You know about Sleeping Beauty and Snow White and Ariel and Belle and all those other chicks who needed a prince to save them, right?

Have you met this princess?

Allow me to introduce you to the Princess-Who-Can-Defend-Herself.

She sits in my friend Susan’s office.

Do you know Susan?  How can you not!  She is this amazing blogger, astrophysicist, mom, writer, activist and oh yeah cancer survivor.

While I love the sentiment of  not teaching our children that the only way girls can be saved is by a muscle-bound man who swoops in on a blazing white steed–or beat up old truck for that matter–I do know when a princess could use some help.

Susan had an awful day yesterday–and I mean awful by ANYONE’s standards.  And yet?  She wrote a beautiful post about being lucky.

She blows me away.

I can’t make my friend’s cancer disappear–and damn I wish I had been put on this planet to do just that–but I can let her know that I am lucky to have her friendship, that I love her and I totally have her back if she does happen to run into that bitch cancer in a dark alley.  I’ll even bring a baseball bat to knock the wench out of this universe.

I want Susan to know that she is not alone.  Yes, the fight is hers, but she has an army of princesses (and princes) behind her.

Want to join me?

Take this badge.  Put it on your blog (it links to her post referenced above).

Why?

Because each and every one of us–we are lucky.

*for every blog that posts this button, I will find a way to donate $1 to Crickett’s Answer.  I’m totally stealing this idea from Kristen and Jessica,  but I thought it rocked and our friend needs us. Oh and if you want to donate money to Crickett’s Answer too, please do.

For about a year after the birth of each of my children I would have occasional panic attacks that left me bereft.  It always happened as I was trying to go to sleep.  I would suddenly be overwhelmed with the idea of dying and leaving my babies without a mother.  My heart would race.  My thoughts would spin out of control.  It was terrifying.

It’s not that I feel that I’m the best mother who ever lived.  I’m sure my sons would survive without me, but no one would love them–every cell of their being–with the blinding love that I have for them.  I grew them (well two out of three of them).    I know every inch of them.

When Elizabeth Edwards died yesterday, I could feel the panic creep around the edges of my heart.

photo credit: NY Daily News

My respect for Ms. Edwards was established long ago–long before I knew she had cancer.  Her brains, grace, love of life, love for her children, self-awareness and seemingly honest self-acceptance were all so admirable.  She’s the very kind of woman I would have loved to have worked for or had as a mentor.

Learning she had cancer was sad.  Realizing she might leave young children behind was much worse.

Hearing of her death yesterday was devastating.

You see Elizabeth Edwards is but one woman, but she represents so many more.  Too many more.

Elizabeth Edwards is the public reminder of the women–the mothers–in my life who are battling breast cancer right now or living with it as a looming shadow in their recent past.  It feels like every month I’m learning of another friend who has been diagnosed–another mother with cancer.

And much like those panic attacks of early motherhood, I’m sitting here today a mix of crazy emotions.  I’m sad for the death of this wonderful woman.  I’m sad for her children.  I am afraid for my friends.  I worry about my own health.  About my children.  I am angry.  I AM SO ANGRY for each child that will be left without a mother this year.

And yet I feel helpless.

We can give money.  We can raise awareness. We can participate in studies.

But I won’t be happy until we don’t ever have to mourn another mother with cancer again.

The thing about the perfect best friend is that you want everyone you know to meet her.

Forget that she loves you even when you’re a bitch. Forget that on a visit to your family’s she walked your infant nephew all night long–while sick as a dog–so that you could get some sleep.

Don’t even consider that she knows all the words to every 80’s song and will sing them with very little prodding or alcohol when you can’t remember the words. And don’t even take into account her phenomenal dancing skills that would have secured her a job as the spotlight dancer on Solid Gold (that again will be performed with no prodding or alcohol).

Those aren’t the reasons you wished she lived next door.

It’s her heart and her smile and her laughter and her kindness that make her your number one gal.

AND SHE IS WHY THE NEW USPSTF MAMMOGRAPHY GUIDELINES MAKE ME WANT TO SCREAM!

My best friend was diagnosed with breast cancer this year at the age of the 37.

You know why?

Because she had a mammography at the urging of her new physician just to establish a baseline.

A baseline!

The growth was the size of a grain of rice. One, tiny, little growth that led to a bilateral mastectomy, drains, chemotherapy, hair loss and the inability to lift her three small children (all 5 and under) for extended periods of time this year.

That baseline mammogram at 37 is what allowed doctors to catch her aggressive form of cancer before she even felt a lump–before it spread to other places in her body.

And now the United States Preventive Services Task Force (USPSTF) has issued a statement indicating that women don’t need to consider regular mammograms until age 50?!

There are no words to convey the rage I feel about this–so I direct you to my friend’s feelings on the issue.

The American Cancer Society IS NOT changing their recommendation that women begin regular screening at the age of 40. (I couldn’t be more proud to be part of their blogger’s council.)

I am so afraid that women will believe this government entity–that insurance companies will believe them too.

The thing about my perfect best friend is that she is with me today–and will be for a long time thanks to an early mammogram.

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You don’t need to rely on figuring out when your mammogram is due. Check out this tool to get reminders to schedule yours.

If this makes you angry too, get involved! Check out the More Birthdays Campaign.

Remember when Victoria Secret first came out with the Miracle Bra? You never needed it, but the moment they launched their Miracle Bra bathing suits you had one in your hands.

