Thursday, 9 August 2012
Those wise old women, who are older than I, relish telling horror stories about this procedure to us youngsters. So much so, I was convinced that my breasts were going to be squished down until they resembled the consistency, depth and colour of those corn fritters that I made the other day. After this sadistic process it seemed inevitable that I was going to need the strongest analgesia that I could persuade the pharmacist in Asda to sell me. In fact the squashing action was much less severe than those drama queens had me believe, I'd say the plates were tightened so that they were just about the height of a rather generous burger bun apart. Although there was a bit of discomfort lasting a few hours afterwards, I felt no need to reach for the pots of painkillers at any stage.
Now like Danny Boyle , I'm a big fan of the NHS. After all it pays my wages and possibly saved my life last year. It's easy to applaud those who're so visible on the frontline who're there in a crisis when we need them. Today I'm also showing my appreciation for all those unsung, proactive, good souls, like my radiographer today, who've carried out preventative work during my lifespan. To the nurses who've given me painful jabs and healthchecks, the dental folk who've cleaned, polished and X-rayed my teeth and health visitors and midwives who set me on the path of being a reasonable-ish mum, I salute you!