Last night, I was too tired, too frustrated, and just plain crabby about my situation.  It's improved this morning with sleep and a proper cup of hot tea to start the day.  Usually, the begins at 6:30

a. m. when I roll myself from the comfort of my beloved Temperpedic to get the kids ready for school.  This morning, I had the blessing of finding my sons, Brando (Brandon) and Squibby (Benjamin) already dressed and ready to go.  Special K, my 10-year-old daughter, Kiana, requires delicate handling each morning.  She's not a morning type of gal and requires blasting with nitroglycerine to rouse from her REM sleep cycles.  The Teenager, Kirstie, seeks every available opportunity to slumber and could probably do so standing up at a Metallica concert.  My wonderful baby girl (not the PC term for a four-year-old), Evangeline, slept blissfully through the ruckus of backpacks, homemades lunches, and running sneakers this morning as we ran topsy-turby against the clock to beat the bus.... the bus being mom's mini van. 

My little blessing this morning were coming downstairs to find the dogs, Lily B.  and Donut the Great, wiggling butts and barks to see me.  "Momma Dawg," my nicknme for Lily B.  is all love, energy, shedding and gas (the kids call her "Farticus").  She's been a constant companion through this breast cancer journey since February.  Delightful moments are when she's lying across my feet while I research my way through BC information boards and sites, trying to figure out the latest medical term doctors throw out there.  Research shows dogs or pets help relieve stress.  If this is the case, Mamma Dawg has been far more comfort than any breathing exercise or Prozac could ever be. 

So, the kids are off to school and I'm momentarily alone (that's a rare thing in a house with five kids, two dogs, a washer and dryer, and my husband, the visiting hobbit).  My e-mail alerted me to comments on last night's Sharepost and I'm thrilled someone was interested to read my moment last night.  It was all about frustration and wallowing in an occassional moment of self-pity.  I scold myself for these little episodes, convicted I must be more like Jane Austen's Lizzie Bennet, all confidence and strong feminist character.  However, I'm more a Cowardly Lion.... bumbling forward in search of bravery as I pioneer the Great Cancer Frontier.    If I'm a lion, then my coat is mottled and badly in need of grooming.  The tail could use a good straightening and my paws are a bit worn down from chewing my nails.  I'm also practically a vegetarian now because cancer has scared me from ever touching red meat, especially WELL DONE, ever again.  It's all fish and organic veggies now.  I eat brussel sprouts and red cabbage.  What cat eats cabbage? Did I mention, I suck at bravery?

I left off last night at ADH vs. DCIS.  Of course, the DX is offical now.  The stereotactic biopsy was easy.  The only amusing part for me was the radiologist counseling me before the procedure.  It went something like this, "Well, Mrs. I, this is an elective procedure.  You don't have to do this, you know.  It can wait.  This is your body, and your choice."  I sat there wondering what this fellow was saying to me?  I was Little Ms. Cynic in the beginning of this journey, so all I could think of was feeling like a teenager getting a lecture at Planned Parenthood rather than biopsy information.  Yes, my body.  Yes, my choice.  But this is CANCER or the possibility of it.  What choice would I make?  I certainly was not going to pass on the opportunityfor a diagnosis and  allow the nasty little spot in my boob morph into a larger boogey man with more power.  (My cancer looks like "Slimer" from the "Ghostbusters" movies.  If it were only as simple as calling in Dan Ackroyd, Bill Murray, and what's his face!)    Of course, I was going to commit to the biopsy.