Having My First Mammogram On Valentine’s Day

Valentine’s Day means different things to different people.

For some couples, February 14 is a day of Hallmark-endorsed romance: flowers, chocolates, dinner reservations and a table for two. For others…a last-minute dash to the grocery-store greeting-card aisle en route home from work.

Parents of school-aged children often find themselves invited to send in valentines for the whole class—preferably non-edible, but if they are edible, then allergen-free.

Other folks abhor Valentine’s Day, while still others ignore it and/or opt to celebrate a different holiday and sentiment: Galentine’s Day (thank you, Leslie Knope!).

For me this year, 2024, Valentine’s Day was the day I had my first mammogram.

I turned 40 last year, and during my annual physical exam, my physician recommended a mammogram and accompanying ultrasound.

I was…not excited…to schedule this screening appointment. Obviously, it sounded uncomfortable…and perhaps most of all, I struggled to accept that I had become old enough to need this kind of next-level health-care checkup.

I kept putting it off, putting it off.

Finally, I called the radiology center that my physician had recommended.

My original mammogram was scheduled for the Monday of Thanksgiving week. Around that time, I began a new work schedule. Plus, it was the holidays. The timing felt…difficult.

I called the radiology center, again. “Could you please help me reschedule my appointment?”

“Hmmm,” the receptionist said. “We have an opening for Wednesday morning, February 14…but that’s Valentine’s Day. Do you really want to come in on Valentine’s Day?”

I couldn’t help laughing. “My husband and I have been married for 15 years,” I said. “Valentine’s Day is not a big deal for us.”

My appointment was set, then: mammogram and ultrasound, 8 a.m., Wednesday, February 14—Valentine’s Day.

In 2023, the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force began recommending that women start getting mammograms beginning at age 40. Their previous recommendation had been age 50—although Steven Isakoff, M.D., Ph.D., with Mass General Cancer Center has said, “In the U.S. breast cancer treatment community, we’ve generally felt that it never should have changed from 40. So for us, this is back in line with what we’ve generally recommended.”

In addition to a mammogram, my physician also had recommended an accompanying ultrasound. The reason for the ultrasound, she explained to me, was that if a woman has dense breast tissue, then the mammogram may not be able to “see” through that tissue. The ultrasound, then, would help provide the medical team with a more complete picture of the breast tissue and any potential areas of concern.

Scheduling an ultrasound along with a mammogram also could decrease the need for a “call back.” Health Images notes that approximately 10 percent to 12 percent of women in the U.S. “will need further testing following a mammogram,” such as an ultrasound, MRI or redo of the mammogram—so it’s effective and efficient to do as much imaging as possible in one appointment.

In addition to a mammogram, my physician also had recommended an accompanying ultrasound.

The morning of my first mammogram, which also happened to be Valentine’s Day, I was…you know, “extremely stressed” best describes it.

As it turned out, Stanton needed to be in New York City that morning for a work meeting. He left our home around 5 a.m. to get there in time…which meant that I had to get both girls to their schools (two different buildings) by 7:30 a.m., on my own, in order to get to my mammogram appointment for 8 a.m.

I had never been to the radiology center, near downtown Albany, and those who know me know I strongly dislike driving out of my comfort zone, especially in busy downtown areas. Alternating one-way streets, parallel parking, stop-and-go traffic due to the mix of cars, buses and bikes…for me, this is S-T-R-E-S-S.

But I did it. I got the girls to school. I made it to the radiology center. There was a parking lot (no parallel parking necessary!), and I found a spot. I parked, breathed a sigh of relief…and headed inside.

Because it was so early, I was the only person in the waiting area of the radiology center. An older lady with round glasses and kind eyes, wearing a red sweater (in celebration of Valentine’s Day, I imagined), greeted me. Her name tag said “Hannah.”

I said I had an 8 a.m. appointment. Hannah reviewed my driver’s license and health insurance card. I mentioned this was my first mammogram.

“Oh, you’ll do just fine,” Hannah said, smiling at me.

I had been so stressed, friends, leading up to that moment—just taking care of all the logistics to get to that moment (making the appointment, rescheduling the appointment, letting my manager and co-workers know I’d be a little late getting in that morning, getting the girls to school, driving to an unfamiliar place…)—that Hannah, this woman I’d just met, was a gift to me…with her kindness, gentleness, reassurance.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling tears in my eyes.

…Hannah, this woman I’d just met, was a gift to me…with her kindness, gentleness, reassurance.

