An Apology to My Wife, My Daughters and Women Everywhere

I can recall quite vividly some years ago asking my wife why she was so dreading a mammogram?  “After all” I said, “ it’s just a test, and it sounds simple enough, so what’s all the fuss?”

She didn’t answer, but the look she gave spoke volumes. It was one of those “I dare you to say anything else” looks. I did not speak another word. But did I learn anything that day? I think not.

Years later, I would ask the same question of my now grown daughters who were lamenting the test as well. While the two of them agreed it was absolutely necessary a test that could be a life saver, they said it was incredibly uncomfortable and second only to a pelvic exam. I could not process their reaction and asked “how bad could it be?” Again that look. Fortunately there was a hint of respect this time. After all I’m their father.

I’m now certain that many more men before me have been guilty of this foot in the mouth statement, yet most don’t know why. I do now; Thus my apology.

My doctor felt that the pain under my arms that wrapped around to my chest deserved a deeper look. First a chest x-ray. Piece of cake, but I noticed he also ordered an ultrasound of the area. Again, I thought no big deal. They squirt some “lubricant on you, move the magic wand around; get some pictures, and I’m outta there.

What I didn’t know is that the doctor ordered one more test and so I HAD A MAMMOGRAM TODAY! I typed it in all caps to shout it because it may well have been the worst day of my life!

Remember I’m the guy who asked his wife and daughters how bad could it be {a mammogram}, perhaps a dozen times through the years, and now I had to be a man, a tough man, an honorably discharged Marine and get a mammogram myself.

When the technician told me what was about to happen I began to break down like a child lost at an airport. I looked at the machine and thought that there’s no way they could get enough of me onto that plate. The technician said she’d help.

I didn’t know my man boobs could stretch like that and then all of a sudden like a lightning bolt from the heavens the damn machine sandwiched me. I thought I was going to rip the rod I was holding onto clear off the device. She said it’d be quick, only a few seconds. It felt a lot longer. My manly spirit was fading fast.

“Okay sir, you did well, now the other side.” I was ready for it this time. I stood tall, chin back, holding onto the side bar, feet planted firmly on the floor, and there it was. That sound again Brrrrnnnggg, the left one was pressed like a panini sandwich.

Women refer to these body parts as their girls. I’ve never thought about what to call mine, but clearly my girls were now shedding tears. I felt them crying from deep within.

It was at that moment my brain started singing “ From the halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli” The Marine Corps hymn was supposed to be a distraction to take the sting out of it, or so I thought.

“We’re done right?” “No sir” she said, “we have to take pictures from the side.” But the girls don’t want anymore of this I thought. She said,”don’t worry it’ll be quick.”

Well she grabbed my Boobie from the right side with a hand full of flesh in the area and pressed all of it onto that damn plate, and there it was again. A lightning bolt right to the center of the girl. “Okay, let’s do the other side and we’re done.”

Well by this time I had been reduced to a seven year old who wanted his mom, but I pushed on. Grrrrrnn.Brrr, there it was again, that grinding sound and the sandwich. I have no description left for the last one, except to say I would have rather been sentenced to a weekend in jail

Finally, I was done. The technician said I did well. The doctor had even better news, at first glance he said no signs of cancer, no problems that he could see. That should’ve been the end of it but it wasn’t.

After leaving the building, I sat in my car for ten minutes talking to my girls, and I don’t mean my wife and daughters, asking them to forgive me for what had just happened to them.

They were as tender as my spirit. I also told them that we’d have some apologizing to do at home. They didn’t answer. Their silence told me that I was on my own!

Jim Scott is a Freelance Writer and Producer.