Nothing like a trial run.

It happened at this time of the year about fifteen years ago. I remember the Bradford pear trees were flowering; dogwoods and magnolias hung heavy with pink blossoms, and lilac scented the neighborhood.

I called for my routine mammogram appointment and the receptionist asked if I would be willing to visit the mobile mammogrophy unit. She rattled off a list of locations where it would be that month. I chose a date and location.

She said, "Five minutes late and your appointment will be cancelled; so be on time."

I left school after lunch and darted to the location. Hmmm, I couldn't remember exactly what the address was, but I knew it was by Dierberg's, a large chain grocery store.

I questioned myself all the way there. Was it the Dierberg's at 2900 or the one at 4300? I drove like I had a hot date, got off at the nearest location and spied the huge mobile unit, four minutes to expiration of my boob smoosh.

I parked the car, ran up the metal stairs, flung open the door, dug in my purse for my insurance card while the woman waited patiently.

"I'm here for my 12:30 appointment."

"Pardon?"

"My mammogram!"

"Ma'am, this is the Book Mobile."

I grimaced, groaned, screeched out of the parking lot with Mopsy and Flopsy in full swing and made it across the street to the upper end of Dierberg's parking lot where the girls met their fate, with one minute to spare.

"Hold your breath now, honey."

Hold my breath? I could hardly catch my breath. That mammy was a whammy!

Thereafter, I arranged to be compressed at the hospital.

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