Booby Trap

Three years ago I read an article about how women are being freaked out by a false scare from mammograms.  I was freaked out just reading the article.  It spoke of the non-necessity of yearly exams by radiation.  I bought into it, frankly because I loathe getting the exam just like every other woman on God’s green earth.  I started my silent protest against the booby trap.  Last month I was visiting my womanly doctor and she stared at my chart with confusion wrinkling her brow. “There must be a mistake…. this says your last mammogram was in 2007.”  “Nope, not a mistake.”  What else was I supposed to say????  I pinky-swore that I would have the exam this time and not just throw away her referral.

I’m not at super high risk of breast cancer… my closest maternal relative who had it was my grandmother’s sister.  Not close enough for great worry or concern.  But I pinky-swore… so I had to go.  It’s kind of like triple-dog-dare-you.  You have to….or…. stick a needle in your eye…. or something else equally horrible.

Last Friday the mammogram went down.  There is a new Phoenix Breast Health clinic near my home… that looks like a day at the spa… or at least what I imagine a day at a spa would look like.  The whole office was gorgeously decorated in dark browns and hot pink with chandeliers.   CHANDELIERS.  They offered fluffy white robes to dress in…. cookies, tea and coffee served on trays while you wait.  Other than the glaring fact of why you are there… it’s quite casual and tranquil.  And simply being there…… I ALWAYS think of Anita Renfroe talking about how a mammogram is like putting too much batter in the waffle iron.  Makes me grin.

Much to my surprise, since my five-year hiatus, the machine that they use has been improved.  There is now a large clear plastic shield that you rub your face make-up on… which also keeps your head out of the radiation.  And the machine tilts at a 45 degree angle for better smashing-photographic results.  The only problem was the way she had me turn, raise my arm up to grab a handle, hold my breath and try to keep my make-up off the plastic… it caused one of my ribs to move slightly out of place.  It only hurt when I took a breath.  I was on the phone to the chiropractor before I left the parking garage.

Good grief.  Three days later my rib is still tender… but I’m good on my pinky-swear.  If it ain’t one thing… it’s another.  And now I can say to my friends…. “Go get it done!”

Men & Asking for Directions

Not that I’m a man basher… I just find it humorous how men need to display the image that they always know where they are.  I mean, really, who cares?  I also find it funny how when you ask men for directions, they ALWAYS give them… whether they know what they’re talking about or not.  It’s the same phobia in reverse.

Back in the day, I went flying with Rick when he was taking some of the band leaders and chiefs from several Indian reservations to a fishing lodge in Northern Alberta.  There was an empty seat so Rick phoned home and told me to high tail it down to the airport and bring our fishing poles.  Sweet!  I am the supreme fishing queen.  We had been up in the air about 40 minutes when I noticed that Rick’s head was aimed straight ahead but his eyes were roaming to and fro, obviously looking for the fishing lodge.  We both had on headsets, so I said to him, “Why don’t you ask the guys in the back where it is?”  But NO!  He told me to look for two lakes that were very close together. It’s not quite as obvious when the passenger looks for the destination.  We did find it, and the chiefs never knew their pilot had any difficulty locating their fishing hole. And I caught ALL the fish that day but Rick gave most of them to the chiefs so they wouldn’t return empty handed.  Some even asked what bait I was using. I heard this comment from the back of the plane, “Next time I’m bringing my woman.” 

Our Destination:  Dawson Creek, BC

Another time we were driving with Rick’s mom and sister from Valleyview, Alberta straight west to Dawson Creek, BC.  Usually I navigate with my map close at hand, but this was Rick’s territory and I wasn’t even paying attention to where we were going.  Captain, my Captian, was in charge at the helm. 

A bit of back information:  I had recently finished a Geography of Canada course and the professor had done post graduate work on the Peace River region.  Being in Geo./Can class, we heard all about the landscape, erosion, river patterns, alluvial fans, etc.  I had never been to Peace River, AB, but in my head, I knew what it looked like. 

Back to the heading west story.  About an hour outside of Valleyview, we came off of a high plain and dropped into a river valley… that looked exactly like my brain’s picture of Peace River.  But Peace River was an hour straight north of Valleyview, so that couldn’t have been it.  Well, it was.  Not long after I commented about how much this area looked the place Dr. Tracie had described, we passed the sign, Welcome to Peace River.  Cool!  It was just as I pictured!  But… uncool…. we were not heading west… and hadn’t been for an hour.  I mentioned to Rick that we could just ask the gas station attendant how to get to Dawson Creek.  But NO!  Rick informed the van full of women that we would be stopping for gas, but no one was to leave the vehicle.  Of course, us three ladies were giggling to ourselves.  When Rick got out to pump the gas, his mom opened her window and yelled, “We’re LOST!”  which threw us all into hysterics. 

Just ask for directions, already.  Goodness.