today i found a lump. the size of a grape. in my armpit. the next 7 hours became a blur. the swirl in my head and the pound of my heart made it difficult to concentrate or form any cohesive thought except ticking off the items left on my bucket list. for real. because that's how i am built, try as i do to change it. one part of my brain goes into Crisis Management mode, listing the things that need to take place, prioritizing and managing. the other part of my brain gets all mushy and paralyzed. so it's a brain management thing - which side will win out. depending on the circumstance, they sometimes get equal time, making for a well-organized zombie. today, it was every man for herself, as i ran naked & dripping from the shower to google. as background: i am older than my father ever got to be. a mystery rash followed by a lump in his armpit was finally diagnosed as the lymphoma that took him. i don't dwell on things, but you have to admit, i have some real cause here. at least at 5am. dripping wet & naked. sitting on a doghaired couch. waiting for an update to update before giving me access to the world wide web of information that i needed in order to get dressed and get on with the day. and a cursory check of a medical site (damn them) with one eye open, found cause for one part of my brain to begin wringing it's hands and planning a trip to San Diego for a Michael DeMeng workshop that i can't afford. unless i am dying. then all bets are off. God bless my Dr for hearing the panic in my shrill voice when i said i needed an appointment TOday, and booking me, even when i couldn't tell them why...I'll tell you when i get there. that's all i could think to say. because i began to swim in denial, or maybe just started realizing that 2+2 does not always =4. she walked in and the waterfall started. a minute later, i'm naked again, and she's doing a breast exam including the armpit (NOTE: DO Your Self Exam and include your armpit. PLEASE). she asked me what i feared it was and i spouted it all...the history of cancer in my family, the symptoms i read (and have)...i told her about the trip i needed to take and other things on my bucket list, and how i have such incredible women friends and felt that their spirits alone could heal and i was afraid i would die before i got to make some art i needed to make but couldn't quite figure out yet. and she let me talk...as if once the door was cracked, the monsters kicked it wide and all my fears came tumbling out in a big stinky heap. and as i named my fears, they got smaller and smaller - the shadow of them lurking was bigger than their actual size, as it turns out. and then - so un-doctorlike - she hugged me. and her nurse sniffled. and she said i wasn't going to die from this lump. it wasn't cancer. and i asked if i could still go to San Diego, did she think? and she talked to me about how she has art inside her that's been nudging to get out, but she doesn't know what kind of art, so she's doing paint-by-numbers. and we agreed there's merit in paint-by-numbers, just based on the smell alone. and i warned her that Crayolas are a gateway drug. and the sweat stop trickling down my back and between my breasts and under my arms to my waist. and i believe i lost some poundage this morning. and there's a very good chance that i was blessed with a chance to re-prioritize some things even more than i just had a month or so ago. and all i could hear in my ears was Frankenstein yelling "I'M ALIVE!" by that time i had completely exhausted myself in worry. (a wasted cannibalistic thing, worry). i am home. i will nap. and then - i will make art. and tomorrow i will deal with the ever-growing auto repair bill. $2K and counting. like a telethon, i tell you. so for now - for right this second - i need you to know how very much i love you. and how very much your friendship means to me - despite my dramatic moments and curveballs in life. and i hope that i am such a friend to you. and if not, then i hope you have a friend that is, to you, what you are to me. and we will, each and every one of us, be rich.