Seriously??

I'm good.
I go.  Every flipping year.
The Big Squish is, while not a friend, at least an acquaintance with whom I am on speaking terms.
One of those acquaintances while, you may not like them very much, you appreciate they could be useful even as they annoy the hell out of you.

I had the Big Squish on the 14th.
Got a call the following Monday:  The doctor wants more views of Leftie.
Let me translate that for you (or, rather, add in the language that was diplomatically omitted by the radiological tech): We think we see something on your film and we want to make sure before we scare the shit out of you.

Thursday last, I got re-squished.  Yeah, there's something there.

Even leaving aside the idea of contemplating my own mortality, the idea that there is something growing in me that shouldn't be there?  It's just creepy.  Seriously creepy.  It's like the MRI I had a couple of years ago that showed a 4mm calcification in my left frontal lobe.  Who cares that it may have been there since birth?  It's in my brain, damn it, and it doesn't belong there!
See?  Creepy.

Today, I met with a surgeon.  Friday, they'll stick a hollow needle into Leftie (aided by the Big Squisher - yes, adding insult to injury, I get to get squished yet again) and remove some of whatever's in there for analysis. 
Then, next Friday, I meet with the surgeon again to go over the results.

Given my mom's situation, I hadn't called her until after today's meeting.  I wish I'd called sooner.  Her insight into the issue (given her own two bouts with breast cancer) would have been helpful to have had prior to the meeting.  I hadn't thought of that and hadn't called because I didn't want to worry her unnecessarily.  At any rate, the conversation added another level to the "It's In Me And It Shouldn't Be!" freakout.  The initial results from the needle biopsy on her first round came back as cancer-free.  That hospital, however, routinely sends all its samples out to Johns Hopkins for more detailed analysis.  That second analysis showed cancer and, when the larger biopsy was done, that too showed cancer.  She opted for full removal and the eventual results showed the entire breast was riddled with tiny spots of cancer.

I was pretty calm until I talked to her.  Needless to say, I'll be calling tomorrow to make sure they send samples out for further analysis.  (I'm trying not to think about potentially having Leftie hacked off.  I'm kind of partial to the girls, actually, and that weirds me out nearly as much as the other.)

In the meantime?  There's something growing in me that shouldn't be there and I'll just be over here in the corner standing on an imaginary chair screaming like a little girl.

When even a planner can't plan...

Insidious.
Cruel.
Growing.

Cancer.

My mother had an emergency hysterectomy in mid-August.  They're pretty sure they got it all and, at the time they looked at the at-surgery biopsy (a cryo-slice), thought they'd not need to do anything else but...  isn't there always a but?  Turns out the kind of cancer that was swarming her uterus is one that spreads easily through blood veins and it's virulent.  A single cell that got free during the surgery could be enough to start a new tumor elsewhere in her body.  It's a rare form of cancer - so rare that the largest study of it involved no more than 60 patients simply for lack of patients to include.  She starts chemo next Wednesday - 3 rounds, then several weeks of radiation.  After that, if enough of her bone marrow has survived, she'll do 3 more rounds of chemo.  Clear cell carcinoma has a 5 year survival rate of 40%.

My husband went for a routine blood pressure check last Friday.  He mentioned to the doctor that he hadn't been able to pee fully nor had he been feeling all that well.  He had a more-than-walnut-sized growth and his left testicle removed this Tuesday morning.  His cryo-slice came back clear.  We'll get the full pathology report back in about a week.  I want to feel relieved.  I want to relax.  I just can't.  It seems too good to be true - even if they find nothing in the full pathology report, how long will I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop?  I was so good during the immediacy of the crisis - ok, just do what needs to be done... just keep swimmin', just keep swimmin'.  Now?  I can't focus on anything but that I could lose my husband to the same accursed disease that's stealing my mother.

In general, I'm an optimist.  I plan for the worst but expect the best. (I'll leave debate on whether that's the best way to approach life for another time.)  This time... I'm having a hard time with the planning for the worst.  How can I possibly plan for a life without my mother or my husband?

My mother and I have a complicated relationship.  It is not... mutually supportive.  But she's my mom.  And everyone, everyone needs their mom.  (Well, or someone to act the mother role.)  My husband... I cannot even begin to imagine how I would go about life without him.  From the emotional abandonment to the simple practicalities of raising 3 kids on my own.  How would we manage to live without John's income?  How would I make it through the coming years or, Lord in heaven, the teen years, without his emotional support?  How could I possibly get anywhere without his solid 'of course you can do it' behind me?  How could I possibly emerge sane at the other end?

This time, God, I'm not sure I've got this.  This time, God, it may be just too much... even for my little planner soul.

A Princess Fairy Dancer in a Big Floofy Dress

So, I recently came across this blog post:
http://blog.pigtailpals.com/2011/08/feminism-in-motherhood/

And it's been bugging me.

Somehow, I thought being a 'feminist' meant that one supported the rights of girls and women to define themselves (rather than being forced into or out of roles by society's dictates).  What is so damn wrong about a kid wanting a princess party?  What's wrong with a little girl wanting to wear a sparkly tiara and a big floofy dress? 

I have a degree from Smith, my favorite pants are cargos, my favorite everyday shoes are my Danner workboots, I'd rather shoot targets than go shopping but, damn it, I love wearing big floofy dresses and sparkly tiaras.  I took figure skating as an adult and I loved every single fucking minute of it (ok, maybe not the time I landed on my kneecap and saw stars but all the other minutes) and every fucking girly outfit. So why should I expect my daughter to be any different?  Why would I *want* her to be any different?

The reason I've been given is that "princesses are only someone by virtue of marrying the prince" - well, maybe in Disney movies.  So, should we now denigrate all the good work done by Michelle Obama or Princess Anne of Britain?  Because, after all, they're only somebody because they're married to... oh, wait... hmmm, Princess Anne is somebody in her own right.  Gee, whaddya know, so is Michelle Obama.

Shouldn't we judge a little more carefully?  Shouldn't we guide our girls with a little more discrimination than simply: "feminine = bad"?  Shouldn't we say, "y'know what?  Sparkly tiaras are cool and so are dance class and floofy dresses.  You can be Cinderella for Halloween.  And next year, you can be Tiny Pteranodon and the year after (this year), you can be Word Girl.  Wanting to be a princess doesn't preclude being something else.  And that's what we should be teaching our kids.  Our girls *and* our boys.

And, y'know what else is cool? Standing on your own two feet and deciding who you want to be - for yourself, not for someone else - whether they be misogynist or 'feminist'. You want to be a police officer?  Please wear your Kevlar for your mama.  You want to be a stay-at-home mom?  Feel free to call me when you're going bananas (because you will, I promise, go bananas at some point).  You want to be a fighter pilot?  Here's wishing you blue skies and smooth air.  (And get me a ride along!).  You want to be a fairy princess dancer in a big floofy dress and a sparkly tiara?  Have fun but no stealing my 4" shiny candy apple red heels with the little black ribbon bows, ok?