Let’s talk about boobs! Again!
So last night, I had the extraordinary pleasure of experiencing my first, but probably not my last, breast MRI. Oh the fun!
Blah blah, risk of cancer, blah. No, nothing’s “wrong,” unless you count having some rather shifty genes “wrong.” Anyhow – I had my first mammogram back in November, and then in January, upon further reflection by Dr. Judgey Gyno (who, yes is judgey, but she is a good doctor), put in all of my family cancer history, along with whatever else, and lo and behold, I qualify for being high risk for el breast cancer.
So, in addition to mammograms and breast exams (by her, not just me) four times a year, I won the Breast MRI prize. I also, depending on insurance and the cost, might pony up for the breast cancer gene screening. First things first.
I tell ya, there ain’t nothing much more fun that laying on an MRI bed having someone adjust your boobs that are… well, hanging freely underneath of you. Now give that whole experience a southern accent and you’re practically there with me.
I had to have contrast (hence the injector thing that the cartoon lady has), so eventually I got all dangled properly, tucked in the hole, and then injected by the machine (!!), not even the lady, when it came time. After the contrast finished being cold (running up my arm), it made my whole body very warm (disconcerting), and then the whole creepy sensation went away.
A very long experience (I arrived at 7:20pm, left around 9:45pm), but done at least. Long, but not scary.
I think this is the part of parenting that I didn’t realize would happen. The intense self-care in an effort to stay alive as long as possible when it comes to uncomfortable procedures like laying DEAD STILL on hard table in a LOUD room for 45 minutes while your boobs hang under you.