For a moment, the world stopped.

I like to laugh and do it as often as I can. Life isn't too serious to me, but I am a Cancer with a deep emotional range. I can go "zero to kitty" when I need to, but prefer not to. When I feel it coming on I just breathe deep, like Drew Barrymore in the movie Firestarter, and make the explosion dwindle to a a little pop. "PANT PANT OOOOOOOH....Just back off, back off"....and the fire of emotion flickers out. Just like Drew did it. Of course, sometimes I have a George C. Scott egging me on, like she did. Then all hell breaks loose. Meh, I'm human.

I'm also the kind of guy you want to be around in an emergency. I disconnect the emotion to deal with the emergency calmly. Then I go off and freak out afterward. Tears, sobs, lots of "OH MY GOD". You get the picture. The emotions get redirected, but they don't dissipate. Not like the "hello kitty fire".

Being a middle aged man....sorry, I have to deal with the fact that I just typed that. PANT PANT OOOOOOH. ...OK. I'm good. Being a man in his forties (Thanks Drew!), I have parents that are 80. Since my husband is a few years older than me, his parent are 90. We've run the gambit of health issues between the four of them. Dementia, COPD, falls, pacemaker issues, heart attacks, mini strokes and almost fatal blood disease. Walkers, wheelchairs, diapers, car accidents, oxygen and lots of fear. My parents are on the opposite coast, so when I get an emergency call I have to add a good 24 hours before I can even be close to helping in person. My in-laws are on the opposite side of town. Much easier.

Recently, I have been in awkward conversations with my mother about what happens if my brother retires and moves away. He is that last one in the area to help my parents. His kids recently moved (in the same month...that was easy for them to adjust to. NOT.) My two other brothers live in the south. I'm on the opposite coast. So...ding, ding, ding...he's the winner and gets to take care of them! Mind you, he is about six years from retiring, but my family doesn't like to wait until the last minute to create drama. We like years of build up. Call it the appetizer course. "I'll have the 'worse case scenario' with a side of 'we're going to die alone because our kids moved away'. Oh, and don't forget the soup. I'd like the 'don't worry about us' puree".

After one such conversation the other day, I sat on the floor playing with one of our dogs. I reminisced about my family, the health issues and what was to come in the future. As I half consciously rubbed my dogs belly and chest, I found it. A lump. No, a golf ball. A big, half squishy, half firm golf ball just under my dog's armpit. He's a Jack Russell Terrier. A golf ball size growth seems huge on his medium sized frame. The world stopped.

All I could hear was blood pumping in my head. All I could think of was my dog dying. My pal. The first dog I ever raised from puppy to (now) 11 years old. My parents and in-law health issues I have always compartmentalized to "be the strong one" and lead everyone through. But this little 19 pound bundle of wet kisses and purr-like growls had no way to tell me what was happening until I found it on my own.

Calmly, I turned to my husband and asked him to call the vet to get an emergency appointment the next morning. He was confused, of course, until he saw my face. Then he saw the little mound between my shaking fingers. I think the call took 30 seconds, tops. We had an appointment the next day. I was still rubbing the dog's belly as he enjoyed the back scratching the rug provided. Clearly, this enemy on his chest did not hurt him. I poked it again, hoping it was just muscle and I was confused. Nope. I got it right. I normally love being right. But not then. I would have given up being right for the rest of my life for that one discovery to be wrong.

The next day I was off to the vet. Our other dog, a German Shepard, has a little separation anxiety when he sees the Jack Russell go off without him. I'm talking Dr. Smith on "Lost In Space" anxiety. "Oh the pain! The Pain! OOOOOOOOOH!!!". Kind of like that. So my husband stayed home with him.

I love our vet. She is so cool, as are the other ladies in the office. I don't know if they get a kick out of a gay couple with two dogs that are drama prone, or if they are just amused by the dogs alone. Either way, they seem to really like it when we visit. She should. Our German Shepard's allergy issues bought her a new car. OK, maybe not. But surely a Hawaiian vacation or two.

I had my best "I will be calm and freak out later" smile on as she examined him. Her face didn't lie. It was serious. Not "you have to put him down" serious, but I could see she was grappling with what to say to me. The location of "the growth" is in the middle of significant nerves that are crucial to the function of the leg. It HAS to be removed, but it will be complicated. The surgery and the recovery will determine the use of the leg. Um....hello...we haven't even discussed what is inside "the growth" and I'm already envisioning his leg being useless. So I asked..."what about 'the growth'?" It needs to be sent off to be tested after removal. OK...gimpy leg and tests at some undisclosed lab. Got it. And then she got a crooked look on her face.

"I haven't been able to perfect a jock strap slash bra to place on a dog after this type of surgery."

The humor of the universe found a way to come in and rescue me. I don't know why that statement made me giggle so much, but it injected some very positive energy into me. As we wrapped up and I scheduled the surgery I had a different perspective. Sooooo...he has to wear a jock strap bra after the surgery. Will he be a "B" cup? Should the jock be more of a thong, so we can choose different colors? Will he be identified as a tranny in the dog community? For a moment, my head filled with something other than "this is it". It was delightful.

Of course the next week will involve some spoiling and extra treats. It will also come with some angst and maybe a really strong martini the night before surgery.

Whatever next week brings, I am confident of two things.
First, I am calm in emergencies and I will prevail.
Second, if the universe had to throw this at one of my dogs, it picked the right one. He's a tough little shit and it'll take more than this to bring him down.