doanwanna day

Ever have a day when you just don't want to do anything? I had a "don't-want-to" day today (doanwanna). Today, I doanwanna:

get out of bed
go to work
see my oncologist
drive for hours
cook dinner
wash dishes
get tests done
deal with grumpy people
work at my second job
be bothered with details
talk

I'm having a "mean and ornery" day. Just leave me alone. So what do you do when you just don't want to do stuff? Well, like all growed-ups, you do it anyway, though perhaps not too nicely. So I did get up. I did get dressed. I did drive to New Haven and the Yale clinic. I did find myself sitting in the waiting room (for hours) and not wanting to be there.

And while I was sitting there wishing I were somewhere else and DONE with this routine and process - never to need treatment for cancer again- I noticed a young boy sitting there with the same grumpy face I had. I knew he was the cancer patient because we were in a cancer waiting room, and he had the blue armband of distinction on his wrist, just like mine. Name, DOB, clinic number, religion, doctor, SSN - all your vitals. I'm surprised they don't include your bloodtype and cancer location!

So I turned to him and said, "Got cancer?"

He looked up at me with sad, tired eyes, his shoulders sagging, his mouth turned down at the corners, and slowly nodded.

"Don't wanna be here either?"

He shook his head and sighed and went back to picking at his pant leg.

"Well," I continued, conscious of the fact that his Mother was peering at me over the magazine she was reading, "what do you feel like doing?"

He looked up at me, studying my face to see if I were really interested, then he made a horrible face and stuck out his tongue.

Knee jerk, I stuck my tongue out at him and crossed my eyes. He wound his arms around each other and made an even uglier face. I followed suit. His Mom decided I was harmless and went back to reading her magazine.

Then I remembered how I had seen nurses blow up rubber gloves and paint faces on them, so I whispered to my compatriot, "I'll be right back." I snuck into an empty exam room and stole a handful of gloves. I sat closer to my new friend, and blew one up, taking a pen from my bag and drawing a silly face on it. He took the pen and added hair and bushy eyebrows.

One thing led to another and soon he was batting the thing around. Suddenly, something on his watch stabbed into the glove and popped it with a loud bang. Everyone looked at us, and his eyes grew wide. But in a second, we were no longer the center of attention, and his mother never said a word.

So I blew up another one and the game began in earnest. Draw silly faces and then bat it about until it pops. He began to smile, grabbing the pen and making wilder and wilder faces. I remembered how my friend with breast cancer and I let off this kind of steam once when she had gotten a bad report on top of a bad report.

We took a few dozen eggs and headed into a little park thick with trees. One at a time we picked up an egg and hurled it at the nearest tree, loving the loud crack and splatter of the contents. I totally missed all the trees with my first egg, but I got better as we kept it up. First we were timid and laughing and silly, then as we got bolder we got madder until we were just shouting our anger and hurling eggs with as much might as we could muster.

It was wonderfully cathartic. And the best part was we didn't need to clean up. The squirrels and birds took care of that for us. We laughed and cried and sat in the car afterwards warming up and letting the emotions play out. It took us awhile before we were ready to head back to work. We both laughed about it often afterwards!

We are taught to be so controlled, not to be a baby, not to cry when something hurts, not to lose our emotions or show them in public. But there are just times when you just get tired of it and you don't want to take it anymore. It takes stepping back to that child-like state of honesty to get it out. And that's OK.

It was a bright spot in a very long day of more questions, more poking (they actually became interested in the left side pain!) and a lot of sitting around. When I left late in the afternoon (how fortuitous - I managed to miss an entire day of work) I had not been told anything new or scary or different.

Mostly we wrote contingency plans. If this happens, I do that. If it happens when I am in Wisconsin, if it happens when I am in Connecticut, if it happens when I am in New York. If you have this symptom, do this. If you experience that, don't wait, etc etc. We talked about referrals, we compared doctors in various areas, we discussed what it takes to get my records (which are even more voluminous than the 2 boxfuls I accumulated in Illinois) from here to there.

He shook my hand and wished me well. And he warned me not to let anything go, to err on the side of caution. At the *first* sign of trouble, to check with the closest medical care even if it turns out to be nothing. And I walked out.

In spite of my lagging start, the day was OK. I was glad I met my little friend, and happy to remember the egg throwing incident and my other friend. I was relieved that they didn't throw me another curve and that I am cleared for my trip to Wisconsin. Now if I can just manage to get everything done before I leave!

Another tomorrow

So tomorrow (why is it that I am constantly thinking about tomorrows?) I go back to see my oncologist at Yale. He made this appointment fully expecting me not to keep it. Honestly, he assumed I would be recovering from surgery and unable to travel. Surprise! It will be interesting to see what he has to say in person. I naively think I will hear the same things I have been hearing, to get the ball rolling on having my records sent to Roswell Park, to say farewell and thank you. But if I have learned one thing from cancer, it is to NOT expect any sensible sequence of events. I am not holding my breath, nor am I fearful. It is just an appointment.

