I’m about to go get a mammogram—my 10th to be exact—and it got me thinking. There’s something about having your breasts carefully positioned by a stranger’s cold hands and then pressed like a panini that makes your entire boob history pass before your eyes. It can make all of those insecurities you usually keep under wraps come popping up like so many nipples in an air-conditioned room.
Like most women, my chest past is checkered: I was mocked for being flat in eighth grade (“Hey Krueger, Halloween is over. Time to take off your sunken chest.”), felt up by clumsy boys in high school, and scolded by my mother for going braless in my 20s (she was more concerned about future sag than men ogling me; I should have listened to her). At age 50, my breasts tell tales of biopsies and breast-feedings. And my current rack? There is no way anyone could call it “sunken.”
In fact, at last year’s mammo the technician looked me over after positioning me on the machine and said: “Hold on a minute, I have to get a bigger plate.” A bigger plate. I went from Sunken Chest Krueger to too big for the standard-size mammogram? OK, I’ve gained a little menopausal weight. Yes, one boob seems to want to go east and the other west. (What, they don’t like each other after all these years?) A good bra can get the girls together, but even lingerie science can’t entirely keep fatty breast tissue from spreading around to meet up with back fat when you’re in your 50s and not so fit.
This chest mortification has inspired in me a desire to exercise in a way that high cholesterol never did. In preparation for this year’s mammo, I’ve gone into training. At the gym I’ve moved (temporarily) from focusing on BMI and creaky knees, to tackling breast fat. Along with a healthy dose of cardio to burn it off, I’m doing butterfly presses and cable crossovers, focusing on the pecs that are in there…somewhere.
Of course I should be exercising for my general breast health. It’s one of the few things the New York Times mentioned recently as very likely to help reduce the risk of breast cancer. But, what motivates me today is the same insecurity that plagued me back in eighth grade. Only instead of following Judy Blume’s exercise regimen—”We must, we must, we must increase our bust!”—I find myself adhering to a whole new mantra: “Please wait, please wait, do not bring out the bigger plate!”
(PHOTO: CHARLES GULLUNG/GETTY IMAGES)
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Comments (22)
Finally, someone talking about something other than babies and toddlers. As cute as they are, I am more interested in hearing about 50 year old breasts. Simply because I have 50 year old breasts and not a toddler. So, Annie, bring it on. I want to hear about aching knees, fat that refuses to budge, how to tread the waters of formentioned toddlers going off to college, and how you get that back fat under control.
Very entertaining, Annie. As a formerly flat-chested wonder who post-children and post-menopause has settled in as a 40DD, I can relate!
Gee, what a similar story to my own. Going from flat as a pancake when it really seemed to matter to huge hangers when nobody even notices. When I was praying for big boobs, I didn’t mean forty years later……..
So funny! Reminds me I gotta make an appointment for my own mammo (which is definitely NOT funny).
As someone who’s nervous to get to the mammogram stage of life, I appreciate your humor about the whole thing. I know when I go in for my first one now, I’ll at least laugh when I see “the plate.” Thanks :)
Great Blog, Anne Kruger
I love the memory of the must-increase-bust exercise. Keep it up! (pun intended).
I loved the boob blog. I just had a mammogram yesterday. The technician told me I did not have to take off my jewelry. I took off my necklace anyway. She then chastised me for not following instructions, asking me if I had put the necklace some place safe. If you are old enough for a mammogram, you are old enough to decide what to do with your own jewelry. And could they make the machines any less comfortable? During the whole process, this plastic part was pressing against my face. I realize that I need my boobs compressed but not my face. I did get some good advice from the nurse who did the manual part of the exam. When you do your self-check (each month, ladies), you should also stand in front of a mirror and check for any dimpling or irregularities. It is not enough to feel but you must also look.
Cool!.. Nice work…
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Very interesting website. Keep up the outstanding work and thank you…
keep up the good work!p
A fantastic site, and brilliant effort. A great piece of work.4
Finally, I’ve found someone like me whose breasts have gotten bigger after menopause. Everything I read says to expect them to get smaller. I wish!!
At 64, I had the second breast cancer scare of my life. The first was in my late 30’s and turned out to be a false alarm. This one came as a result of my yearly physical with my internist. The diagnostic mammorgram and the ultrasound fortunately found no sign of cancer. I have been conscientious about yearly mammograms. Recently a neighbor was diagnosed with breast cancer and has been having a rough time with chemo. She was due for her yearly mammogram and found the lump herself. The lessons for all of us are to be vigilant between mammograms and to accept that it can happen to any of us. Stay well!
Jane’s comment really piqued my interest. I also had a mammogram and ultrasound that showed nothing, but my gyne suggested I see a surgeon because there was a slight “dimpling” in my breast (which I noticed but which I wasn’t too concerned with because there are a lot of dimples showing up on my 65-year old body!). After a biopsy and MRI, I was diagnosed with invasive lobular carcinoma and also in-situ and told that this type of cancer is like threads in your breast and is not always picked up by mammo or ultrasound. So I guess, for those of us with dense breasts, an MRI is the gold-standard (at least for me from this point on).
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