are receiving appropriate gynecological and general healthcare.

When it was finally over a member of the wrestling team warned me, I would feel sore and be bruised tomorrow. I didn’t and wasn’t but somehow ended up with scratches along my jawline and neck, of all places. Who knew a mammogram would do that?

Unfortunately, my wheelchair ended up with some collateral damage. The cable that connects the “brain” to the rest of the machine got pulled out of position, and two of the features that make my chair so comfortable – tilt and recline – stopped working. For the next two days I had to lean forward in the chair. My neck and shoulders throbbed from the pain. I had to put up with it until someone could come to repair it.

I requested the mammogram be done, not because I detected anything, but it had been a good 15 years since my last one. It was about time. I won’t be asking for another one anytime soon.