Personally, I'd rather go to the dentist-which isn't too funny considering I have to get a filling next week.

I had a mammogram yesterday. My doctor recommended it because I have 'lumpy' breasts(always have).

The anticipation was grim, I'd heard a lot about the horrendous breast-squashing mammograph machines.

First of all, on the way to the bus, I realized I had NO CHANGE! I rushed into Sudden Printing and Kris changed my $20 in a hurry, but as I raced towards the bus stop, the sinking feeling in my belly told me I wouldn't make it across the hellish Lake City Way traffic in time. Sure enough, I made it across just in time for the bus driver to look at me blankly as he slowly turned up Northgate Way. So, I had to walk from Lake City to NW hospital. It took me 43 minutes-I made it, out of breath, but precisely in time for my appointment.

The ultrasound wasn't TOO bad. The technician, Jennie, was nice, the gel was warm and I got to see cool video of the inside of my breasts. Then she took me to the mammography room.

The machine was formidable. It loomed at least 7 feet tall in an isolated corner of the room. Jennie adjusted the photoplate to the level of my breasts and proceeded to move my body into perhaps the most uncomfortable and hazardous position I have ever been in. Then she lowered the plastic squashing tray...

All I can say is, I've heard of flat-chested, and I would not even be TOO surprised to hear the term applied to my own humble endowment, but-sweet Lord above!-no breast should ever be THAT flat! I mean, we're literally talking PANCAKE here! Yeeouch!

So, she calmly explains to me that she will be taking two views of each breast. One horizontal, one vertical.

I made it through the first three with remarkable equanimity, considering that if anyone else tried to do that to my BREAST I'd smack them upside the head with the nearest hard metal object(of which there were quite a few)and run screaming bloody murder!

As she set me up for the last one, however, I began to feel strange... She extended and flexed my left arm, draped it up and over the plate, then moved my right arm down and forward in the favored position for complete breast exposure and victimization. My neck was bent and twisted over the plastic squasher tray(bear with me, this becomes more important in a moment). When she finished manhandling me(I remember weakly joking with her about objecting to the wretched positioning as a future massage therapist)she retreated to her position of safety behind the x-ray shielding on the other side of the room.

I recall listening for the beep of the x-ray, thinking: Hmmm... I feel a little dizzy...I hope it beeps soon... so I can go sit down... and have a drink of water-

I came to on the floor. I dimly heard someone yelling for help as I began to return from some sort of timeless alternate reality space where I'd been talking to a person who vanished as my brain began to reassemble the aspects of the situation at hand. It was very disorienting and seemed to take a long time. For a few moments I wondered why I was halfnaked on the floor...Then sense came back and I understood who all the people applying cold, wet cloths to my head and wrapping blankets around me were and what must have happened.

The doctor said: "It's a fairly common reaction to faint during breast compressions." My thought: Breast compressions, well then, that makes it all sound so reasonable! Apparently, times of shock and stress don't effect the part of my brain that is devoted to sarcastic remarks, albeit silent ones.

Then everyone except Jennie left. She was pretty flustered. She wanted to check my neck, saying she thought it had caught on the tray as I fell. I let her do so, noticing with some confusion the rather large crack in the plastic squasher tray as she did so. She announced that the cut on my neck wasn't serious, just a scratch.

I said, somewhat aghast: "So I BROKE the machine when I fell?!?" Meaning: YOU MEAN MY FACE HIT THE TRAY WITH ENOUGH FORCE TO BREAK THE GODDAMN THING!?!

She, obviously wrongly interpreting my concern, said soothingly: "Oh no, it's OK, the machine is fine. We have plenty of extra trays."

After a while, I felt like I might not fall over again if I attempted to get up off the floor. I was right. After I got dressed, Jennie returned to ask if I was OK and to tell me the film came out so I could now leave.

Having gone through all that, I wasn't about to leave without seeing the damn x-rays and I -politely- told her so. So the doctor showed me the pictures and even bothered to explain that there was no sign of anything wrong with my normal, lumpy breasts. Grrreat!

So I wandered out to the bus stop, feeling rather shocky. I had half-a-freezing-cold hour to wait for the next 302, so I ate my sandwich, noticing as I did so that my jaw hurt. Then I called D. for some much needed sympathy.

Two buses later, I was home.

Kind of makes you wonder about hospitals, doesn't it? Do they keep extra trays around just in case women accidentally break them with their FACES? And, If that is the case, why the fuck don't they warn you of the likelyhood of passing out from 'breast compression' and just be prepared to catch you?