As you surely must know from the excellent media campaign, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  I myself am participating in the Nashua Making Strides for Breast Cancer Walk on Sunday, October 14^th.  (If you’re interested in contributing to the cause, please go to my page.  Even five bucks is helpful.  Thank you in advance!)

Along with fundraising for breast cancer research, this month is dedicated to prevention and early detection.  To that end, I had my very first mammogram today.

You’re waiting for the obligatory sarcastic joke, aren’t you?

Well folks, surprise:  I didn’t find the experience as traumatizing as some other people.  After the myriad e-mails we’ve all received, with the comparisons of ‘slamming your breast in a refrigerator door’ and ‘the cold metal plates squishing my breast into a pancake,’ I found that the actual event did not live up to the fear-hype.  It was a lot like listening to all those childbirth horror stories people tell you when you’re pregnant, said Deborah Welch, lead mammography technologist at St. Joseph Hospital Breast Care Center.  She, along with Marla Thornton, the trainer for the new Hologic digital mammography machine, took care of me today.  They were respectful, patient and kind – you know, considering they were putting my breasts in a vise (there -- *one* obligatory sarcastic joke).

The whole thing took about twenty minutes.  It wasn’t painful for me.  But then, my breasts have been working in the trenches for awhile now.  They’ve been yanked, pinched, stretched and drained.  I was a nursing mother.

Breastfeeding is one of those polarizing topics of conversation.  It used to just be “don’t talk about politics!” and “don’t talk about abortion!”  Now we have “don’t talk about the war!” and “don’t talk about breastfeeding!”  Throw in gun control, and you can really have a nice screaming match at your next party.

It amazes me how passionate people are on both sides of “the issue.” I put it in quotes because it seems laughable to me that it is even considered an issue by anyone.  It’s a way to feed a baby.  The end.  If you don’t want to, don’t.  If you don’t like someone doing it in public, don’t look.  Fer cryin’ out loud! 

There are many people who find it “disgusting” and “wrong,” especially the in-public debate.  My friend Vinnie (not his real name, but you know who you are, dear!) was quite vocal when I told him I would be writing about it.  But then I remembered that Vinnie has no breasts, so I deleted his e-mail and discarded his opinion from my brain.  HA!  I kid, because I love.  In reality, Vinnie donated a sizable sum to my Making Strides coffers, so clearly, he’s no hooter-hater.

But really, where does the anger and indignation come from?  I think we might have to reexamine our sexualization of the act, and of breasts themselves.  Try and think of it as an elbow – that can keep a baby alive.

I myself never had any intention of breastfeeding.  It seemed a little weird and a little unnecessary in this day and age, especially in this prosperous country.  But I’m telling you, I was just as shocked as you non-moms when some magic hormone shot off in my head during pregnancy, and I had the thought “well, of COURSE I’ll breastfeed!  My body makes the perfect sustenance for my specific baby!  It’s completely logical!”  Suddenly I was a pregnant Vulcan.

The first two weeks were absolute torture.  Those first few days still in the hospital, being awakened every four hours and being handed a tiny squalling person to clamp onto delicate body parts was not a joyous, bonding experience for me.  I had serious doubts that I would be able to continue on my own.  Once at home, I called the breastfeeding consultant at St. Joseph Hospital many times, concerned it wasn’t going well.  She encouraged me to hang on and keep at it.  I did.

Fifteen months later…

We stopped breastfeeding.  By then, it was no longer my baby’s sole source of nutrition, nor did she need to nurse with such frequency.  But we did nurse first thing every morning, and last thing every night.  As she got older and more sentient, all I would have to say was “do you want some baby-milk?” and she would smile and laugh.  It was adorable, endearing.  And I felt positively maternal providing it for her.  It was our private, quiet time.  Other people could babysit, or buy her stuff.  But only I could nurse her.

I cried when I realized she was officially no longer interested.  I was glad that I’d let her wean herself, and didn’t (have to) impose it upon her, for my own reasons or needs.  But it was still sad.  I would miss that time with her every day.

We still have our rituals – bathtime, storytime, rocking – but I am so glad I was able to do this for her, too.  For us.  Yes, my bra sits a little lower now, but hey, that mammogram squish-o-matic was nuthin’!  Go, have it done.  Ask for Deborah.

Next time:  Headbanger’s Bawl