Fall is my favorite time of the year, which means October is probably my favorite month. The leaves are changing…reds, yellows, oranges. The humidity is low. (Hopefully) There is a nip in the air. The mountains are a mosaic of color. The light is golden. And there is pink everywhere. Wait, what? Pink? Yep, pink.

Besides being the real beginning of fall, October is also breast cancer awareness month. I am a big supporter of breast cancer awareness. As an ovarian and uterine cancer survivor, you would think teal and peach, not pink, would be my colors of choice. Yet, I have found there is plenty of room for any kind of cancer awareness. There is a rainbow of colors. Take your pick. Mine are teal and peach…and now a precautionary pink. It isn’t a competition.

This year, I was late to schedule my annual mammogram. I didn’t realize I had missed my usual appointment time in the summer, until this month. I made the call. Set the time. Arrived for my favorite test of the year. Oh joy! I must say they have improved the experience over the years, but the test itself is still the same clamping, pushing, forceful struggle as always. I fully understand why women avoid it. It’s embarrassing, sometimes painful, and at the very least, awkward. It’s also important. Maybe the most important 20 minutes of your life. You can’t skip it. So, what to do? I find humor to be the best way to deal with the discomfort.

In the waiting room, there are lockers for your stuff. There are snacks and water. Soft music plays. There are beautiful soothing pictures on the walls. The robes are warmed. There are magazines. It all says… ‘you are about to have a lovely spa day.’ When they call my name, I am almost fooled into thinking it is time for a massage.

I walk into the dim darkened room to a bright nature scene on the wall. It is backlit and the field of flowers is beautiful. The sky is October blue. There are birds sitting among the plants and leaves. To see what kind, I squint because they have already removed my glasses. The optical illusion of the picture is not completely effective, as I can still see the giant pancake monster in the middle of the room. The technician is sweet and kind. She makes small talk as I awkwardly step up to the machine.

First, come the nipple stickers. They have flowers on them to hide the superglue on the back. To say it is awkward is an understatement. As uncomfortable as it is for me, I do wonder how many times a day the technician has to smile and act as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

Then the robe comes off of one side. Not that the other side stays covered, but I guess psychologically there is something about still being “dressed” that brings comfort. After that, come the flashbacks to picture day from elementary school. Turn your head this way. Put your hands here. Face this way. No, an inch back the other way. Only this time, while you are getting the instructions, there is someone pulling your breast onto a platform. Pushing it flat and adjusting a clear “smasher” until you think your breast will explode and splatter. When they say, “hold your breath” you realize you haven’t been breathing since you were clamped into the machine. Once you have had shots taken from two different angles, you get to do it all again on the other side.

It is understood that throughout the test you will engage in small talk, about pretty much anything but what is happening. It is part of the charm of this annual dance. The unspoken tension is normal because both women in the room know the truth. This test has the power to upend your life. It can bring relief or heartache. It’s like walking on the edge of a knife.

One of the hardest things for a cancer survivor is to wait on the results. All the small talk in the world cannot ease the knots in your stomach, or the thoughts racing through your mind. Yet, you know, better than most, the necessity of such a test. The gift of early detection is worth all the small talk and awkwardness in the world. The pushing and smashing are a small price to pay to have peace of mind. So, I will continue to go and make tongue-in-cheek fun of the process every year.  

And this year, because I went in October, I got prizes! I love a good prize. Who knew that during the month of October, they gave gifts for coming to the test? As I left the dim cave, I got a pink ink pen and an ice pack. The pen was used to sign my consent for the test, and the ice pack for relief, after the stripping of the skin while removing the stickers. Just kidding…not kidding.

In reality, it is short and not that bad. A few seconds of discomfort at most. Truly, they try to make it as doable and comfortable as possible. It is important. You are important. Don’t skip it. Seriously. Don’t.