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As I approach a certain age I have noticed certain things are stopping working, falling off, heading south, changing colour or seizing up. I have tried to counteract this by riding a bicycle to work, eating healthy stuff, drinking water and getting a lot of sleep. I don't smoke, never have and I probably drink about one pint of beer every couple of months on a night out. I am a lightweight as far as alcohol is concerned - my friends joke that one wine gum and I am under the table. They're not far wrong.
My advancing age had obviously rung a bell somewhere deep within my GP surgery's office and they decided that I should start attending age related health checks. So just before Christmas I was 'invited' for a breast screening check in Sainsburys car park.
That's right SAINSBURYS CAR PARK. Good heaven's above! The days of me getting my baps out in Sainsburys car park are long gone. I sincerely hoped there would be some sort of caravan based there although there was no mention of this on the letter. For all I knew there could be a seedy old man with a pair of marigolds leaping out from behind a van.
I was therefore pleasantly surprised to find a large mobile unit with 'Breast Screening Wales' on the side. As I climbed the steps I did wonder if it was too late to turn and run for the hills. I told myself to be responsible and act my age and so with a deep breath I went in.
There was a pleasant young nurse in the reception area who told me to go into a small changing room, remove my bra and put my top back on. I did this and sat in the waiting room with my arms crossed extremely aware that it was a tad on the cold side in there. I don't like swinging in the breeze EVER. It doesn't feel natural having anything swinging about anywhere. I have trained my girls to sit where they are supposed to be - to date they are totally well behaved and have stayed north of my sternum which is where I like them. My girls are quite petite and so far are happy to stay put. We have an agreement they stay put, I provide the support; It works well.
In the main waiting room were some ladies - somewhat older than me and apparently quite happy to be sitting there with their boobs resting on their laps. I never feel comfortable making small talk with strangers so under the circumstances I was relieved when I was called in first. A young nurse greeted me - a friendly type, although at a guess young enough to be my daughter. In the room was the nurse, a screen, a chair and a huge monster like machine which looked like the spray gun from the Picasso car ad. The nurse asked me a few questions - had the girls ever given me any grief? - they haven't. Have they ever been checked before - not by the type of robot death monster thing which was staring at us.
The nurse asked me to stand by the machine and put my arms by my side. I did and had to let go of the girls - I felt a bit awkward and must have looked it. The nurse then grabbed one of the girls and squidged her flat onto the machine between two slab things. I don't know what was the biggest shock - the nurse grabbing my left boob and manhandling it or having it mashed flat. She told me not to worry - SHE had control of the plates so they wouldn't suddenly get tighter - as if this would make me feel any better. She said this as I thought my poor boob was about to pop. I was stood there with my boob sandwiched flat - like I was trapped - the idea is you don't move - not as if I could have moved if I'd wanted to - I was trapped by my left boob!
The nurse did the same with the other one and then again with each one squished vertical. By the time she had finished with me I felt like my boobs had been run over by a steam roller. It didn't hurt but it wasn't dignified.
I was allowed to put my essentials back on and I escaped as swiftly as I was able. I was straight out the door - straight past all the old ladies in the waiting room, silently praying my boobs will never end up shaped like old rugby socks crossed with puppy dogs' ears,
I await the letter with the results.
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