They tell you it’s “mild discomfort.” Who are they kidding? It’s like someone trying to flatten a baguette with a car door. I’ve had friends describe it as a medieval torture device designed by someone who really doesn’t like tatas.
And I’m not just being dramatic. The actual process involves your breast being placed between two plates. Then those plates smush it until your eyes water. The technician says, “Hold your breath.” You’re thinking, “I’m holding my soul, Brenda.”
But here’s the thing. I’m not scared of the pain. I’m scared of the false alarm. Because a lot of us are, right?
