I had a mammogram today.

It was a bit horrifying to find that breasts can really be squished flat like pancakes. Top to bottom and side to side.

When my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer in May 2004, my then-GP had suggested that I get a mammogram done, so that I would have a baseline for future reference. I was anxious about the idea - worried about the radiation, worried about the possibility of false positives - so I decided not to think about it for a while. But most of the reading I've done seems to indicate the benefits of screening outweigh the risks, so last time I went to the doctor (about my weird bruises) I thought I'd mention it to her. She was rather negative about the mammogram idea, and said that because my mother had post-menopausal breast cancer I wasn't at any greater risk than any other woman, statistically speaking, so I should probably just wait till the routine screening kicks in at 50. But, she said, she'd refer me to a breast specialist so I could discuss it with him. And today was the appointment with the breast specialist.

The appointment was for 9.30. I saw him at 11.45. Luckily I had my book (which is well worth reading, by the way), so the wait wasn't actually too painful.

Once I was finally in with the specialist, he performed a breast exam, and then repeated the same things that my GP had told me, so I thought that would be that, and I could go away and come back in 13 years time.

[God, I can't believe that I'll be 50 in 13 years time. Bloody terrifying.]

But no, then he went on to write me two scripts for mammograms. One for today, one for this time next year.

Which took my by surprise, to say the least. But, all the reading I'd been doing recently seems to indicate that the benefits of mammograms outweigh the risks, so I was actually quite pleased.

More waiting for the actual mammogram, a brief interlude of squishing, and I was back at work at five past two, just in time for a fire drill which involved everyone standing outside in the rain for ten minutes.

So, reading aside, it wasn't a very nice morning. Several of the women at the breast clinic seemed to be very upset; I'm assuming that they were there to investigate actual lumps. One woman had her mum there with her and they were both tearful ... Cancer really is a vile disease.

I am grateful for the NHS though. I may have had to wait (and wait, and wait), but I did get to see a specialist and have a mammogram done for free.

I didn't enjoy work this afternoon; I felt tired and in need of pampering, and my throat was (and is) very sore. Presumably Bobby's germs from last week have made their way over to me. I kept waiting for someone to notice that I was feeling grotty and offer me sympathy, but alas, no-one did. I always look irritatingly healthy, even when I feel dire.

In other news, Emily started a paper round this morning. I walked her route with her yesterday, just to make sure she knew where to go, and the corner store people have given her a really nice, easy, very very local route, so even I feel comfortable about her doing it. She is thrilled about all the money she'll have (£13 a week, not bad for 30 minutes walk every morning). It is so odd seeing the difference between the way that she approaches life and the way that Stephen tackles things. Steve had a paper route until fairly recently, and we never heard much about it. He just sort of got on with it every morning and wasn't interested in discussing it. Ems, though, has given us a blow-by-blow account of every detail, from the way that you fold the papers, to how you have to close the front gates or the old people get grumpy, to how to avoid the letter slot in the front door snapping your fingers. I don't know if this is a boy/girl thing or just a Steve/Em thing. I must say, I vastly prefer the share-all-the-details approach. It is so much easier to help someone if you know what is going on in their head...