The scan not taken

In five years of ttc and infertiity, I have had countless scans, a million wandings. There are doctors and techs in two different states who could draw detailed blueprints of my insides, from memory. And I actually have paid for the privilege of every single one. So last week was a first — I turned down a free scan.

At the airport.

Tampa International Airport is consistently ranked as one of the best, most passengerfriendly airports in the country. It is attracive and easy to navigate. Employees are generally friendly and helpful. There are pictures of turtles and rays and other fun sealife everywhere. But this cockamamie idea it has gotten for security ~almost~ negates all of that.

It’s a full-body SCANNER. You step into the booth and viola! A picture of your whole body, for everyone — if not the public, then at least everyone in security — to see. Read about it here.

I knew the first time I read about these suckers that I was never going to set foot in one. I am all for heightened security, and I really do not want to die in a plane-related act of terrorism. But my going in that scanner is really not going to save the world. Not. Gonna. Do. It.

So — back to Monday, when we flew up here to New York. I saw the beast for the first time while in the (very short, very well managed) line for security. And somehow I just KNEW they were going to want to put me in it. It’s that same sense we have that sniffs out when another woman is pregnant long before anyone else knows — that sense was telling me I was so going to be tapped for The Scan.

And I was right. A (very friendly) agent asked me, right after I stepped thru the metal detector, to step into the scanner. I looked him in the eye and said in a quiet but firm voice, “Do I have to?”
Say what?
“Do I have to?”
“You don’t want to go in the scanner?”
“No.”
“You’ll have to do a pat-down instead….”
“Okay, fine.”
“We’ll have to find a same-sex agent to do that.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Step right this way please.”

They led me to a glassed-in booth between the X-ray conveyer belts then went to hunt down a chick to do The Patdown and The Wanding. She comes in and is all set to begin. I say, “In private.”
“You want to do it in private?” Very confused. I guess most people are just sheep. I’ll play their stupid game, but only with MY rules. If I am going to be groped and wanded and generally irritated, I’d ilke to do it in private.

They are totally flumoxed by this. Much scurrying around commences. They at last decide another female chaperone is needed, and they’ll do The Patdown and The Wanding in a small office ariund the corner. So I’m led back (“Can I have my shoes please?” “No.” “I’ll take them off again, I promise….”). In the office, which is about the size of my couch, three female agents and I crowd in, and the process begins.

It is actually rather amusing, as before she does anything the agent describes to me in excruciating detail what she is going to do (“I am going to pat your front chest areda. I’ll use the back of my hand….”) until I say impatiently, “Just DO it.” Good grief. At last it is over and I’m released. Meanwhile Mike is gathering all of our carry-ons and wondering where the hell I went.

If everyone asked for what I did, which is completely within my rights to have, there is clearly no way this airport is equipped to handle it. I doubt any airport is. They would have to stop all this stupid nonsense and get really serious about making flying safe, instead of all this bullshit that is just for show. I refuse to be a part of someone’s dog-and-pony show.

Plus, I have just been scanned and humiliated way too many times over the IF years. Maybe I am a little oversensitive, but I’m just not going to stand for one more scan than I need. If it’s not going to get me a baby, I’m not doing it. Scan that.