I got a little reminder in the mail the other day: “Hey, Linda, it’s time for your yearly mammogram! Give us a call to schedule yours today!”
It felt a little like getting those flyers in the mail for car dealerships. “C’mon down! Everything’s on sale! We’re makin’ crazy deals! Good credit? Bad credit? No credit? We’ve got the financing for you!”
So, awash with the appropriate amount of excitement, I called yesterday to schedule an appointment. The scheduling-lady-person on the phone said, casually, “How about tomorrow?”
Now, see, scheduling-lady-person, I purposely called on a Friday afternoon so that you would NOT say “How about tomorrow?” I figured the earliest you’d suggest would be Monday, or, if it’s your busy season or something, next June. Who stays open on Saturdays to do mammograms?
Before I had enough time to process what I was saying, I blurted out, “Sure.”
And so, in a half-hour, I leave for the mammogram.
And you can bet I’ll be taking notes for another book essay. After all, I already try to lighten the mood while I’m there by asking the technician (as she looks over the shots to make sure she got them right), “Can I have a few wallet-size for my husband?”
Yeah, that always breaks ’em up behind the heavy lead apron.
The trick will be coming up with mammogram jokes that haven’t already been done to death, but I’ll try. And the real trick will be communicating that humor without being tasteless. You know, more tasteless than usual, I mean.
Let’s face it: The dermatologist appointments aren’t all that funny. The general practitioner appointments are a snooze (except when they ask me to stand on the scale to get my weight and I take off my shoes, and then they ask me to stand on the scale again to get my height and I put them back on). The eye doctor visits just mean yellow eye drops, crazy Roy Orbison impressions in the car on the way home, and taking bets on whether this is the time I’ll hear the word “trifocals.”
So, the only funny appointments left are the mammograms.
Just thinking about that huge machine with the rotating vise grip is making me chuckle already. Yeah, um, no. But I’ll write about it. You can bet on that.