Attack of the 1000 Dollar Mammogram!

Ten people. TEN.

This is how many people I dealt with while getting my annual mammogram. How did something so personal turn into an assembly line? As if getting my boobs pancaked and my skin yanked so tight that I felt it all the way up to my ears isn’t bad enough. I get to be treated like a cow in a roundup.

Before I go off on a complete diatribe, I want to be fair. I’m ALWAYS a wreck at mammogram time. My mother died of breast cancer. The final ten years of her life were hell as the cancer spread to her lymph nodes, her spine and her brain. I learned to administer shots. I watched as her brain fluid was removed from a shunt in her... CONTINUE READING >>