Members Only . . . I got the jacket.

This morning I was initiated into a very important club for real grown-up women. No little girls in this group. This is for those of us who have reached a certain age when, it seems, youth ends and something else begins, which I did back in March, but I'm not talking about the "Forty and Fabulous" club. That sounds goofy, anyway, and conjures images of mom jeans and fanny packs.

I'm talking about the millions of women worldwide who have had a mammogram. I don't have a catchy name for this very special club, but the wheels are turning in my mind, and hopefully I'll have a few working ideas by the end of this post.

So, yes, I'm official, and although I had braced myself for a largely negative experience, it really wasn't so bad at all. I left there thinking, "What's the big deal?" Of course, I have no frame of reference, so perhaps others' experiences are much more traumatic, in which case I am thankful I got it right the first time. Here are a few things I observed and reasons why I don't dread having to do it again in a year:

1.) The Technician - Simply put, she was fabulous. She greeted me warmly (and by that I mean she smiled sweetly. Had nothing to do with her hands.), and she looked me in the eye when she explained that I should change into scrubs and leave my stuff in a locker. She laughed good-naturedly and apologized when I had to step out into the hallway and let her know she had given me the wrong thing to change into. She patiently told me about the procedure she would follow for the actual mammogram, knowing I was a mammography neophyte. During the test itself, she was gentle but didn't let any grass grow under her feet. This is a true blessing, because no matter how positive the experience was, I was very interested in getting it over with. She was so good that I didn't feel the slightest bit awkward about the fact that she was literally handling two of my most private womanly parts, pulling and positioning them on the machine much like a butcher might arrange cuts of meat on a shiny silver scale. She encouraged me along the way, clearly understanding that it doesn't feel good at all, and she seemed genuinely concerned for my comfort. If every technician was like her, mammograms might not have such a bad rap.

2.) The Atmosphere - Yes, you read that correctly. The little room where I went to have this uncomfortable medical test performed had atmosphere. There were things done deliberately to inspire a sense of calm and a feeling of relaxation. Don't get me wrong, it is near impossible to relax when one's breast is being stretched and pressed like a Cuban sandwich, and I'm usually very relaxed around Cuban sandwiches. But I appreciated their effort to make things seem a lot less medical and a lot more peaceful and, well, female. The lights were dim, soothing spa-like music was playing, and I could hear the gentle sound of babbling water coming from an electric fountain on one side of the room. There was even a little dish of chocolates on the counter. If I had been able to smell eucalyptus and had been wearing less clothing, I'd have sworn I was there for a massage. I thought it was brilliant. I don't know if that's the norm for mammograms, but it should be.

3.) The Science - We got everything into place, and a small circle of light appeared. The technician said, "Hold right there," and I heard a quiet buzzing sound. And that was it. Three more of those and we were done. I know x-ray technology is old, and I've had plenty of dental x-rays and have taken my kids to have various x-rays over the years, but I'm still sort of amazed by it all. Honestly, to this day, even regular cameras are a marvel to me. I guess I'm just a little primitive in my thinking when it comes to technological advances. I don't understand how there are some kind of "rays" that travel through the air and through flesh and bone and take pictures of the inside of my body, and then those pictures can be captured on film or something digital and can be viewed like a painting. I know, I'm a nerd, but I'm fascinated by this stuff. Not fascinated in a way that makes me want to learn more about it and understand how it all works and what the scientific explanations are. To the contrary, I feel that it's somehow far beyond my ability to truly comprehend, so I'm perfectly happy not to. It's just really cool, that's all, and I'm thankful that there have been far more inquisitive minds than mine when it comes to science and technology. Now the rest of us can benefit from their accomplishments while hopefully coming up with something meaningful of our own to contribute to the human race. We can't all be genius inventors.

So I can honestly say that I'm happy to be a part of the club. Perhaps we could call it the Slap-n-Squash Society, or maybe the Boobie Brigade. In any case, the initiation was no sweat, and paying my yearly dues will only be a mildly annoying and inconvenient necessity. Not nearly as unpleasant as maintaining membership in the "Pap Club", I can assure you.

Don't even get me started.

The Rest of the Time

I just read a great quote on writing by Leonard Bernstein on Quotationspage.com. I won't go into all the details of how I ended up on that page, except to say that it involved a friend's status on Facebook. It's a little embarrassing, really, because I was spending valuable time that I otherwise could have been using to do almost anything else (like writing, for example). The thought of that wasted time had already crossed my mind, and I privately chastised myself as I continued to click around online . . . still not writing. And not working on household projects or cleaning or doing anything meaningful with my kids. But especially not writing. (This is not the fault of my Facebook friend, and in an odd little irony, it turns out that my "wasted" time has led to my writing this post. Funny.)

I've recently rediscovered just how easy it is to not write. I've been telling myself that I would have so much time to do some meaningful writing during the summer, but it just hasn't happened. Oh, I have a lot of very promising ideas about what to write, but so far the ideas themselves, no matter how compelling they may be, have not proved to be enough motivation to keep me at it. A deadline would certainly be motivating, but I don't have one. No writing gig means no deadline. Incidentally, no writing means no writing gig. Ah, the proverbial "vicious cycle".

And this brings me back to the quote. So here it is:
"Inspiration is wonderful when it happens, but a writer must develop an approach for the rest of the time . . . The wait is simply too long."

Truer words were never spoken. Of course, Mr. Bernstein was no doubt referring to writing music, but I don't think there's a difference, really. Whether writing music or stories, sometimes there's a spontaneous burst of creative inspiration, but without that sprinkling of musical or literary fairy dust, the thing that comes naturally is definitely not writing. Believe me, I would know.

So I can't sit around hoping for inspiration, because "the wait is simply too long," and "the rest of the time" actually means most of the time. I've already learned that just deciding to write for the sake of writing isn't enough, either. I'm going to have to "develop an approach" that will keep me writing. In this scenario the word approach is synonymous with the word plan, which denotes action, which requires discipline. I am reminded of a term I've heard, one that describes just the kind of discipline to which I refer.

Butt-in-chair writing.

I don't think that one requires any explanation. I believe I see a sticky note on my bathroom mirror sometime in the very near future.