This is a picture of the table you land on face-down when your mammogram and subsequent ultrasound show a spot or a lump of concern. Bummer. This aging game ain't for sissies. (Why do you think I started my site, stillababe.com?)
I was not thrilled to be driving to the hospital this morning to meet the breast surgeon for a stereotactic breast biopsy. I had lots of girlfriend driver offers, but didn't want to bother anybody when I heard I could drive myself. On the way at 7am, I put the convertible top down for the hell of it. Hey, life is short.
I knew there was a slight chance that the mammogram machine there would show that everybody was wrong, that there was no spot after all, and let me off the hook. NOPE. I stared at the white spot on the X-Ray. Bastard!
I landed on this table here with one boob through the hole so the breast surgeon could slide under it like a mechanic under the hood of a car. She's done this a billion times.
She numbed the boob and then went in with a needle to extract 12 capellini strands of tissue. No I did not look.
The surgeon laughed when she warned me that the sound of inserting the titanium clip at the area of concern would be similar to that of a small fart in spanx.
Like I've ever heard that.
The titanium clip in the boob stays in forever if results come back normal, and acts as a locator if they don't. I was assured I'm clear for airports and MRI's. I'm thinking some airport scanner is gonna have a field day with my boob down the road.
The whole thing was finished in world-record time and the sweet nurse strapped some ice to me and told me not to jump around for 48 hours. I hate canceling jumping. I also got a sticker for a parking-lot discount.
I put the top back down on my convertible, and flashed the parking lot attendant my iced breast to prove my discount on the way out. His expression was priceless. Results tomorrow.
For all you babes putting off your annual 'girlie' tests, better to just make the appointments and go deal with "whatever" head on. Better always to know early if something's a little off before it gets a lot off.
UPDATE: OK, I got the good-news call from the breast surgeon--no cancer! Whew. Onward! But I can't promise I won't flash any more garage guys in hope of a parking discount. Hey, it worked once . . .
Don’t miss out on MORE great articles like this one. Click here to sign up for our weekly newsletter!