Squish Squish

This morning, October 17, 2016, I awoke early. I had an appointment, which I'd made a month before.

It was time for another "rite of passage."  My First Mammogram.

A mammogram is an x-ray of the breasts, which is used to detect cancer among other spatial anomalies.  *activates static warp shell*  Women of a "certain age" are supposed to get these done once a year.  But I never have, despite having been "a certain age" since before rediscovering myself.  And also despite having cancer coming at me from both sides of the family... including breast cancer.

"Officer, are these the breasts of a fifty year old woman?"

But, to put it bluntly, I always wanted these breasts, and now I have them, and I don't want to lose them!  So, off to the doctor I went.

My appointment was for 9:45, but I was told to arrive at 9:15.  And so I walked into Phoenixville Hospital at precisely 9:15.  There was a sign on the reception desk saying I need ID, insurance card, prescription... SH*T!  

So back into the car, back to the apartment, grabbed the prescription, drove back, and walked in around 9:30.

"This prescription is old."  "Your name changed?  That's not on the insurance..."

Oh wonderful.

After a few minutes of explanation, I was sent to see a second person in a small, dimly lit cubby.  This guy was quite nice, didn't care about the age of the prescription, sorted out the name issues, slapped a paper wristband on me, and led me to...  the Mammogram room!

I opened the door, went inside, and was greeted by a nice older woman who took my paperwork.  I was asked to sit on a couch.  There was a TV on- the Rachel Ray show.  Seriously.


After a minute or three, she walked briskly past me saying "something is wrong with your paperwork."

I asked "what's wrong?"

She showed me the paperwork, which had my old name, etc.  Under sex there was an "M."  I said "I'm transgender."

She looked at me.  Heartbeat.  Two.

"Oh.... Okayyyyy," she said.  Then she directed me into one of two changing rooms where I was to don an amazingly stylish front opening hospital gown, then enter... the Room.

Chicks in New York pay top dollar for this!

And that's what I did.  The machine was HUGE.  It was a 3-D mammogram machine, which she said was brand new.  She had some paperwork to be filled out.  First question:  when was your last menstrual period?  I put "N/A."  Am I pregnant?  No.  Sign here, initial here, here, and here.

The tech asked me one more time:  "Are you pregnant?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure."

(Wait a second- was she insinuating that due to my fat tummy...?   Grrr!)

We started with the right breast.  Squish.  "Don't move- don't breathe!"  That took me by surprise, so I stood there without taking a deep breath, trying to hold what was left in my lungs.  Unsquish; machine rotates.   Squish.  Hold breath.   Unsquish.  Machine rotates back.  Left breast.  Squish.  Hold breath.  Unsquish.  Rotate.  Squish.  Hold breath.  Unsquish.  Done.

That's it?  That's all?

Results in a few days.

Back into the changing room.  Remove toga; put bra back on.  Put on top.  Out the door.

That simple.  Seriously.

According to the American Cancer Society, over 246,000 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer this year, and over 40,000 women will die from it.  You've seen these numbers already.  You've seen the pink ribbons.

As I said above, those of us who have transitioned have waited our whole lives for these boobs.  Why risk them due to fear or laziness?

In any case, it was easy, it didn't hurt (me- but I've heard the tales from others), and it's covered by insurance.  And, leaving the hospital, I felt so... feminine!  I am a Woman- and women need mammograms.

My boobs are only three years old.  They're real... and they're spectacular.  And I want to keep them.

So I got them checked.

Be well!