The girls I've known since puberty

Yesterday was my third mammogram. But if you want to add the additional images, then it as also my fourth and fifth.

The facilities at Swedish are absolutely serene and lovely. If not for the painful mammograms,  you might think you were at a spa. There is a private waiting room where all the ladies are wearing those awful hospital gowns. It does level the playing field -- changes us all into the vulnerable older women we are; no social standing or careers to hide behind, just chicks with tatas.

Last year, I decided to go to this annual torture fest with a friend of mine. We made our appointments together, went shopping afterwards, had lunch and even a couple of beers. A fun time was had by all despite my friend getting called in for extra imaging. Extra imaging is what happens when they see something on your films that warrants an additional trip through the breast flopperizer. If even that doesn't clear things up, they do an ultrasound. When my friend was called in for her extra imaging, it really freaked her out. She later said that it was so good that I was there because she could have really lost it without my support.

This was the first time I got called back for extra imaging. Unfortunately, my friend got called back at the same time. We couldn't help each other through because we were both in it.

They crank these plates onto your breasts with a ratcheting knob. Imagine Nigel's amp on "This Is Spinal Tap." It goes up to 11. This mammogram machine goes to 12. I'd even say 13. Actually, the levels are more accurately described as this, uncomfortable, painful, and I'd cut a bitch. The second time I went in, the tech went to I'd cut a bitch levels. I was bruised for days afterwards.

Each time I reentered the waiting room, less women were waiting. Ostensibly, they had gotten their imaging, been cleared, and cleared out. Not me. Oh no. And the time it takes for the wizard behind the curtain to read the film is all the time it takes for me to come up with a plan.

By the time I was lying on the table awaiting my last imaging -- the ultrasound, I had a treatment plan in mind. Go ahead, cut off both boobs but try your best to keep the nipples. Please keep them innervated because what's the point of nipples that can't feel anything. Then rebuild my breasts with my belly fat, leaving my abdomen flat as a board. Any extra fat beyond that can go on my ass, because that's the place my body is flat.

The doc came in and assured me that she didn't see anything too concerning. She did the ultrasound and said that the spots were likely from recent weight loss. She did give me the okay to claim psychological stress from the day's ordeal to earn a dinner out as opposed to having to cook. She also said that if I ever have to get a needle biopsy (a relatively minor thing which causes as much discomfort as a shot), I should go home, lie on the sofa and moan every fifteen to twenty minutes to earn at least a few days of dinners out. I am just going to put that in my back pocket for another time.

Just me and my girls. And to quote Lana from Archer, "Ow. Well, now they're droopier."