Because if you have to get your boobs smooshed, it might as well be at a place that feels like a spa.

Getting a mammogram is kind of like doing your taxes: You have to do it every year, you don’t look forward to it, and when you’re done, you feel rather … deflated.

But for those of us with breasts, mammograms are a must. According to the Susan G. Komen Foundation:

• Mammograms identify about 87% of women with breast cancer.

• Screening mammograms can detect breast cancer up to 10 years before you or your doctor could detect it.

• Screening mammography moderately reduces the risk of death from breast cancer in women aged 40 - 49.

Now that I’ve thrown some numbers at you, let me tell you all about my mammography experience at Bay Radiology.

When my gynecologist gave me a referral for Bay Radiology, and I saw that it was in Arnold, Maryland (a good 45-minute drive from where I live), I was skeptical. Then, I remembered that I call my gynecologist’s practice the Vagina Spa because of the in-depth consultations we have every year, the cushy bathrobe I get to change into before my exam, and the massage table I get to lie back on while the exam takes place.

In other words, I trust her with my lady parts.

So today, I’m grateful for the audiobook I have queued up on my car’s Bluetooth, because I’m taking a mini road trip to get my mammogram.

The office itself is in a nondescript medical building, tucked off of the main road. But as soon as I enter, I know it’s going to be much different from my typical visits to the mega-conglomerate I usually go to for radiology.

There are couches. And cushy chairs. There’s light. And plants. And space.

Aside from the decor and ambience, the first thing I notice is that there aren’t any men in the waiting room. That’s when I take a closer look at my referral form.

Bay Radiology is 100% dedicated to breast imaging and breast diagnostics. They offer mammograms, breast ultrasounds, and breast aspirations and biopsies.

Just. Breasts.

I’m instantly comforted by this knowledge. Instead of visiting the aforementioned mega-conglomerate and having my scans reviewed by someone who looks at all sorts of body parts at all sort of different angles all day long, my mammogram is going to be reviewed by someone who only looks at breast images — their eyes specifically trained to notice the tiny nuances and anomalies that occur in breasts.

I check in and am given an iPad with which to complete my health questionnaire and consent forms. I tab through the various pages, and right before I submit my information, I’m presented with three options for my visit.

My visit has options, y’all.

1. Quickest visit: You get your mammogram and leave. They’ll review your scans and will contact you if they see any issues. I’m going to call that one the “Smoosh-and-Scoot.”

2. Quick visit: You get your mammogram and wait while they review your scans. They call you back to talk to the doctor if she sees an issue.

3. Longest (but still not long at all) visit: You get your mammogram and go back to talk to the doctor regardless of the results.

I choose option #2. But did you notice the common thread among all of the options? They review your results right after your scan. No more waiting days for answers. You have answers immediately.

YES. Beneath my pre-smooshed bosom, my heart swells.

They call me back to get changed before my mammogram. I step into the little locker area and put my things away, and notice that, instead of the scratchy, papery smock I recall from mammograms past, they’ve given me a plush, terrycloth, boob robe! It’s pink and has flowery piping along the edge.

It’s so girly. I love it. And I feel loved in it. Respected. Embraced. Cared for.

Now I’m sitting in the secondary waiting room — the waiting room right outside the scanning area. It’s similarly soft — comfortable chairs, magazines, plants, etc. There’s a woman seated a couple of chairs away, and she’s fidgeting constantly. She looks to be in her early 50s. She has frizzy auburn hair and heavy makeup.

I can sense she wants to say something to me, and sure enough, within about a minute, she tells me this is her first mammogram. That explains the fidgeting. I light up and give her a huge smile. “Well, so far, this is the best place I’ve ever come to for a mammogram. It’s so much more welcoming than the other places I’ve been to. I mean these comfy smocks, for one!”

She looks down at her own pink boob robe, then back at me. “I guess…” I notice that she’s stopped fidgeting.

They call my name and take me back to … an office.

The technician has some questions for me. They’ve pulled up my history, and noticed I had a diagnostic mammogram last year. I thought back and recalled that it was a follow-up after my screening mammogram saw “something.” The follow-up imaging report said it was likely just a cyst. I was so relieved that I didn’t notice the note at the bottom of the report to come back in six months for another scan.

Oops.

That’s what the technician (relaying the doctor’s concerns) is asking me about today — did I go back six months later? Is this a routine screening, or had the six-month exam found anything?

I confess that I hadn’t had the six-month check. She takes that information back to the doctor, and I return to the waiting room. I decide not to panic, but there’s a niggling in the back of my head now. What if there is something wrong?

They’ve decided a routine screening will suffice for today. I go to the smooshing room, I get smooshed. The left side is considerably more uncomfortable than the right. I swear, mammography platforms are designed with some sort of breast-adhering technology. You put a breast on them and it’s like a suction cup — a suction cup that the technician then pushes around in order to get just the right angle.

I admit, though, this technician is being as gentle and careful as possible. I don’t fault her for my discomfort. Despite the terrycloth and houseplants, we are in a diagnostic center, after all. There’s work to do.

Within minutes, the boob-smooshing dance is over, and I go back to the waiting room. They don’t have me change yet, because — remember — they’re looking at my images right now, so if they didn’t come out right, or they need another angle, I’m all prepped and ready for a secondary smoosh.

The technician comes out, and I ready myself to receive the all-clear to get dressed and go home.

“You can get dressed, but then stay here in the waiting room until I can take you back to see the doctor.”

Okay. But I selected option #2 — the “smoosh me and only make me stay if you see something in my scans” option. And I missed that six-month follow-up after last year’s “something.”

Oh dear.

I decide — again — not to panic. But I admit, I’m a bit worried. That niggling that was in the back of my head is inching closer to the forefront. But as I’m getting dressed, I tell myself not to worry until there’s definitely something to worry about. That’ll do for now.

I only have to wait another minute or so before Dr. Amodei comes out to greet me. First impression: She’s tall. Second impression: She’s stunning. She has a beautiful smile, and shiny, dark hair pinned back in a functional updo. She’s wearing heels, a chic pencil skirt, and glasses. She looks like a model pretending to be a doctor.

But she’s definitely a doctor. She takes me into a darkened room, where I can see breast images — my breast images — on two large monitors, flanked by a smaller monitor that has my file pulled up on its screen. We sit down and she mentions how they always like to bring newcomers back to see their images (whew!) so they get an idea of the screening process.

Calmer now, I take a look at my scans — my beautiful breasts, up there on the monitors in glorious quasi-3D! She uses the scroller on her mouse to scroll through the different layers of the scan — it’s like watching an animation of the different layers of tissue that make up my gorgeous self.

She tells me that she’s seeing exactly what they want to see. She shows me my lovely lymph nodes (they make sure to get them in the scan, which explains the spirited stretching the technician engaged in in the smooshing room) and tells me my breast tissue has “scattered” density.

Who knew? Now, I do.

I feel so … proud. I’m sitting here in this dark room gazing at the images, and I love my breasts even more than I normally do (and normally, I really love my breasts.)

She gives me my desired all-clear and I set out. On my way out, I notice the item they have for sale at the front desk:

Only in Maryland.

What a wonderful morning this has been. What I’ve always known to be a cold, unemotional, mediocre appointment has been transformed into a warm, gracious, empowering experience.

We need more places like Bay Radiology — places that simultaneously celebrate and respect our bodies, support our health, encourage our awareness, and provide a safe space for us to take care of ourselves.