October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
I am the first to encourage healthier lifestyles, healthier habits at least.
Now that I am returning to the health-care profession, I must practice what I preach. Right?
My doctor first ordered a mammogram when I was thirty-five, because of the high rate of breast cancer in my family.
I did not listen.
The women of my family who have had breast cancer all smoked, all drank all used hormone replacements and all had breasts larger than I.
I don’t mean to sound ignorant, for I do know that breast size has no correlation to the incidence of cancer. This simply is an opportune moment to state that none of my fore-mothers bestowed me with breasts of any magnitude.

I did go through with a mammogram, finally. The mammogram procedure was a breeze; really nothing to it. With the new technology, I was in and out of the building in no more than fifteen minutes.
Again I say, had they more to look at. The procedure may have taken more time…
The doctor, his nurses as well as the radiation tech all warned me that a first time picture would most likely need retaken.
When I got the call to reschedule a retake there was no surprise on my end. Everyone had warned me to expect such.
I called the radiologist to make another appointment. She continued to reiterate the commonality of retakes; I assured her that I understood and that I was not concerned. She went on again, “The tissue is just so Dense, that we cannot get a clear image.”
I was floored.
The poor technician continued to apologize for frightening me. My only fear was that she thought she heard sobs coming from my end of the phone.

I was laughing too hard to catch my breath and what use was there in explaining?
How does one explain that they are flattered in such a time of potential panic?
My boobs have been called, Pox, Bites, Bumps but never Dense.
When a women who is comfortable wearing her twelve-year-old daughter’s sports bra is told that her teats are Dense. There is no need to apologize.