In fact, I don't even have any romantic ideas about sitting oceanside and drinking in the beauty of nature, of enjoying a few moments of solitude, of feeding my soul. No reflections on life, no focusing on the positives, no being brave in the face of potential troubles. Nope. No expectations. The day will be what the day will be, and I will take it as I find it. Or let it find me! Go ahead - I dare life to find me.

Once we invited my friend's young daughter (who was five at the time) to the house after church to play with my kids. She seemed happy to be included with my noisy gang despite her very feminine approach to life. We got to the house, and everyone was running about changing to play clothes, helping get lunch on the table, taking care of the usual business. Mary stood in the middle of the living room. She must have been overwhelmed with the bustle and confusion. But she didn't cry or pitch a fit. She just stood there.

At one point I ventured into the living room to check on progress, and noticed her standing there. I looked at her in surprise, and she crossed her arms over her chest, tapped her foot, and said in a v-e-r-y patient voice, "I'm WAIT-ing."

Puzzled, I said, "Waiting for what?"

With the utmost dignity, incredulous that she should have to explain such things to an adult, she responded with her most grownup voice, "SOMEbody needs to take my COAT off!"It never occurred to me that she needed such help. My boys had always been quite independent. But then, I had never had a girl and had no idea what would be required or normal for them. "I can do that," I laughed and helped her out of her coat, extending this extra care to helping her change, fixing her plate, sending her outside to play.

Me? I have *always* been extremely independent. I have never been one to stand patiently waiting for someone to help me out with things I can do myself. I have never played the role of the helpless female, despite research to the contrary which clearly shows helpless women get more attention (and HELP). I would rather run ahead and try my hand at things, even if I am not entirely sure what I am doing. I can learn. I have sought life eagerly, have run after it, have filled my plate so full it slops over the sides.

But now. Now I am learning to stand in the middle of the living room and wait patiently. Not for someone to wait on me, but to sort the options, see what the paths might have to offer, take just enough to fill my soul without slopping over the sides of the plate.

It's not unlike last night's walk home from the clubhouse after Drew and I had taken a swim. We walk up a grassy path to the top of the hill and down the other side to reach our building. Drew had run on ahead whooping and yelling, bouncing his ball, kicking it, chasing it further and further beyond me until he was out of sight. I struggled up the hill, shivering in the cold of the evening air and the wet of my bathing suit. Halfway up the path, I spotted a baby bunny nibbling tender grass growing alongside the flaming red rhododendron bushes. I stood stock still to watch. Quietly, I moved a bit closer, then a bit closer until I could see the frightened bunny's sides heaving rapidly. He stayed completely motionless, eyes wildly casting about. I sank to my knees and just waited, hardly daring to breathe.

Slowly, timidly, after a long pause, another bunny who had been hiding in the bush crept out, followed by three tiny little new born bunnies. They sniffed nervously about, taking a guarded step then freezing, over and over, reaching for the sweet blades of new grass, chewing, eyes rolling about wildly, ears twitching.

We sat there, the five bunnies and I, for a good ten minutes in the setting sun until they quietly slipped away past the honeysuckle branches and down the hill into the pine grove. I stood, stretching my cramped knees, and began again my trek up the hill towards home. Had I raced ahead like Drew, I would have missed the whole thing. Had I run towards the first bunny, I never would have known of the other bunnies, or the babies. I would have missed so much, and I wouldn't even have known what I had missed. Life had come to me.

There is bad stuff about having cancer, but there are also unexpected benefits. This one, learning to let life come to me, learning to be patient, learning to let tomorrow take care of itself and come as it may, this is a good thing. So tomorrow, I will see the oncologist, and see what life brings.

The Turtle Samaritan

Drew and I were in the car waiting for the bus to come. We were parked at the end of the complex drive facing Slater Road when a monster black truck with darkened windows came down Slater Road slowly, hesitated, inched forward, then pulled into the drive of the church across the road from us.

I looked at Drew. Drew looked at me. How peculiar. What on earth was the driver doing? It made us both nervous. He backed into Slater Road, almost hitting an oncoming car. Drew locked the doors of the car and I considered shifting into reverse and getting the heck out of there.

The truck driver had turned his vehicle around and parked at the edge of the curb just beyond the complex entrance. He jumped out of the truck and I became really concerned. Drew said, "He must have dropped something out of his truck and is trying to find it." I thought so too for a minute until I realized that his windows had been tightly shut.

He was pacing about in the middle of the road, looking down. He waved his hands about to flag down cars which were screeching to a halt from both directions. Slater Road is a cut through and heavily traveled at 8 am.

