I am going this morning for my annual mammogram.
The procedure itself is certainly strange. The kind voiced older woman laying her hands on me – tugging and arranging. The squishing and squashing.
It’s not horrible. But it’s not something I am in a huge hurry to do more often.
But obviously, there’s a chance that any one of these routine brushes with awkwardness will uncover something terrible. And that part, of course, makes the mental prep a little more intense than attempting to zen out before submitting to the tiny metal hooks of the routine dental visit, or the pinch of the annual flu shot.
In the days preceding any procedure that might uncover something life-altering, I become enormously superstitious, making any number of moves calculated to show the universe that I deserve on-going good health and an uneventful medical history.
I love all over my kids a little extra. I exercise (I will when I am done here…) I just drank a green smoothie.
I will be wearing a necklace that has a “lucky” charm on it. Because that labels me as the lucky one, and that will help me pass with flying colors.
My fingers will be firmly crossed.
I will be super compliant with the technician, lest she jinx me for being difficult.
Now I know…I really know…that no one ends up with a breast cancer diagnosis because she didn’t eat the right breakfast, or wear the right jewelry, or emanate friendly compliance during the exam. I know that.
And I am no luckier, or more deserving, or less at the mercy of randomness than anyone out there who has faced the moment where the doctor says “We need to talk.”
But I am not above stacking the deck in my favor just in case.
UPDATE: All is well – this time anyway ;)