No, I don’t mean my husband. (This isn’t that kind of post. And you heard enough about our sex life recently to satisfy my exhibitionist tendencies for a few more weeks.)
Yes, I do mean you, Ms. Mammogram Technologist!
I’ve been learning to use my voice and speak up for myself in all kinds of situations. Except the other day in the mammogram screening room where I encountered my nemesis, Chatty Cathy.
From the moment I walked into the screening room, I knew I was in trouble. Chatty Cathy greeted me with a big smile and a warm hello and proceeded to explain every last detail of what was about to happen to my girls. Then she explained again – in excruciating detail – while her cold, deft hands prodded and maneuvered my breasts in to a machine that compressed them beyond recognition.
I’ve found out that I get dizzy and hyperventilate while having my breasts fondled by strange women and large machinery. My skin turns a lovely shade of avacado before my baby browns roll up into my head. I do not faint. Instead I use my superpowers to ignore the feelings of panic roiling through my body; my only goal to survive the screening before I die on the floor.
I tell myself there are two kinds of people in the world regarding medical procedures:
1) Those who are comforted and reassured by having every detail of what is going to happen to them explained
2) Those who prefer to be kept in the dark, told what to do and left alone to panic in peace and quiet
I propose hospitals provide a preference checklist with the 25 other forms required before any medical procedure. I envision something like this:
Please Select One: I prefer my medical technician to be:
a) Outgoing, Warm and Friendly: takes her/his time to guide me lovingly through each step
b) Quiet, Gentle and Quick: gets me in and out of procedure quickly with a minimum of explanation
c) Reminiscent of a Stepford Wife on Crack: uber helpful and willing to delineate every detail of the procedure multiple times with a frantic vocal delivery
Don’t get me wrong, my deranged dedicated technologist was simply doing her job. An incredibly important and difficult job. I imagine many women love her repetitive assurance that she knows her way around a breast or two.
I happen to prefer hyperventilating in silence. Give me an overview and the bare minimum of information I need to disassociate in peace while you’re squeezing the bejesus out of my breasts.
Perhaps I should thank her. I haven’t been felt up with so much exuberance by anyone other than my husband in many, many years.
Now, lest I continue on this victimy rant another moment (something I would love am loathe to do), I did have choices in this situation.
I certainly could have spoken up and calmly explained my preferences. Unfortunately, all I could think in the moment as the blood pounded my temples was “You may be competing for some kind of Miss Congeniality award, but dear woman, shut the fuck up!”
While those words were an option, she was holding the fate of my delicate woman parts in her hands.
Instead, our interaction went something like this:
Chatty Cathy Technologist: ”You’re looking a little pale, dear. It’s okay if you want to sit down. You could sit for two or three minutes and relax and then we can start again. Whatever you need because all I care about is making sure you’re comfortable and making sure we get the best pictures we can. We need the pictures to be identical to the ones you got last year so the radiologist can see if there were any changes to your breast tissue between last year and this year. Do you want to sit down and relax for two or three minutes? Or even five or ten minutes?”
Me: ”No, thanks.”
Chatty Cathy: ”A lot of women get light-headed so it really isn’t any problem if you want to sit down and take a break. We’ll just take our time between each film; go slow and steady to make sure we get the best films we can. Do you want to sit down? This is a foldable, cushioned chair made in China but imported in the United States by an American chair company. I can guarantee it is comfortable and should you want to try it out yourself, I’d be happy to take off the iron shield from around your hips so you are comfortable.“
Me: ”No, thanks.”
I am disappointed in myself for not speaking up – that would have made for a shorter post and perhaps a better story!
My 9yo daughter, Ava, has no problem using her voice and speaking up whenever necessary, sometimes to my dismay. During the mammogram, I started thinking WWAD – What Would Ava Do? I’m confident she would have spoken up immediately with some version of: ”Miss Technician Lady, can you please stop talking now. You’re giving me a headache.“
If only I had her courage!
Instead, I offer myself this practice script for next year’s exam:
Technologist: ”… And we compress your breasts because we care. Do you want to sit down, dear?“
Me: ”Miss Technician Lady, I am feeling really anxious. I would prefer to do this screening as silently as possible. Could you give me the least amount of detail to get through the screening and keep the talking to a minimum? Thank you.”
Easy? No way. Doable? Perhaps. Next year.
Or maybe I should practice holding my breath longer? You tell me.
Does anyone else have trouble speaking up to a medical professional? If you are a medical professional, how would you suggest a slightly neurotic patient like me handle this situation?
