Yes, no, maybe so.

"But can you do that, can you say 'no'?"

That's my mother, asking if it's possible for me to refuse the seemingly ridiculous treatment my least favorite doctor has suggested might be necessary depending on what she finds when she goes poking around during Friday morning's surgery. Which of course I'm having: a July Friday in the OR is practically tradition. How else to face the end the summer if not with a general anesthetic?

"Of course I can say no. My body, right?" I say, a little perplexed. But I can tell by her tone she's not convinced, though no Supreme Court decisions govern this choice. Is this some kind of generational thing? Some kind of Doctor Knows Best instinct with a side of Anything for My Daughter, even though she admits the proposed treatment sounds like terrible overkill, an ordeal to be sure?

Weird.

And so for the moment, I shake it off. Let's get to Friday first, and hope that the old fashioned Out Damn Spot option comes through instead. And if it doesn't, my medical luck running that way this year, well then we can have the heavy sighs, and the are you sures, and the I don't knows, and the if you say sos, but, in the end, the decider is going to be who the decider is going to be. Me.