This afternoon, I accompanied Sophia to Cedars Sinai for her mammogram. There were six other women of varying ages in the waiting room. As I played "Virtual Darts" on my cellphone, Sophia talked with the other women.
One woman complained about how long it took for her to get an appointment. Another woman said she’d been waiting for two hours in the waiting room. Another joked that they make you wait for two hours in one waiting room, then they bring you inside to another waiting area, where you’re tricked into waiting another hour! — the same gimmick they use at Disneyland to make you feel like you’re moving in line at Space Mountain.
"And at least at Space Mountain, you don’t have to wear a smock that barely covers you," said the woman.
I probably shouldn’t have gotten involved in the conversation, but blogging has made me an ultra-curious person. I now talk to everyone, hoping to get a blog post out of it. I politely asked about the mammogram procedure — and everyone took turns telling me how painful it could be.
"They squeeze your breasts like they’re in a vise. Ouch, ouch!" said a third woman.
"I’m sure of one thing, said Sophia, "If there was such a thing as a penile-gram, and men had to have their penis squished flat every year, I’m sure medical science would have come up with a better machine ten years ago."
All the women nodded in agreement — and looked at me as if I were the enemy.