The actual mammogram itself was uncomfortable, but went fine. I wish I had Googled “mammogram machine” before I went, so that I knew what to expect. Here’s a good online resource, with an image of a mammogram machine, from the American Cancer Society.

The technologist who performed my mammogram was patient and professional, yet caring, with me.

“I’m kind of a squeamish person…as in, very,” I told her, as she explained how the mammogram machine worked. “I’m not going to be able to, like, look at what’s going on.” I was gagging just thinking about the plastic compression plates of the machine.

The technologist said no problem; she would let me know what to do so that she could get the X-rays she needed.

The mammogram took less than 10 minutes. Afterward, I went to a different room for the ultrasound.

Like the mammogram technologist, the ultrasound technician was wonderful. Once again, I mentioned that this was my first time getting a mammogram and breast ultrasound, and I was a little anxious.

The ultrasound technician told me she could use extra ultrasonic gel on the ultrasound wand, so that I wouldn’t feel it as much.

In that moment, it officially became my craziest, most medical, least romantic Valentine’s Day ever.

Still… “Yes, that makes sense,” I told the technician. “Extra ultrasonic gel…yep, sounds good.”

What I wanted to do after my appointment was go home and take a shower.

Instead, I had to go to work.

Least romantic Valentine’s Day ever.

About a week later, I got a letter in the mail, which began, “We are pleased to inform you that the results of your recent mammogram examination performed on 02/14/2024 are normal.”

I was very grateful, of course, for this good news.

I also am very grateful for the amazing women who made Valentine’s Day 2024 my most memorable Valentine’s Day yet. Least romantic, but most memorable.

My manager at the library was extremely understanding about my needing to come in to work a little late that day. Another co-worker encouraged me to take my time getting in; she would take care of things for me until I got there, she’d said.

Hannah, the receptionist at the radiology center, really touched my heart with her kindness. The mammogram technologist and ultrasound technician, both women as well, also treated me so well.

Later that day, when I went to pick Anna up from school, the other moms asked me how my appointment had gone—they listened, they cared.

Valentine’s Day means different things to different people.

This year, for me, it meant women’s health and female friendship.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

The Leddys Are in the Wrong Location

On Saturday morning, Stanton pulled into the mostly empty parking lot of the Afrim’s Sports Park in Colonie. It was 7:29 a.m., and our 9-year-old daughter, Anna, was playing in a Presidents’ Day weekend soccer tournament that began at 8 a.m.

“Please be there by 7:30,” Anna’s soccer coach had told the team.

Like anyone else, I’d rather not “be” anywhere by 7:30 on a Saturday morning. Except, of course, my breakfast-nook table, slowly enjoying several cups of coffee.

But I love watching Anna play soccer (and her older sister, Grace, play lacrosse), and cheering them on. So on Saturday, when Stanton nudged me awake around 6:15, I got moving much faster than usual for a weekend morning.

The four of us left our house a little after 7. Stanton punched “Afrim’s” into his car’s navigation system, and an address for NYSUT Drive in Latham popped up.

“Stan, that’s wrong,” I said. I hadn’t yet sipped any of the coffee from the travel mug in my hands, so no caffeine was tempering my just-woke-up personality. “Last night you said we have to go to the Afrim’s in Colonie.” (There are five Afrim’s sports facilities in New York’s Capital Region.)

Stanton grunted. “I know, I know. I was just about to change the address.” He began clicking on the navigation system.

“Are we going to the right place?” Anna asked from the backseat.

“Now we are,” I replied. “Don’t worry, honey: Mom made sure.”

“Mel, I was going to…”

“Honey, I was just kidding.”

“Ha, ha.” Stanton began driving to the Colonie Afrim’s; I began drinking my coffee.

Like anyone else, I’d rather not “be” anywhere by 7:30 on a Saturday morning.

So it was 7:30 a.m., and Stanton, the girls and I walked into the Colonie Afrim’s. Earlier, Stanton had printed out the flyer for the Presidents’ Day tournament, and now he looked at it. “Anna’s first game is on Field 2,” he said.

The four of us made our way to Field 2, one of several indoor fields in the facility. Anna’s team color is orange; there were no other orange jerseys on Field 2.

“Would you look at that,” Stanton said, smiling with self-satisfaction. “The Leddys are the first to arrive.”

Huh. I glanced at my phone. It was now 7:34 a.m.

It felt weird to me that we were the only people on Field 2. Not even the coach was here yet…?

“When you tell the Leddys to be somewhere by a certain time,” Stanton continued, “the Leddys will be there.”

