Today I took care of all my lady business. So may this serve as a reminder to the ladies who need to visit their doctors and have their mammograms.
The idea of my first mammogram was frighteneing. I'd heard so many stories of squishing, pulling, and stre-e-e-tching that I was certain I'd come home in a cloud of pain with my upper respiratory area hanging down to my ankles. None of that happened. Sure, your boobs are going to be jostled around and tugged, resituated and sandwiched between plastic plates. But it doesn't feel like they're trying to cold roll your flesh into a pancake. And it can be pretty fast. I was in an out inside of 15 minutes today. So I have a bit of time to kill before going to meet my new doctor.
I don't like change. Is this a surprise? No, not to any single person on this planet. So when my lady doctor of over 14 years up and quit practicing and gave me 2 weeks' notice, it's a wonder I didn't a) go screaming up to her office and beg her to stay, b) dissolve into a puddle right then and there, or c) both. Don't get me wrong, I was good and angry (still am - it felt like being fired). But I still had to get stuff done, so I did. I made an appointment.
I was fine. Everything was fine. The new doctor is fine. It's still weird, and hey, what wouldn't be after 14 years, but I can deal. She didn't ask any awkward questions and got me to open up about a few questions I was hesitant about bringing up myself in a relatively comfortable way. Actually, the worst part was when they asked to take my picture for their files.
After taking care of all that, you bet I went straight for the biggest hamburger I could find. I deserved it.