There is nothing more likely to make you feel ingested in the local system than receiving an income tax return, some local tax demand (forgive the vagueness, I haven't translated it yet), and an invitation to a mammograph. My own - it's not yet a spectator sport.
Had I still been in the UK I would have been summoned for my first mamming once I passed 50. It feels as if there has been a seamless passing of the baton, as I have been picked up automatically here for testing. I was slightly concerned, as I'd heard dreadful things about the test. The words "vice" and "pain" were used often.
So I trundled on a fine and really bloody hot morning ten minutes up the road to my local hospital. It's a quiet, spacious, rather lovely place. Where thankfully people speak some English. These days I could probably cobble together something in French, combined with basic mime, but English is always easier.
I shed my upper clothes and stood before something that might have come out of the TARDIS. The nice lady lifted my left breast in both hands, as if it were a newborn puppy, positioned it gently, and then proceeded to squeeze it flat in the TARDIS thing. "Don't move!" she shouted.
And then she lifted my right breast, as if it were a newborn puppy, and squished the fuck out of that one too, once again telling me not to move. I wasn't going anywhere without my puppies.
'In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes', said Benjamin Franklin. I would alter that slightly to include biennial tit-squashing.
It really is unpleasant. I'm long overdue for one, and should do something about it. Just can't muster up the enthusiasm.
ReplyDeleteNot offered here in Spain and never having had one and feeling I ought...I asked to make an appointment. It was so complicated I gave up. I guess I'm not yet in the mood for a puppy squishing. Like Ayak, I think if you have to do something about it yourself, you need a great deal of enthusiasm. Difficult.
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Rather terrifyingly, they are apparently painful in inverse proportion to your tit-size. I say this as someone with teenyweeny bazooms and a very high pain threshold (attested to by 2 surgeons). I cried at my last one. ARGH.
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