By this point, I had consumed about one-quarter of the coffee in my 20-ounce travel mug. I had become, consequently, a normal human being. “Stan,” I said gently, “is it possible we’re at the wrong Afrim’s?”

Stanton paused.

Behind us, Grace and Anna were kicking Anna’s soccer ball around. Otherwise, Field 2 remained empty—empty of other orange jerseys, empty of the opposing team, empty of spectators and refs and anyone.

“Uh…” Stanton frowned. “I’ll be right back.”

I watched as he jogged across Field 2, through the revolving doors to the lobby of the facility.

Less than a minute later, Stanton reappeared through the revolving doors, this time in a sprint back to the girls and me. “We have to go,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows; Stanton nodded. “We’re at the wrong Afrim’s,” he confirmed.

Mm-hmm—looking at empty Field 2, that made more sense to me than “The Leddys are the first to arrive.”

The Leddys were, in fact, in the wrong location.

The soccer tournament was actually happening at the Afrim’s location in Albany, which was only 3.2 miles away. We were really close—but still, Anna would be arriving minutes before the first game started.

“Agh,” Stanton said, driving toward the Albany Afrim’s.

I could tell Anna was concerned too. “Stan, Annie, this is 9-year-old soccer,” I pointed out. “It’s OK.”

“You know,” Stanton said, “I checked the message in the sports app last night. It said the Colonie Afrim’s. But…”

“But what?” Anna wondered.

Stanton grunted. “I just checked the sports app a few minutes ago, and Brittany posted a new message super early this morning—which I saw just now—that had the updated location, Albany Afrim’s. It would be nice to have all the information at the same time, you know?”

“No, no, no.” I held up my hands. “No, we cannot blame Brittany that we went to the wrong Afrim’s this morning.”

“Why not?” Grace asked.

I sighed. As many of you know, I’m the (volunteer) secretary for Anna’s elementary school PTA. Thus, I empathize with parent volunteers, many of whom find themselves in these roles because nobody else could (or would) lend a hand.

I explained to my family that Brittany did the best she could to communicate with other parents through the sports app. At some point, the other parents needed to turn on the app notifications so that they would see when Brittany posted a new message. They needed to check their new messages, and beyond that, read the messages.

“I should have checked the app for any new messages once more before we left,” Stanton acknowledged.

“But we’re almost to the right Afrim’s,” I said. “No big deal.”

Maybe the Leddys don’t always arrive at the correct location.

Maybe Melissa Leddy isn’t a normal human being until she drinks one-quarter of the coffee in her 20-ounce travel mug.

But the Leddys do not blame the parent volunteers of their children’s sports teams or schools.

Stanton pulled up to the entrance of the Albany Afrim’s. It was almost 8 a.m., and of course, the parking lot was packed.

I swiveled in the passenger seat to face my older daughter. “Please take Anna inside,” I told Grace. “Find her team—look for the orange jerseys—and Dad and I will be there in a few minutes.”

Grace nodded. “Got it.”

I wished Anna good luck, and watched as the girls dashed inside.

Stanton found a parking spot. We headed inside, in search of orange jerseys.

As of 8:02 a.m., all four Leddys had arrived at the right location.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

You’re 0% There

It was 12 noon at the library where I work. Our library often has a lunch rush, as patrons pop in to pick up their requested books and other items during their lunch break.

On this particular day, 12 noon was when the 2024/2025 online registration opened for my younger daughter’s before-school child-care program. We were only midway through the current school year (it was January, after all), but I needed to sign Anna up for the fall.

At that moment, I was working at the circulation desk, near the front doors of the library. I could get up and go to my desk in the staff workroom, out of public view…but the online registration would only take a minute, right?

On my computer, I minimized the screen for the library’s workflow system, and opened up a new tab with the website for the child-care program. I scrolled down, found the button for the 2024/2025 registration. Clicked the button, began filling out the form.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an older gentleman carrying a stack of large-print Clive Cussler novels begin to approach me. I glanced to my left, where my co-worker (who knew I needed a minute) kindly nodded, then waved the patron over to her.

Quickly, I re-checked all the info I had entered on Anna’s registration form. Everything looked accurate. Whew.

At the bottom of the form was a captcha fill-in-the-blank. “Please verify you are not a robot,” the captcha instructed.

Dutifully, I typed the motley crew of characters into the box. Made sure I got all the letters uppercase and lowercase where needed. Squinted hard to confirm that the the vertical line was indeed a lowercase “l” and not the number “1.”

Finally clicked “Submit.”

Instead of submitting, a new captcha appeared on the screen, with the same message: “Please verify you are not a robot.”

