You have to have a sense of humor when you walk into a room and there is a table with a big hole in the very center and they tell you that you have to climb a ladder and put your right breast in the hole. I looked down and said, “But my breast isn’t in the center of my body . . . yet!” They all laughed. Seriously, there is no graceful way to do this. I’m laughing because this procedure is so bizarre. They get you “centered” and then raise the table up to the ceiling. I glance at the nurse and the ceiling and I think, “I don’t remember her being that tall.” It wasn’t until later that I realize the nurse had climbed on a ladder to stand near my head so she could talk to me. And I thought I was uncomfortable! She had to stand there the entire time. I at least got to lie down. The doctor sits on a chair and rolls under the table and I say, “What are you doing down there?” and we all laugh.
My nurse advocate keeps me entertained by asking about the music I have playing on my iPod. She notes (well into the procedure) that none of the songs repeat. I explain that I have about 400 songs on the iPod and if they start repeating, we have all been there too long.
At some point, the radiologist and tech leave the room to mammogram the samples they have taken. The nurse explains that my breast is still in a clamp and I have a needle sticking into it, so I should not move. Seriously? Either one of those warnings was sufficient. I have a vivid imagination and I don’t like where it is going. What if they decide to go to lunch? What if there is a fire? Is there an emergency release button like at the gas pumps?
After three hours, I’m finally done and my bra is packed with four ice bags. It is 47 degrees outside. This should be fun. The nurse tells me to go out and have a relaxing lunch but that I should change the ice packs every 30 minutes for the next four hours. Yeah, back at you sweetheart. You have a nice lunch too. At what point during my nice lunch do I pull the ice packs out and ask for more from the kitchen?