Although I’d prefer a hot poker in the eye than submit to my annual mammogram again, of course, it must be done. At least I know exactly what to expect at our local Naval Health Clinic, where the tech is professional and respects my modesty, unlike the discomfiting experience I had while stationed in Stuttgart, Germany.

Twenty-five years ago, I sat in the sterile lobby of the Sindelfingen Krankenhaus, watching a woman in the lobby cafe drinking a tall glass of beer and thought, “People may be dying, birthing babies and having organs removed in here, but nothing will stop this strict, rule-abiding, judgmental society from enjoying their favorite malted beverage.”

As I pondered the irony of the situation, my name was called. “Frau Molinari, bitte, kommen Sie mit.” My stomach jumped as I trailed the nurse down the corridor. I’d heard so many outlandish stories about German mammograms and gynecological exams, and I had no idea what was about to happen.

One disturbing rumor that circulated on post described a mammogram waiting room full of German women sitting in chairs nonchalantly reading magazines, completely topless as if it was no big deal.

An American nurse told me a horrifying tale about her gynecological appointment at the German hospital, during which she was required to completely undress in one room then walk naked down an empty hall to the exam room to sit alone on the table and wait for the doctor. When the doctor arrived, she had to submit to the exam, feet in stirrups and all, without so much as a Band-Aid for cover.

After three right turns, I was deposited into a small windowless room with a padded examining table, a sonogram machine and a mammogram contraption. As I spied the clear square plates for flattening one’s body parts into pancakes, I felt a psychosomatic twinge of pain.

“Take off your top und bra and vait here,” the nurse instructed in English with a thick accent. While waiting, I wondered why Americans, who value freedom above all else, are ironically restrained when it comes to our bodies. Conversely, Germans believe “this is what God made” and see nudity as a simple fact of life, nothing about which to be ashamed or embarrassed.

Furthermore, why is it that Americans are well known for being open and friendly to strangers – it’s no big deal to sit at a bus stop and tell a complete stranger your life story, to include the stuff about Uncle Pete’s gambling addiction and cousin Wendy’s illegitimate child – but God forbid we expose our naked bodies to a doctor without the protection of a paper gown?

The German nurse’s arrival interrupted my wonderings, and soon, my breast was on the bottom plate of the machine. She pressed a button to lower the top plate, and I watched helplessly as the device turned me into a French crepe. I felt twangs of pain in my left armpit as the plate mercilessly continued its descent.

“Are you feeling pain?” she asked. “No.” I whimpered, and she dropped the plate a few more millimeters. My eyes watered and I held my breath as the machine took images of my deformed parts.

Ten minutes later the nurse was done, and I felt like a deflated balloon. Mercifully, she said I could put on my shirt without a bra, and lay on the examining table to wait for the doctor to perform a sonogram.

“Hallo, I am Doctor Müller. Pleeze take off your shirt,” he pronounced upon entering the room, and I awkwardly pulled my shirt back over my head.

“Zo, how long have you lived in Deutschland?” Doctor Müller asked as he noisily squirted globs of clear gel from a plastic bottle onto my chest. “Flplpt! Flplpt!” the bottle obnoxiously emitted as I tried to carry on normal conversation. Before I knew it, he had performed the sonogram in a flash and pronounced me healthy and normal.

When the procedure was over, Dr. Müller shook my hand and left the room. With a fresh perspective of German culture, I puritanically slipped back into the security of my clothing and thought, “I could really use a beer right about now.”

Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com