Meditations On Having One’s Boob Flattened During A Mammogram

That’s not so bad. Just put the breast on the shelf. No big deal.

Then the other plate comes down until it’s bookending the breast.

I hope no one steals my book out of the changing room. It had a curtain for a door. Anyone could see my book on the bench. There’s supposed to be a big twist at the end. What if someone steals it and I never find out who did the murder? The book’s out of print. It’ll cost a fortune to buy another copy. I think the millwright did it.

Oh, wait a minute. This is definitely feeling squeezy.

It’s getting squeezier. Should I say something?

I’ve heard of flattening the curve, but this is ridiculous.

How flat is it? Can it actually go that flat? Is that possible? It’s so flat, I could slide it under a door.

She keeps making it flatter.

This is like the vise scene from Casino only without the blood or Joe Pesci.

The technician looks like Joe Pesci’s sister.

Does Joe Pesci have a sister?

I don’t know, but if he did, she’d look just like this technician.

Did she train in pastry school? I’ll bet she did. I bet she’s cranked some dough through a pasta-maker before. I can just picture her turning the handle, extruding a sheet of dough and singing “Tarantella Napoletana” like she’s in a Ragu commercial.

She’s still cranking it. Does she know she’s supposed to stop? If she doesn’t stop, will it burst?

It’s thinner than paper now. It’s microscopically thin. I could probably watch a movie through it. I bet that’s what movie screens were made of in the olden days, and parents told their kids it was sheepskin so they wouldn’t scream.

Is it going to stay that flat? When it’s over will I have to knead it back into shape like putty? Maybe it’s more convenient if it stays flat — I can fold it away. Do they make bras for folded breasts? Nobody told me about this. Maybe it’s one of those things no one talks about.

Like the secret powers of menstruation.

Can I do origami with it?

Do I want to do origami? Is it safe to do origami?

I don’t know how to do origami.

I’ll take lessons, like maids get on how to make swans out of towels.

I don’t want a swan boob.

What? She needs to take another angle? My breast is so flat it has angles now. It’s angular.

Hold still? Does she actually believe I have the power to move? My breast is clamped in the jaws of Modern Technology. I’m not going anywhere. I can’t go anywhere. Do they need to tell people in iron maidens not to start vogueing in there?

What if there’s a fire? Will they roll the machine out with me? Okay, the technician says there’s a safety release lever. Where is it? I’m not going to pull it — I just want to know where it is. I’m just going to put my hand on it, just to make sure it’s there. Just in case the fire alarm goes off. I’m not going to pull it.

Maybe I should pull it. Just a little. Just to see if it works.

What if it doesn’t work? I need to pull it to make sure it works.

Release the hounds!

See, it does work! Good to know.

Oh my god the relief!

Oh, we have to do it all over again? With the other breast.

Damn. I forgot I had two of them.

Sarah Totton is a one-time honoree of the 2019 Wergle Flomp Humor Poetry Contest and a two-time dishonoree of the Bulwer Lytton Fiction Contest (2008 & 2019). Her work has appeared at McSweeney’s, Slackjaw, Points in Case, Pickle Fork, and Little Old Lady Comedy.