The Cat Ate My Sermon

Okay. Most women know that every month they should be performing a breast self-exam. I never thought much about it, but did take some time every so often to poke around to make sure everything was normal. I mean, really, at 42 years old I never expected to actually find anything. I started getting mammograms at age 37 when my gynecologist lectured me on the need to establish a baseline. Fine. I went and got scrunched in the machine that was obviously designed by sadistic men. And a week later they called me back because of something shadowy. Turned out to be nothing. I learned that getting called back was relatively normal. At age 40, the mammo's became an annual experience. Walk in to the little room and wonder aloud to the technician, "has it really been a year since this torture?" And this year I faithfully went in at the end of March. Exam by the doc, and then off to be squeezed in the machine. A few weeks later I got the form letter that stated my mammo

So...it's been over two years since I wrote a real post. When I first signed up for this blog, I really had the intention to keep up to date. But then, over the past few years, things got pretty rough. Maybe by not posting about them, I felt like they weren't real. Or maybe I didn't want the world to have access to my business! Of course, the likelihood of anyone actually reading this is probably pretty slim, so why not write about it? I guess what prompted me to start back today is that I had to have Mulder euthanized on Thursday. When Scully died two years ago, I expected her brothers to outlive her by a decade. But in July, Mulder developed a coordination problem, that led the vet to believe he had some type of neurological disorder. Steroids helped at first, and we decided that once he started going downhill, I would show him mercy. On Wednesday he exhibited difficulty even moving, so the decision was an easy one (relatively speaking.) Now, this loss of Mulder