Not only did the temperatures warm enough to give me the tease of summer, but I saw two more indicators that we will soon be shedding winter coats if not jackets. First was a restored 1965 Chevy pickup truck complete with historical plates. Most vintage vehicles hibernate to avoid the potentially deadly combination of snow and road salt.

The second sign proved there are optimists. Dueling garage sales, advertised in the newspaper, meant someone believed the weather forecasters much earlier in the week than even me and my rose-colored glasses.

I noticed the garage sales en route to a series of medical tests, including a mammogram. As anyone who has one will likely testify, there is nothing pleasant about having a body part squeezed into a clamp with one’s body in an unnatural position. I also have been having “issues” with my right arm for which I started physical therapy this week.

I wasn’t dreading the mammogram, I just figured letting the attending medical personnel know my needs and everything would be o.k. As it turned out, the pinching machine was more pleasant than the humans who ran the machines.

The mammogram technician started barking orders before I could explain that I would do what she wanted if she told me ahead of time and gave me the time to get myself in position. That didn’t seem to go over well since I soon felt that I was being pushed and prodded into place before words were spoken about lifting an arm, bending the back, moving my chin, etc., etc., etc.

The experience continued with the X-Ray technician. Push, prod, probe, poke. Pass on to next tester.

Finally, a human being with a smile on her face and a demeanor that restored my humanness, the ultrasound technician. She tried to slowly and painlessly remove a bandage someone else placed in my armpit over a suspicious spot. Originally it felt as if she was trying to pull hairs. I didn’t know there was a bandage there and told her to just do it quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The only disappointment to this final test was when I asked her, “Is it a boy or a girl?” I was rewarded with a chuckle, but when asked, she admitted that I wasn’t the first to ask that question. She did admit the previous jokesters were usually male. (Oh, and she told me it was twins – one of each.)

I received good news before I left the facility. Good enough to put the spring into my step.

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