The girls I've known since puberty

Yesterday was my third mammogram. But if you want to add the additional images, then it as also my fourth and fifth.

The facilities at Swedish are absolutely serene and lovely. If not for the painful mammograms,  you might think you were at a spa. There is a private waiting room where all the ladies are wearing those awful hospital gowns. It does level the playing field -- changes us all into the vulnerable older women we are; no social standing or careers to hide behind, just chicks with tatas.

Last year, I decided to go to this annual torture fest with a friend of mine. We made our appointments together, went shopping afterwards, had lunch and even a couple of beers. A fun time was had by all despite my friend getting called in for extra imaging. Extra imaging is what happens when they see something on your films that warrants an additional trip through the breast flopperizer. If even that doesn't clear things up, they do an ultrasound. When my friend was called in for her extra imaging, it really freaked her out. She later said that it was so good that I was there because she could have really lost it without my support.

This was the first time I got called back for extra imaging. Unfortunately, my friend got called back at the same time. We couldn't help each other through because we were both in it.

They crank these plates onto your breasts with a ratcheting knob. Imagine Nigel's amp on "This Is Spinal Tap." It goes up to 11. This mammogram machine goes to 12. I'd even say 13. Actually, the levels are more accurately described as this, uncomfortable, painful, and I'd cut a bitch. The second time I went in, the tech went to I'd cut a bitch levels. I was bruised for days afterwards.

Each time I reentered the waiting room, less women were waiting. Ostensibly, they had gotten their imaging, been cleared, and cleared out. Not me. Oh no. And the time it takes for the wizard behind the curtain to read the film is all the time it takes for me to come up with a plan.

By the time I was lying on the table awaiting my last imaging -- the ultrasound, I had a treatment plan in mind. Go ahead, cut off both boobs but try your best to keep the nipples. Please keep them innervated because what's the point of nipples that can't feel anything. Then rebuild my breasts with my belly fat, leaving my abdomen flat as a board. Any extra fat beyond that can go on my ass, because that's the place my body is flat.

The doc came in and assured me that she didn't see anything too concerning. She did the ultrasound and said that the spots were likely from recent weight loss. She did give me the okay to claim psychological stress from the day's ordeal to earn a dinner out as opposed to having to cook. She also said that if I ever have to get a needle biopsy (a relatively minor thing which causes as much discomfort as a shot), I should go home, lie on the sofa and moan every fifteen to twenty minutes to earn at least a few days of dinners out. I am just going to put that in my back pocket for another time.

Just me and my girls. And to quote Lana from Archer, "Ow. Well, now they're droopier."

Dogs heal

My uncle is very ill. The doctors say that there is a strong chance he won't make it through the week. He's my dad's last brother. It's been a roller coaster these past few weeks because he was admitted to the hospital for a pretty serious medication interaction, but the underlying problems have become overwhelming. We had hoped that as soon as the first problem cleared, the others would follow suit. That has not happened.

But this isn't about that. This is about something that I pursued that I didn't even know was possible and I think would help people in the end.

My uncle's family dog is a Jack Russell Terrier. Fonzi is a clever dog who essentially trained himself by simple observation. He learned that when Uncle would ask someone to pass him the remote, he was referring to that black thing with all the bumpy chewy things on the one side. He learned that when Uncle would ask someone to get his slippers, he meant those soft fluffy things for Uncle's feet. After a while, Uncle just started asking Fonzi for those items and the dog would fetch them. He was Uncle's constant companion at home.

The past few days, things have taken a turn for the worst and it weighed on me that my uncle and his dog might never see each other again. My aunt said that the dog would sit in Uncle's chair and that she had explained to Fonzi that Uncle was sick in the hospital -- that Fonzi must understand.

Thing is, in the past, Uncle always came home after being in the hospital. How could Fonzi possibly understand?