Next up, getting my dental hygienist to shut up…
I often turn into the queen of polite versus speaking up for my self to get what I need. I will suffer in silence, without saying a word! Who cares about my mangled breasts that are making me turn purple. I don’t want to INSULT anyone!
Yes! God forbid anyone else be uncomfortable! Only me! Let’s work on speaking up together, okay?!
I love your WWAD! It’s amazing to be inspired by our children. Around what age does that start? Because I am not inspired to pull my underwear down in the living room and demand someone pause the speed channel until I get back as I waddle my way to the toilet. That’s what my son would do. I’m hoping you say 8 – that should give him some time to get his act together.
You don’t know what you’re missing not following your son’s lead on the underwear/living room adventure! I would say 8 is a good age for lots of inspiration. Unfortunately, it’s only age 8 – that’s the magic year, then it goes to hell.
magical, mythical 8. I shall hold my breath.
PS – I still think you were brave just for going. Pat on the back for taking care of yourself!
Thanks! And thank god I don’t have to go back for another year! PS – If you hold your breath til your son turns 8, you will have great preparation for a mammogram! Win-win!
Holy crap they better not try to talk to me. They just can’t. I can’t speak up even when the lady cutting my hair makes my scalp bleed.
I hear you! We’ll request the mute technologists/hair stylists/hair waxer/etc. from now on!
While I can only relate to some of this piece, I really enjoyed it. Funny title and opening line. Your despcription perfect technologist was funny as well (stepford wife…).
Some people don’t know when to stop talking. I had this dentitst who used to talk to me while he was working on me. My replies back – when I could – made me sound like a gurgling fool.
maybe, they can have a order form as part of the paperwork and you can request the type of technician you prefer.
Yes! I’ll go for the mute one every time if that’s a choice!
Hmm. I am an EMT so body parts and functions are old news to me. I also have apparently tough breasts than can take a beating or two. I had a nice chat with my tech. last week about my vacation this summer, etc. Perhaps I am a weirdo. I care not at all. However, you MUST BREATHE AND NOT LOCK YOUR KNEES, as one of my friends freaked herself out during her mammogram, passed out, cracked her head on the floor and ended up in the hospital for a few days. Which is worse: 10 minutes with a chatty tech. or 48 hours with chatty techs, RNs, and doctors?
Sure, when you put it that way!! But your friend’s experience would make a great story
! I will consult with you before next year’s screening … you’re my mammo hero!
I’m a quiet person and in many situations such as what you described, I just feel the need to focus, relax, do some deep breathing, freak out, whatever. I can’t get into my own mind if someone is blabbering at me and I don’t need to hear specifics. All I want to know is, will it hurt like hell and when? Don’t tell me anything else. If someone keeps talking to me, I don’t answer them. I close my eyes, do my deep breathing, and focus and just say, “Sorry, I just need quiet for a minute.” I pretty much think they can tell I’m about to drop to the floor and I don’t worry about rudeness!
Please – I tried once to tell the woman who cleaned my house that i didn’t need her anymore – i still have her. and yeah, my scalp would also bleed in a hair cut and i’d say, thank you, here’s your tip! Not gonna learn anything from me.
LOL – I have similar housekeeper drama! It’s obviously all related – breasts, hair/scalp, house. Who knew?! Believe me, I’m learning a lot from you already! And I have another entire year to learn to speak up (cause the past 40+ haven’t quite been enough!).
Same!
Practice on your hair person. I dare you to say she cut it too short – You first, then i’ll go. Ha!!
OMG – scary! You’re on!
I’m already afraid! That’s not normal!
NO way! I totally think you should go with the: ““You may be competing for some kind of Miss Congeniality award, but dear woman, shut the fuck up!” I’m sorry for your discomfort, but never have I read a more entertaining mammogram post!
Aww, thank you! It was fun to write – an unexpected benefit of being miserable during the screening! Thanks for visiting!
Oh my gosh – my tech was the same way this year! And I’m totally like you – I want to have things quiet and just DONE, not all chatty chatty during a mammogram! Funny story.
Chatty Cathys are everywhere! Must be something in the water
. I’m happy to know I’m not the only one!
I’m sure Chatty thought she was being the best boob technician in history, and would have been shocked and surprised that you didn’t think so. So you should definitely speak up next time… And then would you come speak up to mine too?
Yes, let me know when you need me! I’m thinking of starting a service where I will speak up for those who can’t (for a fee, of course!). Do you think I have to learn how to speak up for myself first? Or just wing it?
I’m just glad men don’t have to have a penis-o-gram, or a testicle-o-gram. That would hurt. If it’s any consolation, my father using his computer in bed and smashed his nipple when he lowered the screen.
Ouch!! That is indeed a consolation! Thanks!