Going Bareback Again Tomorrow

I honestly wouldn't probably be blogging about this if I wasn't blogging every day this month, but Mom and her two non-English-speaking co-workers need something to do. 

Every time I have a mammogram, I get called back, or as I like to refer to it, "My rack has a second audition."  I was under the impression that this is because my ladies are getting tired of fighting gravity, but yesterday the tech said it is because my tissues are exceptionally compressed, thus giving the illusion of shadows on the scan.  The first time this happened, I wrote goodbye letters to Current Husband and the children.  I got my second scan and all was well and I went on my happy way, and a few weeks later CH found me, panicked, and said, "What the hell is this?!"  He was holding my letter, which made me look slightly suicidal since nothing else was going on, and I had to explain that I wrote the letter when I thought I had cancer, but to just forget about it now.  After asking me a few questions about my happiness level, he was able to start breathing again, because who is going to pack those cold lunches for the vegetarian daughters and buy tampons if I'm not around?

The second time my rack got a callback, I was told it was because skin had folded on top of itself, which is a much different explaination than "compressed tissue", and sounds like I can tuck my boobs into the waistband of my pants.  Again, clean screen the second time around.

Today I got a callback for tomorrow, and I'm relatively unfazed about it because I am always a two-timer, but let me tell you what DOES bother me a little.  When I go to the Center for Women's Health and I get off the elevator and I'm smacked upside the face with a 10 foot tall pink sign that says, "Whose life will YOU be running for?" about Race for the Cure.  And then the breast cancer awareness poster.  And then the next one.  And the next. And the next.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for breast cancer research.  But when I'm going in for my second mammogram, my paranoia about getting diagnosed with breast cancer is already ratcheted up a bit without picking my race team.  I know so many people who have had or are battling some form of cancer that I feel like it's National Geographic's "Seconds From Disaster" - it's not a matter of if, but when.

I'm sure my scan will be just the same as all the others tomorrow, clear, and don't think for a second I haven't been giving myself a cheap feel all night long, so if there was a grain of sand in there I would've found it, but somewhere in the world every day someone's results come back with bad news.  Therefore, maybe this is a nice moment to say that if you're looking for a place to donate your extra bags of cash, cancer research would be a nice place to do it.

But tomorrow?  When the scan is over?  I'm off to Starbucks for my well-deserved Venti Quad Skinny Vanilla Latte before I head back to work.