I really do not mind having birthdays. I do not even mind the number of birthdays that I have had. Heck, I am not even that upset about my mid-life body (it wasn’t that great in my twenties, and I am more physically active now, so it’s actually on an upward trend … which is humerus, since most of my body parts are on a downward trend …).
What I am not excited about is the invasion of medical tests on my body just because it is over forty!
All of a sudden, my optometrist checks for things like cataracts, and the need for bifocals. My dentist is on the search for recessing gums. And, when I went for that annual ‘woman’ appointment (which I last had done … hum, five years ago), the delightful, cheery, youthful nurse (grrr!) says, “oh, you are forty-two … did you know that women over forty are recommended to have a mammogram every two years?’ Now, how would I know that, I’m only thirty-nine, with three years experience?
So today, like an inmate on death row, heading to the guillotine, I will go to my very first mammogram …
When I got the appointment, I told my hubby that I was going to blog about it, and he said, “you’re not?” And his shocked, astounded, unbelieving question cinched it 😉 (oh, the life of the woman who likes to shock her husband), so, here is the fruit of his amazement!
So, as I have been planning and preparing (mentally) for this appointment, I have been having flashbacks (not hot flashes … that is still to come … and when they do, I will probably blog about them) and nightmares.
The flashbacks have been to those mass emails about mammograms … that are ‘supposed’ to be funny. Come to think of it, they were funny … when I was too young to need to have one! Now their ‘humorous’ messages, make me feel sick to my stomach. Stories of having your ‘girls’ moved and molded like silly putty, between two cold, hard paddles of metal. Moving my ‘twin peeks’ into positions and for lengths of time that God Almighty NEVER intended them to be. I am feeling palpitations of Nascar speeds in my heart just thinking about it! What if, like my mom used to say about making funny faces behind people’s backs, that my bodacious tatas get so squeezed and twisted that they stay that way forever! What if my ‘hi beams’ become ‘low beams’?
Then there’s the nightmares … they are pretty much the same as the flashbacks, but at night, and more sweating is involved (and hubby is not involved in the sweating, other than him dialing 911, because he thinks I am having a heart attack, or seizure or that I’ve lost it … mentally … which, I have to say, I think maybe I am).
But, I am woman … and I will ‘suck it up’ because that is what we women do. 
This, although unpleasant, is something that provides detection that women in years past would have, and did, die for.
So ladies (and sensitive male readers, who really do want to know what a woman thinks about the realities of her life), check back tomorrow, for the continuing saga of Mammo-What?
This must be done, and it could be worse …
I could be a man going to an appointment for a ‘digital’ check-up!
very common, how very painful and how very life-changing they are on those who share such experiences.
The reason for the emotional and physical reactions to the mention, and then reading of that scripture is that one night, as I slept, after the loss of our first child, I had a dream. The dream was of a man, I do not remember what he looked like, but I knew, with everything within me, that it was Jesus. And, in the dream, I handed a baby to Him … our baby. And Jesus looked into the wrapped up child, and His eyes were riveted to the tiny babe, and He smiled … that wonder-filled smile that we all smile, when we gaze into the face of creation. And then He looked at me, with such love, such compassion, such comfort, and He said “I will take care of your treasure for you, until you return. While you have this treasure, with me, in heaven, your heart will be here too.”
Do you ever feel like you are hanging on by a thread? Or maybe you live with, or know someone else who seems to be just barely surviving … but rather precariously. They are desperate, they are exhausted, they are hopeless.
I having been trying (as a person who struggles with the lack of a gift of patience) to learn to appreciate process, rather than just wish that the struggle were over. This has not been an easy thing for me to learn. And, with every step forward, I slide backwards even farther.
My thinking is that we usually can only appreciate the process of struggle AFTER it is over (oh, hindsight, how I love thee). So, what I am really trying to do, by appreciating the process, is seeking the benefit of hindsight in the midst of the process 😉 … But, I am also hoping that by appreciating the process … the struggle might get over sooner! I do realize that my theory is not only confusing, but it is also very flawed, and very … wrong.
members, maybe homeless … definitely rough and tough (and even a little gruff). So, I kept watching them … when they weren’t looking my way. The bus was filling … fast! Then a woman gets on with a boy who is about four years old. And there is no available seat (and I am too pre-occupied people watching to get off my lazy butt). And one of the rough and tough guys gets up … and looks at the woman … and kindly offers his seat to she and the boy … Be still my heart! Kind, genteel, gentlemen do still exist … even if they look too scary to make eye contact with.
walking along a busy tourist street. The timeshare salespeople are yelling and beckoning and flattering everyone who doesn’t look Mexican. And this one is yelling, obviously to hubby, “hey Meestir”, but MY hubby is a smart one … and he just pretends to not hear him. Then, same guys yells, “hey Meestir, your shoelace is untied” and MY hubby looks down, and then we hear, “I knew you could hear me.” … but, I digress).
contact … with each other. I really do not think they were at all aware that there was anyone else on the planet, let alone on the bus. Now I don’t mean they were clinging to each other, and to look at them was to watch saliva being shared from one to the other. I mean they were simply in the bubble of ‘each other’, simply so delighted just to be … together.
memorable, because something about them drew the attention of almost everyone else on the bus.
There is something about rainbows, about the wonder associated with them. They give hope.
viewers in, ourselves. They looked, they liked, and, by later that night, we had an offer … for the price we wanted 🙂
Now, my beast … she has always been addicted to walking! When she doesn’t go for a walk, she looks depressed, and gives us guilt-laden looks that no human can duplicate! And when she does go for a walk, she is the picture of contentment!
idea just how this could benefit them).
bringing her daughter to school, and I asked how the new ‘special’ air mattress for her child was working. The mom’s reply was that she had just had her first full night’s sleep in YEARS. Now I do not mean one or two years … this ‘child’ was about sixteen years old …
Then there is the mom whose son is mostly non-verbal, and can be violent and aggressive. She spends most waking hours ensuring that she knows where he is, as he is a flight risk. When her son does express affection, adoration and love it is never to or for her, because her son only has eyes for other males.
many special needs children, that wish of yours can be like a curse to them. As they might have a child who will never live independently, or have a job, or learn to drive, or learn to count, or be toilet trained.
itsawonderfilledlife 