Yesterday was mammogram day. I have been good about it since I turned 50. I am familiar with the procedure and, although not pleasant, it is not that bad. However, there is that awfully vulnerable feeling you have when you are left alone in the X-Ray room while they "take a look". Every year I forget my glasses in the cubicle so I cannot sit and read their odd selection of ancient magazines. Getaway, Glamour and always one glossy SA Airways free magazine. Weird choice. Getaway, I reckon to take your mind off worrying about the news you are waiting for and Glamour, for goodness sake, is a magazine for teenagers about which coverstick is best.
The radiographer returned with, what I thought was, a grave face and said they wanted to do an ultrasound. It was the same last year so I was not terribly concerned. Still, so many thoughts flashed through my mind as they smeared that wonderful warm gel on my breasts.
Everything was fine. Back in the cubicle I said a quick prayer of thanks for my result and a prayer for the healing of my friends who have not been so lucky.