To be or not to be...

It's funny when you contemplate 'existentialism' and it's often conversation that quickly gains argumentative momentum at dinner parties and something that gets met with a mind block when you yourself try to think about it. I recently had a 'boob scare' where my doctor submitted me to a rather unenjoyable prodding of my breasts and paused over a particular area with more concentrated prodding, followed by a concerned 'hmmmm'. It's not the sort of reaction you want as seconds before you are joyfully recounting forthcoming Christmas plans and exchanging polite, warm & fuzzy conversation fillers and that all falls away as a feeling of dread sweeps over you, followed by a swift and robotic series of questioning...'have you felt a lump before in your breast', 'is there any history of breast cancer in your family', 'have you had a mammogram before'....my eyes further widening with the realisation that I am at a certain age where they recommend getting a mammogram and ultrasound done to rule out suspicious things. I don't know what I was further bothered by...the fact I was at a CERTAIN AGE or that I always thought an ultrasound would involve a loving partner by your side clutching your hand as you gaze at a little blurry mini human with a heart beat floating around in your bulbous stomach. Instead there was a lot of sticky gel and a weird object deciphering floating lumps within the tissue of my breast whilst the ultra sound lady pointed to fuzzy blobs on the screen that she kept referring to as 'colonies', 'liquified cysts'....all looking benign.

The mammogram itself was none to pleasant. The radiologist assured me that they used to be a lot more uncomfortable before modern technology. Well if that's the case...I'm not sure where you'd rate the squishing of your breasts between pinching cold steel and persex from top to bottom, left to right. It all seemed rather archaic to me. It got me to thinking about just how much us women put up with. Sure men have prostate tests and complications if they are unlucky enough......but we endure bleeding for one week of every month for most of our lives, we have to carry a mini human around in our gut for almost a year until they are violently yanked through our vagine with half our entrails at the end of our journey, there's pap smears, breast scans, and ofcourse the joy of menopause followed by watching your body shrivel up like an old apple. Also after the feminist regime and evolving technology and the progression of powerful women in society....we still get paid less and marginalised! Hands up who wants to be a man in the next life............Meeeeeeeeee...

Anyways...the boobs are alright as  it turns out. Having to endure the big C at this time of year was not on my agenda, and I'm not referring to Christmas. But it's made me stop and reflect on those that perhaps have not been as lucky as me to be walking away from the doctor clutching results with a smile. It's an awful fear facing something that might give you an expiry date, with everything you know and love swirling around you like a fog that could be blown away forever. Eternal forever is meant to be peaceful, but no one really knows what it brings. Right now....it just brings fear.