Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

Surprise! I'm baaccck. Yes, even the Kansas Heckler's constant e-harping couldn't get me to post as I've been working on my current book like a good girl, don't ya know. Today, I've got a moment to share this with you and the willingness to do so . . .

My pal Darcy calls her annual mammogram the big squeeze. And those of you who've made that man-invented torture rack a part of your annual health screenings know too well what she means by that. I was chatting with my mom this morning and discovered that she'd had her mammogram last Monday and I did mine on Tuesday. We reminisced about squeezes past and how we each seem to twist doctors and technicians up as they just don't expect that crazy attitude or words to come out of our prim little mouths.

Let me start . . . you take off the bra and don the short, pastel cape, opening in front, of course. Then have a lie down on the couch thingy while the technician does the breast exam. Despite her petite size and feminine bearing, most can drill holes through steel with their fingers and probably moonlight busting concrete and bricks to powder at recycling centers with those devilish digits.

"Do you do self exams at home," she asked.

"No." Oh why must I choose this time and this place to be truthful?

"Why not?"

"I just don't," I respond. Besides, my gyn does it once a year when I see her--gently, I might add, because she can't stand my grimacing and ouching. This technician finally picks up on the fact that I might be a bit sensitive . . .

"Oh, you know you can opt out of the exam," she says, "if it's too painful or uncomfortable."

Now she tells me. "Someone's got to do it," I say and then I cutely add this: "Because they don't get much action these days."

The hands stop digging and the woman begins to chuckle, which spills right into a belly laugh. I laugh, too, because I'm so darned cute and she's stopped torturing me.

I shared this with Mom and she hooted, too. Then she told me what she answered to that question of why she didn't do self exams. "I'm just not that interested these days." Mom also recalled her first mammogram twenty years ago. Her doctor (she made me promise not to use his name) asked if she'd like to have one as he'd just gotten a machine. She said okay and followed him into the exam room. In the middle of the floor stood a huge, dented refrigerator-looking thing with peeling paint and a big black power cord snaking to the wall. I asked Mom if she had to insert her breast and they slammed the refrigerator door on it to get the picture. She laughed and said no, but almost.

Supposedly we and the medical profession have come a long way, baby. Oh yeah? Remind me of that next year when I opt to take myself in for the big squeeze.

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMmmelinda