Why it sometimes really sucks to be a woman

Yes – we all know it sucks to be a woman.  There’s that monthly inconvenience, pushing something the size of a watermelon through your va-jay-jay once or twice (or if you’re one of the lucky one’s they slice through some tissue and muscle and yank it out through there – at least there’s no lasting damage to your precious va-jay-jay) and of course, once you turn 40 you get to have a mamogram annually.  Truly, our cup runneth over.


We will not even discuss the difficulty faced by trying to get our sizeable arses into these coloured jeans. Coloured jeans for some are akin to devils clothes. Add skinny and you have hell.

As I started early – when I was 38, I took it upon myself to wait two years after 40 (because I had began two years before) to treat myself to the experience.  If you think about it makes sense on some level – if not, drink vodka and then it definitely will all become clear as a bell.

Now I want add a small disclaimer here that the reason I was so calm through what you are about to read is because I have been on leave for five weeks, I might have left my brain alongside the pool in Fiji and I am generally walking around in half a coma.

I received my referral in February last year so clearly the doctors instructions must have been mixed up with something else somewhere along the line.  I arrived to have my mammogram, at the wrong place.  They assured me that they could do it but that I needed an appointment.  And this was where the trouble started.  Because I am certain my doctor said I could just turn up. (Even though I was in the wrong place).  Added to the fact was that I had scored the king of all parkings – woot woot – just outside the door – un-timed for two hours!  The chance of that happening twice are akin to my va-jay-jay being the same after that natural birth.

There was then argument about how completely necessary it was for me to find my previous x-ray for the upcoming appointment.  I did not want to tell these insistent ladies that the chances of me finding them were again, similar to being able to jump on a trampoline without having pelvic floor issues.  Yes, again with the va-jay-jay.

After much unpleasantness culminating in the don’t wear deodorant on the day and do you have implants question – what are they blind? – could they be any smaller? – I agreed to return in a week’s time to share the mammo love.  Because I am responsible like that.

Walking out of the door I decided I should make an effort to find the right place – which happened to be a few doors down and off I went.  They informed me that they didn’t do it there and that only their offices in Alexandria conduct this testing, and only on a Thursday.  I mean seriously, people, does it have to be so hard?

Turns out it doesn’t.  Got my brain on when I got home and called what I thought was the place in Bondi Junction I went to in 2008 and the very nice lady said she would see me today and didn’t mention anything about previous Xrays or deodorant.  (I was scared shitless by the two previous witches so I didn’t actually put any on today).  I realised on arrival that it was in fact the place next door that I had visited previously – and yes, I see a theme here.

But to get to the actual experience, ouch!  Major ouch!  Who does that?


Insert breast where orange thingey is and compress……and then compress again.

Discussion with the head radiologist had us both agree that the method is completely archaic.  MRI is the answer he says, but cost prohibitive.  He assures me in about five years time there will be great advances and women won’t have to suffer through the annual squish.

And the note on the wall said I was not to harass the sonographer and radiographer for results because when they tell me to back off I will be offended and I am not to be offended.  They don’t know about me being all relaxed and everything.

So we wait until Tuesday for results.  Ho hummmm. I was about to comment about coming back as a man in my next life but then I remembered about that prostate and the doctor and the finger up the bum thing.  And men being men don’t really have any invasive shit going on like this until they are like 50 so they are not used to it.  It’s quite a shock to the system apparently after 50 years to have someone stick a digit up there.


Trust me, I’m a doctor. I will now stick my finger where nothing has been before….

Yup – think maybe I’ll pass. And after the moaning and bitching, I know it saves lives and all.  Onward and upward with severe compression front and sideways.


Reminding us every day to take care of ourselves

Hope you are not too traumatised by my frequent va-jay-jay mentions.  The Artist assures me its fine.

Love and light

Lauren xxx


  1. babblingbandit

    A hilarious take on the awful experience of the mammogram. I had my first one last year and it was horrible. Glad I did it though. At least now I know the lump in my breast is just a fibroadanoma and nothing more sinister.

    Found you via With Some Grace and FYBF.

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