Yesterday I went for my first mammogram in more than a year.  These will be routine for me now, and comforting though it is to be tested – to know that someone is still watching the shop, as it were – I’m not sure I hold much stock in mammograms.  Back in the days when we were trying to figure out whether the little almond in my left breast was pure evil or just a bump in the road, I was told my mammogram was inconclusive because my breast tissue was so “dense.”  (No one was more surprised than me to hear my then 36-year-old, post-breast-feeding, rather petite breasts described as “dense and young,”  but that’s what they told me, and I have witnesses.)


Anyway, maybe this time around the mammogram will be readable.  Sad as it may be to no longer be able to claim that my flesh abounds with “density and youth,”  I’ll just be happy if the doctors can get a good look at what’s going on in there.  Or, hopefully, what’s not going on.

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