We all laughed when you tried it on. I think I commented that you now had a shelf on which to rest your drink…and suntan lotion…and my drink…and my suntan lotion. You brushed me off and proudly announced that your mom declared it the “two-carat” bikini–as in you were going to land a 2 ct. diamond engagement ring by wearing it on the beach.

I always knew that wasn’t what was going to do it. You know why?

Late one night out on the beach very much into our cups, you made some comment about needing to follow the campground rules. As usual, we all started calling you out.

“Once a sorority President, always a sorority president.”

“My mom said ‘Don’t go on the Potomac. It’s dangerous on the Potomac.'”

“You’re such a MUFFIN!”

You turned to me, now a college graduate, and tried to look me straight in the eye and slurred,

“I may be a muffin on the outside, but I’m a jalapeno PEPPER on the inside.”

I’m pretty sure I aspirated a marshmallow at that point.

So yesterday, as I sat here hundreds of miles away from the hospital where doctors were removing your breasts–and with them the cancer that was attacking them–I calmed my nerves and even smiled knowing that 2 ct boobs or not, you will always be a jalapeno pepper on the inside.

And NO doctor will ever be able to remove that.

I’ve been staring at this blank form for quite some time with no cogent thoughts coming forth. There are plenty of ideas, jumbled fragments, but I can’t seem to wrap any of them up into neat little packages.

And I think there’s probably a very good reason for this.

My best friend has breast cancer.

She’s 37. She has three children aged almost 5 and under.

I’ve known for a few weeks now–about as long as she has–and I think I’ve just been pretending it’s not true.

The doctors caught it early. She just went in for a check up–a routine physical–and the doc suggested she go in for a mammogram to establish a baseline. The doc didn’t feel anything. The mammogram didn’t show anything specific, just some thickening. They sent her for an ultrasound assuming they were just ruling things out.

She has cancer.

And they still can’t even feel the lumps.

That’s a good thing. The prognosis is good.

And I thought I was okay. I mean, I don’t have cancer. I can’t complain. So I’m fine. I’m the fine one. I’m perfectly fine.

EXCEPT WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO MY BEST FRIEND???!!!!!

I can’t fix her. I can’t make it okay for her. I can’t change things when she’s scared. I can’t make it better. And I hate that.

Each time my head starts in this direction, I just say shut up. You’re not the one who is sick. Just shut up.

But I’m afraid too.

When my aunt was diagnosed with cancer nine years ago, I was sure she was going to be fine. Six weeks later I was at her memorial service. I still think of her almost every day.

I’m so afraid to be positive about Pfunky’s cancer.

I’m so afraid.

Today friends are on my mind.

I just found out that my dear friend Lisa, who writes Midwestern Mommy, has cancer. She is 35. She has a little guy–a family. This can’t be. I wish I lived closer so I could do something, anything. Please go send her your thoughts. She’s much tougher than she thinks she is, but I imagine she’s going to need all the support we can muster right now.

I reached out to two friends today in desperate need to talk, and two friends were there for me. I want them to know how much their loving ears meant to me.

Redsy and D, thank you.

D, you let me know that I’m not alone when most people (you know who I mean) wouldn’t want to.

Redsy, you gave me a new perspective from which I now see potential rather than just barriers.

These three friends are on my mind today. I love each of you.

Clean margins!!!

Many days I look at the news, and I want to go and bury my head in the sand. What kind of world have we created for our children?? We work hard to teach them to play fair and be kind to others and then I look around at the adults in the news and wonder what role models they have.

And then I read WhyMommy and the hundreds of bloggers who have been supporting her throughout her battle with breast cancer and I breathe a sigh of relief. There are good people in the world. And their energy and love and caring for another they’ve never met renews my faith in the possibilities for good.

Susan has written so many posts over the past eight months that have inspired me, but this one really spoke to me–made me cry. So to Susan I bestow my nomination for the January 08 Perfect Post Award.

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The Perfect Post awards are sponsored each month by the lovely Kim and Lindsay. If you’d like to present an award next month, e-mail them and they’ll send you the latest award button code a few days before the 1st. If you’re interested in looking through past award posts, they can be found here.

The biggest surprise about blogging has been the incredible community that exists to laugh together, cry together, mock each other and when necessary bolster each other in times of need.

I know. I know. It’s been kind of serious and dreary here lately.

I’ve done nothing to embarrass myself (that much) lately, so there’s nothing there.

None of the boys have named any more body parts, so that’s a dry well.

I was pretty psyched that I got a mention on Daily Kos the other day, but not a referral from it. Harumph!

Oh! And I did get to sign my son’s not so stellar Social Studies test today. When did I become responsible enough to sign a test??!

I felt like I was forging my mom’s signature.

PS–The blog is pink for the month of October because it’s Breast Cancer Awareness month, duh!! Check your boobs. And learn more.

Sunday: I spent six hours sitting on either a plane that wasn’t flying or in an airport while my children were far away from me at home.

Monday: I spent more time sitting in an airport due to my son’s cancelled flight.

Tuesday: I discovered I had been walking around on a broken foot for a week and would be in a cast for at least the next three weeks.

This morning: I ran out of gas on the way to work–mere minutes from my office. Due to the bum foot, I had to wait for an hour and a half for AAA.

This afternoon: I read a post by WhyMommy and her justified anger.

I am grateful for the time I had to read my book on Sunday.

I am grateful for the extra time I got to spend with my son on Monday.

I am grateful that it’s only a broken bone.

I am grateful for the helpful man who brought me fuel and didn’t chastise me for running out.

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Cross-posted at Gratuitous Gratitude