Becky Holland
And, as of last night, add a Bichon Frise/poodle with a gimp in his back leg and a humanlike, mischievous glint in his eyes.
A few years ago, on a whim, I purchased a harmonica and decided I was going to learn to play. Granted, I am not in the league with Dylan or Kristofferson, but I can at least play a few recognizable harmonica tabs. In fact, I have three harmonicas now - one each in the key of C, D, and A - and I even have a neck harmonica holder. There is a red binder full of copies of harmonica songs, mostly easy-to-play hymns, mixed in with a few Beatles’ hits, on a table in my house. The table is next to the couch. The harmonicas are there as well.
Last night, the canine, Buddy, was on one end of the couch, sleeping, I thought, and I was on the other, talking to my mom on the phone.
THUD!
I jumped to see what had fallen. Buddy was sitting up, looking at me with innocent eyes. I went back to my conversation.
In a few minutes, Buddy jumped off the couch and appeared to be attacking something between his paws.
He was whining.
Or so I thought.
I hung up the phone and took a closer look at what Buddy was doing.
It seems that I have a harmonica prodigy on my hands. Buddy was playing with the harmonica and trying to get it to make some sort of noise, I guess.
After giggling and taking a few quick photos with my cell phone, memories of the stuffed frog, Clyde, who was murdered in our house after he wouldn’t make any squeaky noises any more, filled my head. I grabbed my harmonica and put it away.
Buddy seemed offended. So I took out another harmonica, for the first one would have to be cleaned, and started playing “Happy Birthday,” the only song I know by memory.
The crazy Bichon Frise/poodle seemed satisfied and went on a hunt for his chew toy.
Hearing the birthday tune reminded me of a special event occurring this week. Tomorrow will be my fourth birthday.
I know what you are thinking - that I did more than fracture just my left foot that maybe I “fractured” my mind. How can someone who turned 40 in January have a fourth birthday?
On March 24, 2006, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Tomorrow will be my fourth year of survival.
Cancer is all around us. You may have cancer or know someone who did. In fact, I would venture a guess that everyone reading this column could think of at least six people in their lives who have cancer or been touched by cancer somehow.
I am all for cancer research for all cancers and have been a supporter of the American Cancer Society and active participant in the Relay for Life events in my hometown for years.
But right now, women, this message is for you.
Ovarian cancer is the leading cause of gynecologic cancer deaths among American women.
According to the Cancer Society, only 24 percent of ovarian cancers are diagnosed at an early stage, when the cancer is confined to the ovary. Most cases are diagnosed after the cancer has spread to other parts of the body, making it difficult to treat successfully.
And, the ACS says, for the majority of women in whom the disease has spread beyond the ovary, the chance of living for five years after the diagnosis is 20 percent to 25 percent.
Become aware of your body and what it is telling you. Get educated, get tested. For more information on ovarian cancer, visit www. ovariancancer.org or check out the resources available through the Cancer Society Web site at www. cancer.org.
Never in a zillion years did I think I would have ovarian cancer at age 36 and never in a zillion years, after two years of twists, turns and craziness, did I think I would be here to celebrate my fourth anniversary of survival.
But I never thought I would have a Bichon Frise/poodle who could play the harmonica either.
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