Talk to the breast, coz the face ain’t listening….
So today I went for my first ever Mammogram at Hong Kong Imaging And Diagnostic Centre (Central). I’m not sure what I was expecting but what occurred wasn’t exactly it. Not even close. Firstly, being an ex-pat lazy arse HK housewife (apparently lacking goals, any substance and heralding severe alcohol abuse issues), I was kinda expecting Champagne refreshments, with a pedicure and shoulder massage, while I waited for this heinous test to take place. I mean, when you are about to undergo a gruesome physical examination of any kind, I think an alcoholic beverage is kind of a necessity…. You know… to take the edge off so you’re not startled when someone starts playing with your boobs before putting it in a torture machine to see how flat they squidge. I shit you not, mine looked like a Macdonald’s quarter pounder, with a nipple attached, once the Nurse had finished with it.
The Centre was actually impressive and all staff spoke perfect English which freaked me out, especially as the receptionist was shouting at her colleague in Chinese briefly (she was probably asking her how her weekend was), before turning to me in The Queens English to say “Welcome Mrs X…. please do take a seat and we will attend to you in a jiffy”.
Anyhow, the reason for being there was not so some nurse could pummel my boobs to a pulp. I needed a check up for something completely different (yes, I’m growing a penis) and before I knew it, there I was, wearing a hospital gown, top half naked, while nervously tapping my foot as I attempted to read a Chinese Magazine (upside down). Why was I so nervous? Well, for a start, some hysterical woman, also in a Hospital gown, decided to sit right next to me and cry into her mobile while speaking in very fast Asian tongue. There was a whole area for her to sit but, oh no… she wanted to sit right next to me (almost on my lap). She also continued to shake her leg continuously, causing a sofa tsunami, which is a personal pet hate of mine as I get motion sickness, and bouncing up and down on a sofa is not my idea of fun (unless I’m drunk, or in Ibiza after a few magic pills). The Captain tends to shake his legs non-stop while sleeping , which I find incredibly frustrating, but I now use an electric cattle prod to stun him when he twitches. Suffice it to say, these episodes are growing fewer and far between.
Anyhow, back to my story…. When I was finally called into “THE” room, I had to peel my top half off, stand there naked, while a Nurse with a huge unnerving smile, squeezed my breasts to position them into the machine…..about 9 times. I swear she was just having a bit of a laugh because I genuinely think she liked playing with my boobs. Or, she could have just been doing her job. Who knows…. I mean, having my breasts squeezed into a torture rack that resembled a spaghetti machine rolling out fresh pasta, was the lowlight of my day. Painful? You’re damn right it was. Even now, 8 hours later, I feel like someone has been punching me continuously in the boobs, with a hammer, bowling ball and crane.
Looking at the photo below, you will see the device I speak of. Yes, this will save many lives but only a man could have invented this contraption. Something to squeeze boobs soooo hard so you can literally see inside them. The Captain seems to consider himself a bit of a professional on this subject and claims he can tell breast size just by looking at them (I do the same with penis size, just by staring at a mans trousers. Yes, it’s a gift. What an odd couple we make). At least we know The Captain can easily get a job at Rigby & Peller Lingerie (they only measure you by hand) should his current job get cut short when they realize he can’t do multiplication.
So, while I waited for my results to come back following the Mammo, I was once again sat there, minding my own business, trying to find new and cool iphone apps to play with, when another crazy delusional, weeping woman, walked past every single sofa in this place and chose to sit right next to me in the waiting room, instead of picking ANY seat in the whole place (there were loads for fucks sake!!)
Now, this was starting to piss me off as (a) I don’t like people and (b) I don’t like having people sit right on top of me as a general rule, unless they’re my husband, and even then I can get violent and, (c) I hate people brushing up near me and then crying out loud while talking in very harsh Chinese to someone on their mobile. I say talk but really, she was shouting. I even looked at either side of me to check if maybe I was sat next to the water machine, or near a TV I hadn’t noticed. But nope, there was nothing there that could possibly be drawing all these criers in my direction.
At that moment, ANOTHER patient came out of the Ultrasound room and made her way to sit on the other side of my sofa (I was sat on a small Ikea type three seater made for tiny people from The Wizard of Oz). So, what did I do as I saw this red-eyed (probably from crying) woman approach my sofa, despite the thousands of sofas in this place? I sat back and spread myself out, trying in vain to take up the remaining sofa with my now widened “in-a-Pilates V” shape. In actual fact, I looked like I was imitating a guy after a massive Christmas dinner when they spread their legs out on the sofa and stretch (somehow simultaneously rubbing their penis & tummies with glee following a good meal). I did not however, do the penis thing. Anyhow….. this totally inappropriate, and may I add, unladylike approach of mine, STILL , did not deter her. Maybe it was my perfume? Maybe they were lesbians and appreciated my newly shaved legs? All us girls shave (everything) whenever we have a physical checkup in case you get a male Doctor. Maybe it was my big nervous smile? I smile A LOT…. Almost like a crazy person does. It’s a nervous thing. I smiled when they told me about the lumps on my breast and while I waited for news of the results, I sat there smiling into my iphone, while rapidly googling MDweb for answers to my medical condition. In short, I shit my pants. What if there was something there? What if I have cancer? What will happen to the kids? What will happen to the Captain (remarried within weeks to some Dancer in Wan Chai, no doubt)? All these thoughts were going through my mind. This is why they need to offer you a drink and possibly a Xanax to take the edge off.
When my name was called to go back in and see the Doctor, I was now almost wedged in between both these crying woman, one of which was actually holding my leg when I attempted to stand up. After peeling myself away from this emotional human sandwich, I bolted to the Doctors office to hear the news.
“Mrs Xtra Ordinary…. We have discovered some tiny lumps on your left breast. After much examination (no shit, I had NINE boob squeezing experiences with a very happy lesbian/bi-curious Nurse), we are confident these are tiny cysts are nothing to be concerned about. You can go home now….. and maybe give yourself a good breast massage to relieve the pain”. Heh? I had been shitting bricks, waiting for news on chemo and planning my arrangements when he calmy said I was fine. I then asked if he needed to see my legs as I’d just had them shaved and it seemed a waste not to have a look. After gently ushering/slightly pushing me out of his office with a confused look, I left to pay the bill on the Captains Magic Credit card (cash when ever, any time of day/night). While paying the two women who had been crying continuously looked over at me which made me a little uneasy because now I was convinced I had my panties stuck in my skirt, or my boob was hanging out.
Just as I started to walk out the door, both women approached me and said they just realized they may have breast cancer and how brave I was. I was like, “hi….errrr…..heh? Sorry??” They said (in bad English) that they loved my show (WTMFG?!??!) and thought it helped many woman to come forward and do Breast screening. These ladies, who wanted to literally sit on my lap, thought I was Giuliana Rancic. Yes, as in Guliana Rancic from E! Hollywood.
Anyhow, despite looking zero like Guliana, (I’m 5ft3 for a start), I guess I possess her big smile and maybe that’s what they were confused about. I was actually tempted to go ahead with the charade and give autographs but decided to be honest. So I told them I was actually Eva Longoria from “Desperate Housewives”. I then signed autographs and left, driving home feeling very very happy. I doubt they even know who Eva is but fuck it…. It made me laugh my arse off after a very shit morning.
Oh yes….I sooooo look like Eva (after substantial airbrushing, heavy make-up, Hollywood help, bl bla bla).