Dot Hatfield

Heard on the 5:00 news: Someone has invented a soft, pink, pad to fit the icy, steel plate on the mammogram machine. The intent is to lessen the discomfort a patient (woman) might experience when taking the test.

Whoop-de-doo! After 50 years of using this instrument of torture, science has come up with an idea to make it easier on us. The technician being interviewed said some women might actually avoid their annual check-up because they are afraid of experiencing pain.

While I think it’s great to minimize the trauma of this procedure, most women are fairly familiar with discomfort. Can you say endometriosis? Or menstrual cramps? Child birth? Not to mention nursing a baby who is teething.

But, I guess that little pink pad is a step in the right direction.

About 30 years ago, I was scheduled for a needle biopsy. I arrived at outpatient registration about 8:00 a.m. — fasting. AKA no morning coffee. Three hours later, still fasting, I was taken to the lab for a pre-biopsy mammogram.

I had a raging caffeine-withdrawal headache and the technician seemed unfamiliar with her surroundings. I stood in front of the machine and “leaned in,” the best position for a good picture.

As my bare body touched the plate which had probably just come from the freezer, I felt a familiar aura.

“I’m going to faint,” I told the technician.

“Wait a minute,” she said.

Wait a minute? This is not a good time for you?

Sorry, I could not wait. When I woke on the floor, she was asking if we might try again. Success on the second try.

The fluid in the cyst was “suspicious,” which called for a lumpectomy. I consider that I survived a close call.

So, go ahead, women. Get that yearly check-up.

They have a soft, pink pad waiting for you.

While cleaning out a desk drawer, I came across this note from my youngest son: “I’m over at Alex’s. I’ll explain the fire extinguisher later.”

Now, 15 odd years later I don’t remember what that was all about, but it brings back memories that make me smile.

Back in the Seventies, my other son called me at work one day to tell me that he had “Good News” for me when I came home.  I was curious (and a little apprehensive) of course, but no amount of coaxing would move him to tell me anything other than it was “Good News.”

I worked 18 miles away in the city and I have to admit I drove home with a little trepidation. I remembered the day a few weeks earlier when I found a 7-foot cross in my living room. While striking the set after the praise musical, the youth director had asked, “Does anyone want this cross?” Of course Steve did.

So, on this day, I could not fathom what he might consider Good News. As it turned out, it was a copy of the Good News Bible, just recently released. Rather anti-climactic actually, after I had allowed my imagination go wild.

My boys have thus entertained me over the years. Soon after Phillip had moved out on his own, he told me, “You know, if I keep my dirty clothes in this duffel bag then when it’s time to do laundry I don’t have to gather it up.”

Had I never mentioned that?

Or, “If you squeeze out the kitchen sponge it won’t get all smelly.”

My sons have two older sisters and some day I’ll tell you stories about them. But, here I have to say having them first in no way prepared me for the boys that came after.