What? I just did that!

“Hey, Melissa.” Another co-worker joined us at the circulation desk, to assist with the lunch rush.

I cringe-smiled. “Hey, David. I’m so sorry, I just need to finish something for one of my kids…”

“Oh, sure, sure.” And as another patron approached, this time wanting to check out a children’s museum pass and American Girl Doll, David helped her at the computer next to mine.

Ugh. I prided myself on being a co-worker others could count on. I hastened to type in the new captcha: “HxChX.” I double-checked, even triple-checked the combination of uppercase and lowercase letters…clicked “submit,” again.

“ERROR,” the screen responded.

I groaned.

This was taking a lot longer than I’d thought, and I hadn’t even registered Anna for the child-care program yet…which I very much needed to do.

“I’ll be right back, David,” I said, dashing to the staff workroom. There I found Mandy, one of the kindest, most patient and most technologically savvy people I know. “Help!”

Together, Mandy and I tried to submit the registration through my phone. At the end of the phone-based registration, a new direction appeared: “Select all the boxes with school buses.”

Ah, another mode of automated-security-measure, photo-based fun.

Select, select, select. I definitely got all the school buses; Mandy nodded her agreement. Submit.

“Please verify you are not a robot,” my phone replied, presenting me with my third or fourth captcha in 30 minutes.

I almost banged my head on Mandy’s desk. “I am not a robot!”

Ah, another mode of automated-security-measure, photo-based fun.

Ultimately, I did succeed at registering Anna for the before-school child-care program. It took a few emails, one frantic phone call and a final stab at the online registration form, but in the end…success.

Technical difficulties, though. They’re never gone for long, amirite? I ran into another e-issue yesterday, and Anna, who’s 9, helped me figure it out.

As you may remember, friends, I’m the secretary of Anna’s elementary school PTA. (Trust me, I’m not bragging about this—simply stating a fact. 😉 )

Yesterday, my fellow PTA board members asked me to share a flyer via our mass email platform, plus community Facebook page. Of course, I told them.

I couldn’t upload this flyer to either Mailchimp or Facebook, however.

Anna saw me struggling. “When was the last time you restarted your computer, Mom?”

“Umm…” I rarely turn off my computer, let alone restart it.

“Restart your computer, Mom,” Anna suggested. “That always works for me.”

As I restarted my computer, a pop-up message alerted me: “Urgent updates needed. Updating now.”

Anna made herself comfortable on my lap. “Urgent updates needed,” she read aloud. “Good thing you’re doing this, Mom.”

I sighed. “Yep.”

Anna pointed to the screen. “Look, Mom. You’re 0% there.” She tilted her head up, looked at me. “It’s probably going to take a while to get all the way up to 100% updated.”

You’re 0% there… Going to take a while… Mm-hmm, that sounded about right.

These past few weeks have been some of my busiest as PTA secretary. Our PTA has hosted a variety of events, from a Scholastic Book Fair to Math and Science Night to Popcorn Friday, and is planning for a bunch more come spring: a science fair, Bike & Roll to School Day, an art-based fundraiser/bake sale.

We need volunteers to help staff all these events, as you probably can imagine. Thus, I emailed out multiple SignUpGenius links, inviting/asking/begging fellow parents to sign up for a one- or two-hour time slot.

Every now and then, I checked the SignUpGenius links. “Slots still available,” all the links told me.

Sigh. What kind of de facto volunteer coordinator would I be if I didn’t show up myself?

I clicked a “Sign Up” book fair slot. Entered my name.

I clicked a “Sign Up” Math and Science Night slot. Entered my name, again. Ooh, hold up…that slot is to run Math and Science Night. Agh. I’m not the best math and science person, so…

In the optional comment box, I added this note: “My older daughter (Grace, 6th grade) will help me run this!”

I do love both my daughters’ schools, and I do want to support them (the schools, and the girls). I genuinely loved being able to volunteer with the book fair, and Math and Science Night.

Afterward, I did feel a little worn down, though.

This past weekend, for the first time in many weekends, Stanton, the girls and I had nothing scheduled. Nothing we had to do.

I so appreciated sleeping in on both Saturday and Sunday mornings. Both mornings, Stanton made me scrambled eggs and bacon.

Stanton’s known me a very long time now, and he knows this is true: All he needs to do to make me happy is feed me. That is it, friends. Just feed me (and let me sleep in).

After eating well, and sleeping in, I’m beginning to feel recharged.

I’m not quite up to 100 percent, but I’m definitely higher than 0.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.