Welcome to my mammogram!

Whee! It's that time of year. And this time I got to go to the NEW Alta Bates Summit Carol Ann Read Breast Health Center. As a person who has a lot of experience with these types of facilities, I tell you, this place is THE BOMB.

Come along, and I'll take you on a little tour.

My visit began with an offer for (free!) valet parking. I declined because I am fussy about letting other people ride my motor scooter. I'd rather just park it on the street myself.


Patients enter down a hall and through this round room that has soft lighting piped in sounds of moving water and chirping birds. This is, I assume, the room where you collect your shit before continuing in to deal with your shit. I don't have too much any more, but I do remember walking into the place that preceded this one on legs that I couldn't feel and a head that was swimming with fear. I guess this room would have been nice.

Once through this entrance, you are greeted by a smiling person and seated in an enthusiastically decorated lobby. I don't know what's up with the hats (to cover bald heads??); I know what's up with the pink, and although I generally deplore the pink commercialization, I appreciate the sentiment most of the time.

There are even decorations on the ceiling—I guess so you have something to look at if you pass out and wake up on your back.

There's an attractive room if you need to deposit your child (thank goodness I never had to take her along on any of these visits).

And at the check-in desk, they have thoughtfully removed all previous surly staff who when I had trouble giving my correct phone number because I was so overwhelmed would sigh, gaze off over my head, and tap their two-inch fingernails on their keyboards. There were several like this, and I always seemed to end up at their desks. Assholes. 

Art is absolutely everywhere, some of it sort of interesting,


some of it sort of silly.


Something for everyone, I suppose.

And they are ever so organized. At check-in I was given a card with a nice photographic bamboo design. Once I changed, I was directed to . . . the bamboo waiting room! And when I was done and was to wait for news that they had enough images, I went right back to the bamboo room. No chance of getting lost. Here is the tastefully decorated and very comfortable bamboo room.


The bamboo room also featured this flat screen tv monitor that rotated pictures of various flowers and played relaxing "nature sounds." Can you just feel then tension dissolving? That's the idea, I guess.


But the absolute best part? THE ROBES! Not paper or faded cloth that opens in the back but REAL COTTON ROBES. Like you would have at a spa.

In fact the whole thing looks more like a spa than a medical facility. I'm sure this really works for some people; for me it sort of misses the point. I'm as comfortable in the MRI facility I visit once a year with it's beige walls, cold linoleum, bad gowns, and no art. The people are just as warm, compassionate, and professional as they are at the breast spa, and that's what makes the difference for me. But I realize that I've been desensitized to medical surroundings and apparatus in a way that some people haven't (and hopefully won't ever need to be), so maybe all the trappings serve a purpose that truly helps some people. In the meantime, I'm very excited about the zoomy new digital mammogram screeners and other equipment that the $13 million spent on this facility bought. 

Only one real gripe, but one that came with a silver lining: For some reason even returning patients are asked to fill out paperwork for information these people surely already have. Have I had any breast surgery? Um, yes. How many? When? And you know, I don't remember, which put the biggest smile on my face. The number of surgical procedures, including various biopsies, a mastectomy, and seemingly endless reconstructive surgeries, used to be a number burned in my mind. But now it's just "lots." And the date of my mastectomy used to sit there in my mind next to my birthday and Sophie's birthday. It was in August 2008. I remember this because Sophie was four, a fact that will forever anchor the chronology. But the exact date in August? I have no idea. "Look it up if you really need to know," I told them. Back in my office, I could look it up too, but I don't. It's no longer important in that way.