So I set to work. I talked to my aunt at length about bringing Fonzi to the hospital. I think she was skeptical. I begged my mother to advocate for the dog visiting but my mom doesn't really care for dogs. I don't think she sees the point of them. Her loss. And I tried to get a hold of my cousins but I initially couldn't get through. So armed with a little bit of information I started making phone calls.

I contacted the charge nurse at the hospital. We had a long conversation and I told her that I didn't think it would be long so there was an urgency to this being arranged. She told me that they had a policy for animals visiting but it was rarely used. She wasn't fully familiar with it but she promised to work with the family to make this a reality.

I called Fonzi's vet and asked if they could give him a health certificate. Unfortunately, they have to have seen the animal within 30 days so that was a no go. I luckily got my cousin on the phone at that point and told him what the process was, who he had to contact at the hospital, but it all hinged on getting the health certification. My resourceful cousin was able to find an appointment for the dog for that very afternoon and today Fonzi was in my uncle's hospital room.

I don't know if Fonzi knew what was going on. From my brother's account of the visit, Fonzi was freaked out and barking when he arrived at the hospital. It was a strange place; lots of bright lights and odd machines. He was very agitated. But when he entered Uncle's room, his behavior changed. He calmed and was let onto my uncle's bed. He licked his master's hand and Uncle was happy to see his little friend.

I want to believe that this gave Fonzi a little bit of closure. At least he knows where Uncle is. Perhaps he doesn't know that Uncle is dying but maybe he does. Maybe he senses that this could be his last time with him.

But here is what I know in my bones. I know that if I were dying or grievously ill, I'd want my dog. I know that when I'm feeling a little sad she'll find me and curl up in my lap or in my arms. She knows the value of simply presencing me.

And I know that today, I gave my uncle a small comfort. Better than flowers, I did something from these two thousand miles away that was just as real and tangible.

I helped get him kisses from his dog.

My princess and puberty

She's turning 12 pretty darned soon; she's my middle baby, my first girl. And it doesn't come without its challenges. I'm not one of those moms who cringe at the idea of having "the talk." In fact, my kids might complain that I'm too frank about the birds and the bees.

There was a recent podcast by Dan Savage, the very popular sex advice columnist, that made me think that maybe I wasn't as open and frank as I thought I was. I thought I was incredibly open about sex and what is involved. I had pretty much written and rehearsed my script for the talk about sex having real adult consequences so make sure you're ready for those before engaging in sex -- of any variety:  safe, oral, or otherwise. But recently Dan, a father himself, talked about the parents' responsibility to cover the stuff they don't talk about in sex education classes. Sure we can talk about the mechanics, the diseases, and the dangers but have we ever given thought to the pleasure, the kinks, the exploration, heck -- the joy of sex. Maybe that's why they wrote the book with all those weird 70's era pictures, because there isn't a discussion about the joy of sex when you're in class at school.

So with another birthday fast approaching, I decided to go ahead and drop some knowledge on my daughter. All the kids get uncomfortable when I try to blast them with some knowledge. I think that is probably normal though. As I never had any kind of discussion with my mother, I wouldn't know how to be on the receiving end of such a talk. And because I'm pretty sure my husband takes the same tack as my mother does in this regard, it falls to me.

I've talked to my older daughter about the impending period coming her way over a year ago. That went fairly well. I insist that she carries pads and tampons with her at all times. We've had the talk about sex in so far as the "special hug," where the penis goes in the vagina and sometimes ends up with babies. We've talked about mucous membranes and disease transmission.

But lately, I've realized that I don't know how to broach the joy of sex. Not at all. Dan Savage says you have to do some of this like a "download." You talk, the kid listens. Sounds like something I could do.

Instead, my daughter rolls her eyes, puts her fingers in her ears and says, "lalalalalalalala," until I stop. During the pauses, I yell things like, "oral sex still counts as sex!" And, "please wait to do anything like that until you're much older." And, "boys in high school don't know what they're doing so you'd be better off waiting at least until college." That last sentence took a couple of breaks to go all the way through.

This may take a while. Thankfully, I'm starting relatively early.