MAMMOGRAM

I had the last appointment of the day for my annual mammogram. My name was called and I followed the technician to the changing room and put on the lovely, functional robe they give you for examinations. I have had many mammograms so I am familiar with the drill. I went straight to the room with the big machine and sat down to read "People" magazine while waiting for the technician.

She lightly tapped on the door and popped into the room all perky and ready to slap my breast on glass. This is not a painful proceedure for me but it is uncomfortable and chilly.

She did my right breast without event. We moved to the left breast, horizontal position. The glass came down and compressed my tiny little boob. My right arm is comfortably hanging at my side while my left arm is slightly above my head grasping a handle. I hear the buzz of the mammography machine and then silence as my technician says "I'll be right back". This is odd I thought but I tried to be patient and understanding.

I waited. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. Now I was getting unhappy. Where had that girl gone? Did she forget about me? Maybe her shift was over and she went home. I was the last appointment. If she didn't come back soon I was really going to panic.

I heard the door open and I relaxed. Finally. From my peripheral vision I saw a hispanic gentleman with a vacuum cleaner enter the room. I was mortified. What is going on?

You must understand you are trapped by a machine that has grabbed your breast and will not let go. There is no chance of escape.

I gave a weak smile and said "Ola". He started laughing hysterically and took out his cell phone and took a picture of me in my precarious position. I could feel my whole body flushing with anger and embarrassment, but I had no verbal response. My voice had been stolen from me as well as my dignity. I was frozen.

He then dialed a number. Speaking in spanish, while still laughing, he paused and put his phone to my ear. There was all kinds of guffawing, laughing and spanish on the other end of the line. All I could say was "Ola". He removed the phone from my ear, hung up, turned on the vacuum and continued his duty as a janitor still chuckling. I tried to explain to him that I needed the technician, but he continued to vacuum around me as I stood there dumbstruck. I didn't speak spanish and he spoke no english. He completed his job and exited the room waving to me over his shoulder.

I suddenly woke up with a feeling of great violation and relief. This could only happen in the mind of a Roderick.