I'm Postive It's Negative

I like pregnancy tests. They are pass or fail and you don’t even have to study. I have taken a few in my day. OK, a lot- 4 were positive but only three ever materialized into breathing humans. But the second you pee on the stick, there is the agonizing wait to see if the “magic” line appears. That minute is a long, long minute. Confession: I have never wanted mine to be negative. There is always that tiny moment of, “What if?? Oh my, a baby?” And then, the small sigh of relief and strange lurch of disappointment when no lines appear. I now am past those days, I think.


During the recent surgeries, I had to take a pregnancy test every time I showed up for an operation. There is a Russian woman of a certain age, who works as an aid at the surgery center. Each appointment she would, in her heavy accent, request, “a tiny bit of urine.” I would donate and then wait on pins and needles to find out the results. Even though I knew I wasn’t; strangely relieved to hear her announce, “It is negative.”

Sher has asked me numerous times recently for a baby sister and I guess that’s what made me think of being pregnant. I hate disappoint her, but she already calls me her dolly’s grandma. I guess that will have to do for now. Laters.

On The Craft

I just found some old term papers from my college days (magna cum laude June 2007) not really that far gone, though it seems like a lifetime.  As I scanned through them, I thought, “Wow, I’m a genius, and an excellent writer!”  I should probably tack “modest” on the end just for good measure.  It was a gentle reminder that, yes, I should probably go back to school and of how much I truly like to write. My mom always used to say to us, “Foolish names and foolish faces always appear in foolish places.” This was her adage to remind us not to write our names where they didn’t belong; on bathroom walls particularly. She was very much against that. I had such a fear of appearing foolish that to this day, I have never scrawled my John Hancock anywhere it wasn’t allowed.  Some writers say that if they didn’t write everyday, they would die, Stephen King, I think in his book, “On Writing” was one, but I wouldn’t swear to that reference. While I love it, I have never felt that way. For me writing was less about the action, and more about having something to say.  I don’t like to write if I am not inspired, motivated, happy, or mad…..well you get the idea. I would say that I am a writer who must have a purpose. Less of a purist and more of a task oriented person, I suppose.  But that’s how it flows for me. I love a good, looming deadline.

Oh, and the surgery was a success. Now 6 weeks of radiation and I’ll be on to the rest of my exciting life.  Laters.

My Left Foot

When I was very young, about 5 or 6, I got my little toe stuck in the automatic door at Safeway. It was much more traumatic for my mother than me, as I don’t remember it at all. She still tells the story in vivid detail, down to her frantic screaming,” don’t let it cut off her toe!” at the store manager who was trying to release me from the door. I imagine that I was up to some sort of mischief in the first place, and that was how the whole event happened. I have nothing but a story to remind me of the incident at all-no memory, no scar. That is not the case with breast cancer. I feel like I am scarred for life and I’ve realized after wrestling with the mastectomy vs. lumpectomy decision that there really is no good option. I made a pretty long list of pros and cons for each, but in the end, this is a situation where one must make the best choice they can and pray that it all turns out well. I keep in mind that I am one of the lucky ones who found out early, that I have options, that I feel well. I have choices and others do not. Another surgery next week and that is my last shot to keep the right one. I might need that trumpet after all. Laters.