This morning, while I was waiting in my car for alternate side parking to be over, I felt a strange lump on my left thigh. Naturally, my first thought was leukemia cutis, which I'd had before and which signaled my 3rd relapse. I thought about the lump on and off through yoga and immediately checked it out when I got home. There was nothing there.
Of course there was nothing there. But I'm gun-shy in March. Call it March Madness. It was in March 6 years ago that I was diagnosed with leukemia. I never liked March. It's neither here nor there. Bulbs bloom and a string of warm days makes everyone smile, but it's a brown, ugly month, last years' dead sticks you neglected to pull mocking you from every corner of the garden. The Ides of March sit sentinel to warn you that winter is still here and snow might bury you yet.
March isn't all bad, of course. There are some great birthdays in March, my daughter's, my friends Karen's and Patty's. There's St. Patrick's Day with corned beef. There's that college basketball tournament that to me is duller than dishwater--I don't have a horse in the race--but exciting for a lot of fans. There's much beer to be had in the month of March, and a lot of unnaturally green food.
March, you don't scare me any more. At least not until next year.