So, here is what I know for sure:
1. Mammograms are terrible. No amount of pretend squeezing equals the pressure of this horrible breast trap of
a device. I highly encourage someone invent a penisgram just so doctors quite recommending this method.
2. My breasts are just fine. In fact they are gorgeous.
It took a while to come to this conclusion because in between the actual mammogram and ultrasound, I read an entire Oprah magazine. The interview with Jamie Foxx, by the way, very interesting.
But my ultrasound tech was highly adorable, so laying on my back for a half hour with my arm over my head while he rolled warm jelly all over my breasts was not as bad as one might suspect.
By far, the highlight was when he took a picture of my titty tissue and then let me take it home.
I heart ultrasound tech.
I swear I can see Jabba the Hut's face in this thing.
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