February

I've never been a fan of February. In my whole life, I've only known 4 people born in the month, and two are mentally unstable. You've heard the whole saying of why February is only 28 days, etc. Well, that's because it's a rotten month. It's neither here, nor there. Spring is still far off, and the joy and delight of winter is decaying with the dirty snow in the gutter (well, not for me, but for you east coast suckers). I've always felt this way about February. For me, there is such a stigma surrounding the month that I planned NOT to have a child born during it. When I lived in New Jersey, I took my annual trip to the psychologist in February to find out why I was so down in the mouth. Now I realize that it was SAD, and February. And for me, when March came, life bloomed again.

Arizona is beautiful in February, but there is still a weird aura surrounding the month. Year after year, crazy shit goes down in February. Ten years ago, my dad had heart bypass surgery. That was my first serious drama that ushered me into adulthood in a big way. Four years ago, my dog and my parent's dog got in a heinous fight on February 2. One day I heard snarling and barking in the back yard. When I went out back to see what the noise was, I found Bernice and Annie covered in blood. Apparently they had been fighting over a bone. When I approached the nasty scene, I quickly realized that there was a strong possibility one of the dogs would not walk away from this fight. Blood was literally flying off the dogs, making the grass slippery. Both dogs were savagely attacking each others necks. It was as if they had been trained for dogfights. After using a hose, 2 bikes, and a trashcan to separate the two, I stepped in and tried something incredibly foolish. I pulled the dogs apart with my hands. Bernice miscalculated her jab at Annie, and bit me through the meaty, fleshy part of my hand. However, I held them apart long enough so that they caught their breath and come to their senses. I was bloody, wet and weepy. The bad dogs spent the next day lying in their beds, licking their wounds. For weeks their fur fell out in patches. It was gory and cool all at the same time. A good way to end the cursed month.

Three years ago, in February, my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer. My mother was out of the country, so I was the first call Julie made. She had surgery in March and April of that year, and is now in remission. Two years ago, in February, my sister in law's sister was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had a complete mastectomy, and it was later determined that she did have a malignancy in the "healthy" breast. Last February, the damn dogs got in another fight (another thing is my parents always travel during the month of February). This was the first fight the dogs had since their altercation three years prior. This time I received help from a landscaper, and the dogs didn't have enough time to do too much damage to each other. I was so pissed this time that I threw them in the frigid pool to clean their sores.

So, what's it going to be this year? Well, after a lot of thought, I've decided to schedule my tonsillectomy for February 15th. What not a better month to have a general anesthetic, a flaming fire throat, and mouth scabs. When I told my mother about all of this, she expressed concern. Almost as if I'm tempting my fate gods by doing this in my unlucky month. "What if you bleed too much, what if you have a problem with the anaesthesia? " she said. "Nah... I've just got some nasty tonsils and chronic sore throats to lose. And if I'm really lucky, ten pounds." I've been informed that most people lose ten pounds after a tonsillectomy. Can you believe my possible good fortune? Not only a healthy throat, but pants that fit. It looks like this year February might come in like a lion and out like a lamb for me. It looks like February might be the new June.

Postscript-My father was diagnosed with fibrosis of the lungs in late February. Next year, I'm fleeing to the islands for the month.