“Since someone in your family had breast cancer before the age of 50, and you’re turning (jackhammer and car horns) soon, I’m going to have you start doing two mammograms a year–for the rest of your life! Does that sound good to you, you little dreamer?”*
Oh, the prick of mortality on this little millennial’s soul. I stumbled out to the waiting room to be checked out, got the phone number to schedule said mammograms, and walked out to my waiting car. The grim reaper chuckled evilly and opened the door for me to pass, doing a pretentious half bow in his gray tattered robe. I slugged him in the jaw with a solid right hook and broke his scythe over my knee. As far as I know, he’s still being patched up at an ER somewhere. The next time I see him, I’ll be carrying my Louisville slugger…
*Crack!*
“And he’s…out…of…here!”
*The crowd goes wild*
All drama and negativity aside, I’m all for medical preventive care–and will be gladly (and gratefully) following my doctor’s advice. It was the rude awakening of “Hey–you may get cancer one day, so lets try to nip that in the bud, shall we?” moment of dialogue that jarred me. What was I supposed to say to my doctor?
“Nah, you see–I like to play on the wild side. I was thinking of going to Vegas, putting everything on the poker table, and just going with the flow–letting it all hang, flip the peace sign and take up saying “groovy” every other sentence. Groovy?”
Bottom line: don’t miss your preventative care–whatever that means for your gender/body. To quote from Nike: JUST DO IT. You’ll be very glad you did.
And if you see a Millennial shaking at the mammogram waiting office, holding a stuffed grim reaper doll…carry on. She’ll be just fine.
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*There’s other factors than this that my doctor considered in her decision, but it’s private information, so please don’t leave any unsolicited medical advice in the comments. Honestly, don’t patronize women. A baseball bat can hit more than one target, after all.
Peregrine Arc 