Mammo FreshWipes: A Lightly Scented, Soft Cleansing Wipe!
(And really—who trademarked that name?)
My yearly scheduled mammogram always falls at the end of September, just as we head into October’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I like to book my appointment first thing in the morning so I can get in and out easily.
I feel like I’ve got the routine down now. Post-menopause, I no longer have to plan around my cycle. (The recommendation is usually 1–2 weeks after your period for the least discomfort.) Back then, I’d even take Tylenol beforehand because, let’s be honest, we “smaller girls” sometimes have a harder time getting a good image.
Preparation is key: no deodorant, lotion, or powder under your arms or breasts. In my younger years, this required some conscious effort to change my daily routine. Now? Well, some mornings I can’t even remember if I did put on deodorant, my nourishing sunscreen, face cream, or body lotion.
So there I was, standing in front of the infamous machine, when the technician asked if I had applied deodorant that morning.
I had to smell myself to check.
Admittedly, I smelled good, but I couldn’t be sure if it was deodorant.
The sweetest technician smiled and said, “Let’s be safe. Just wipe down so there’s no chance of a shadow on the image.”
She handed me a Mammo FreshWipe™. The name and the packaging cracked me up—I couldn’t help but laugh!
Unfazed, she asked me to move my long necklace to the back, and then the smashing commenced.
While I endured the process, I launched into a mental monologue about Mammo FreshWipes™ and how—if men had to do this every year—the procedure would probably look very different. Imagine: a warm, luxurious room, maybe even a jacuzzi, with a tech gently guiding them to lie down on their stomachs while a soothing wave of water produced instant images.
No pancake-flat pressing. No breath-stealing “hold your breath” commands. No plastic vice grip. (For the record, I hold my breath the entire time the pressure is on, until the contraption finally releases me.)
Boobs out, waist-up naked, we women endure. And we handle this pain far better than our counterparts might ever manage.
Thankfully, the mammogram only takes about 10–15 minutes. Post-menopause, my breasts are considered “entirely fatty”—no malignancy detected. Relief.
If I could go back and whisper something to my younger self about yearly mammograms—and about my relationship with my body—it would be this:
Love yourself more.
Love your breasts.
Love your body.
Love your whole self—more, and often.
Speak kindly and gently to yourself. All those years of being at odds with your body only take energy away from loving yourself fully.
I remember being a size 2/4 and thinking I was “fat.” Flat-chested and critical of every inch. Now, in my 60s, I look back with fondness—and wish I had been more committed not only to deodorant, but to self-care. Physical, yes, but also mental, emotional, and spiritual care.
Today, even though my breasts are “entirely fatty,” I feel deep gratitude. Gratitude for the way they fed my children (after I once believed I’d never be a biological mother). Gratitude that my body is still healthy, well, and active.
This month, let’s wipe away toxic self-criticism—maybe with a FreshWipe™—and give the girls their due.
We are containers of goodness and life. We create, every single day, with our wholeness.
Let’s love our Ta-Tas!
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