Next friday it's time for the next breast cancer screening.
I'm not looking forward to it.
Not because of the possible diagnosis, but because I hate the way they deal with a part of my body.
In the past we had to visit a mobile x-ray unit and the woman in it was kept hostage or so. Nothing else can explain the way she dealt with the women. Unkind, not a smile and certainly not respectful.
The room was as small that we would go outside when it would have been our toilet.
There one stood with a large machine, and a small woman under the armpit.
She pulled and pushed. Not to get more space, but to get my breast pressed in the machine the right way.
I think she wqas nipple oriented, as she never saw something else.
Once she pulled so hard she got half my arm squeezed in the machine too, and when I warned her she told me to shut up.
I filed a complaint, because at home my arm, half my armpit and my breast turned out to be blue.
The only answer I got was that I was placed on the list of women who couldn't access the mobile unit, so I would be invited to go to hospital.
That turned out well.
They were using the new machine for the first time the very same day I arrived there for my screening.
A lovely nurse handled my bresat like it was made of the finest porselain in the world, and it didn't hurt at all.
Before I knew she had kindly done the second one too and I was on my way top the roomy dresscabin.
So there I'll go next friday.
To have bodyparts sqeezed between two plates like they should have been decent pancakes instead of female prideness.
Why I expect that?
Because the second time I went for the screening to the hospital they did so.