This morning began like one of those days. Sigh. I had a 730am appointment for a mammogram. Long travel story short, due to all of the newly constructed subdivisions in my area, I have discovered the hard way that it takes forty minutes for me to drive seven miles to the base hospital at 7am. I was fifteen minutes late.

Eventually I was called in. It’s difficult enough to stand in the mandatory awkward positions necessary to screen for our health. I have the added bonus of not having one of my balance nerves, as a result of head surgery years ago. Not only do I find it difficult to balance myself, but I also become light headed. Therefore, I must dress properly for the occasion. Wearing a pair of sneakers with excellent traction, I have hopes to prevent possible slipping. I am okay while being positioned, but far too many times when the tech has left to take the image, I have found myself precariously teetering while clamped in place, fearful that I would end up slipping, my feet ending up and the air and leaving me dangling…

Always, while in this humbling position, I think of a forward that was sent to me years ago, before I had my first mammogram. I am thankful that I have so far left in better shape than this poor lady…

The first mammogram is the worst, especially when the machine catches fire. That’s what happened to me. The technician positioned me exactly as she wanted: think of a really complicated game of Twister- right hand on the blue, left shoulder on the yellow, right b***** as far away as humanly possible from the rest of your body.
Then she clamped the machine down so tight, I think my b***** turned inside out. I'm pretty sure Victoria's secret doesn't have a b** for that.
Suddenly, there was a popping noise. I looked down at my right b***** to make sure it hadn't exploded. Nope, it was still flat as a pancake and still attached to my body. "Oh, no" the technician said loudly.
These are, perhaps, the words you least want to hear from any health professional. Suddenly, she went flying past me, lab coat whipping behind, on her way out the door. She yelled over her shoulder: " The machines on fire! I'm going to get help!"
OK, I was wrong. "The machine is on fire" are the worst words you can hear from a health care professional. Especially if you're attached to a machine and don't know if its the machine in question.
I struggled for a few seconds trying to get free, but even Houdini couldn't have escaped. I decided to go with plan B: yelling at the top my lungs ( the one that was still working).
I hadn't seen anything on fire, so my panic hadn't quite reached epic proportions, but then I started to smell smoke coming from behind the partition. This is ridiculous I thought. I can't die like this. What would they put in my obituary? Cause of death: b***** entrapment? I may have inhaled some fumes, because at this time I started to hallucinate. An imaginary fireman rushed in with a hatchet."Howdy Ma'am" he says. "What's happened here?" he asks, averting his eyes.
"My b****** were to hot for the machine" I quipped , as my imaginary fireman ran out again. "This is gonna take the jaws of life!".
In reality, the technician returned with a fire extinguisher and put out the fire. She gave me a big smile and released me from the machine. "Sorry! That's the first time that's ever happened. Why don't you take a few minutes to relax before we finish up?"
I think that's what she said. I was running across the parking lot in my backless paper gown at the time. I figure I might go back in a few years. But I am bringing my own fire extinguisher.