There are some experiences in life worth skipping...

Do you want to know what's NOT that much fun?

Mammograms.

Do you want to know what's even WORSE? Going to a mammogram on Wednesday, and on Friday morning noticing a note, hastily written by your husband, to call the mammogram people. Apparently they had called the DAY BEFORE, less than 24 hours after I had been there. I suppose if you don't have boobs yourself, you can't imagine the anxiety one might feel to know these people are calling you so quickly.

Oh please be a question about insurance, I thought.

Yeah, not so lucky. They would like me to come back in for additional views!

That doesn't sound that much fun AT ALL. Especially when they can't see me until Tuesday, and it's Friday before a long weekend.

A long weekend in which I spent imagining my husband's new wife, the one that would see my children graduate from high school. The one who would hold my grandchildren. She was a bimbo. The kids hated her, my friends hated her. She looked, in my active imagination, like Pamela Anderson. But not the hottie Baywatch one, the current cougar haggard one.

Sorry honey.

Anyway, other than that, the weekend was lovely...once August returned from Vegas, we attended many a BBQ with awesome friends.

Then it was Tuesday. It's not much fun to work while being nervous about your husband remarrying Pamela Anderson.

Before I knew it, I was back at the Breast Health Center. A place I'd walked away from 6 days prior hoping to not see again for another year. It troubles me to look around medical facilities. Are these women here for routine checkups, or are they already fighting a battle for their lives? I obsess, I tell you.

So, more pictures. Not fun. Then I get putting in a room, one WITHOUT all the juicy entertainment magazines. Then another lady gets put in the room. Apparently this is a holding cell of some type. She's old-ish...in her 60s for sure. She begins to tell me about her breast cancer five years ago, about the lump that appeared in two months' time and looked like a satellite in the pictures. About her focus group and all the medicine she has taken ever since. All I can think is I don't want to go down that road.

Some doctor guy comes in. He tells her she's clear! See you in a year! I'm left sitting there. Now I am sure I am left here because my news is bad. I hate Pamela Anderson.

But, alas, an ultrasound technician comes in for me instead of the bad news messenger.

She's lovely and funny, but she keeps looking at this one spot and I, of course, am trying not to hyperventilate.

She leaves the room and comes back with a doctor lady who looks right at the screen and says something like, "you got it, that's what I thought it was!"

Helloooooo?????? WHAT is IT???

Then she looks at me...oh, the patient attached to the image on the screen!

Seems all is okay. August doesn't get the skanky second wife after all, which is good because my friends would totally give him hell.

It appears to be a lymph node that has gotten into the picture.

Stupid lymph node.

Whew!!!

Now I might need a cardiologist for all the wear and tear on my heart muscle over the past week.

But now I have learned first hand to NOT put off your checkups! This is a public service message. :)