Then I saw it. In the middle of the road was a medium sized snapping turtle, wending its way to the wetlands swamp area at the base of Waterford Commons property. The same swampy area that the heron inhabits. The truck driver resisted his every urge to pick the thing up and put it out of danger, eagerly pacing back and forth as if he could somehow hurry that old turtle along. Cars were backed up nearly to the traffic light and well around the corner from the stop sign.

No one honked, gestured, tried to go around - everyone just sat still and waited until the beast was safely on the sidewalk. In minutes, traffic had cleared out, the truck driver had climbed back into his vehicle and taken off, and Drew and I were left alone to watch the gnarled creature amble unconcernedly and laboriously across the grass until he slid far enough down the hillside to be lost from sight in the bushes. We never heard a splash, but I am sure he made it safely to his warm rock.

After Drew climbed aboard the bus, and I was on 84E headed to work, I saw by the side of the road a dead deer. It was folded nearly in half on the shoulder of the road, no blood and guts, but no signs of life either, its head twisted at an awkward angle. It struck me how these two scenarios - life (or the lack thereof) for the slow and life for the quick - are similar to the way cancer can affect your life. Sometimes cancer creeps up on you and slowly progresses in some sort of predictable way. People can see it coming and have time to help you along, to do what can be done to stay out of the way, to take time from their hectic schedules and tolerate a small change in their routines. Other times cancer jumps out of nowhere so quickly that no one has time to stop or get out of the way, and damage gets done.

OK, so its a slightly squirrelly analogy. I guess what I'm trying to say is how much I appreciate it when people stop and take time out of their busy lives to assist with stuff when cancer allots time to be taken. And I am glad the cancer didn't hit me so fast that I didn't get a chance to deal with things before it was too late.

I'll get to work now, with a big THANK YOU for all the turtle samaritans out there who are impacted when a cancer patient crosses your street and you patiently help out.

More than a manicure

Part of getting ready to travel to Concordia is taking care of the spring sprucing up of self - you know, getting a haircut - short for summer - having a real manicure, not just a self inflicted one. Shedding the winter dryness, letting spring sweep though all aspects of your being. So Saturday, while Drew was still fast asleep, I schlepped over to the mall (just around the corner from my apartment) and visited the Nail Salon. I signed in and waited for the next available manicurist to call my name.

Despite the holiday weekend, they were bustling. Everyone was all business, pummeling customers through as efficiently as possible without sacrificing quality. Next. Next. Next. It was OK, I wasn't interested in pampering myself, just in taking care of things. My eyes wandered for the umpteenth time over the wall of nail polish bottles, trying in vain to find the least offensive color. Not that I normally have a problem picking a color, just that I wasn't getting ready for a concert or some special event where I knew the color of the outfit I would be wearing. I really was interested not in looking gaudy or attracting attention or matching an outfit, but in strengthening my nails that are so worn from working in the clubhouse cleaning bathrooms and scrubbing gunk off stuff.

While I was concentrating on the wall, a young lady appeared to my right and said, "You pick color?" I almost jumped since I had not seen her approach. "No," I sighed. "I would rather not pick a color." "OK," she said. "Just plain. Come with me." That was easy. I can do just plain. She began with the pedicure first, and started to turn on the massage part of the chair, and I stopped her. "No massage," I said, too tired to deal with a lot of being jostled about and hearing the noisy humming of the motor. "You easy,"she replied. "I like easy. What you name?"

"Esther," I said. "What's your name?"

"Liu." I had to ask her to say it three times before I got it (she was wearing a face mask that muffled her voice some).

I'm not sure just when we began to connect, but as she drew the warm water and slathered my feet with lotions, I relaxed. It felt so good to have someone touch me with care and I appreciated her attentions. She appreciated being appreciated. I was not there to be waited on or expecting to be treated like some kind of princess. I was just a tired work-worn body who normally doesn't get this sort of treat, and I noticed each ministration of care with gratefulness.

As the young lady worked, I glanced around. The other women there were having much more complicated things done - acrylic nails, special designs, etc. They were fussing about little details, in a diva-like manner. Its not like they were paying a small fortune for the service, but you would have thought thousands were riding on the outcome. There were few smiles, and much scrambling of workers to placate them.

I closed my eyes and let Liu move me about, handling the details with tender care. I let my tiredness simply be there, not trying to hide it or make excuses. She saw it and acted accordingly. I never mentioned that I had cancer, or that I had had a demanding week or that I was tired. She seemed to either know, or knew enough to not need the details. For such a young person, she was very astute. She became unconcerned with the queue of customers waiting. She was not paying any attention to the pressure of business.

We had entered another reality, one hard to explain. I have experienced this level of gentle loving care when I was taking care of my boys, especially when they were very young or very sick. I did this sort of tender massage for my Grandmother when she was so ill, and for my friend Leslie when she was in the hospital after her cancer surgery, long before I ever thought I would find myself facing cancer. It is an inexplicable bonding between two beings when neither one is either demanding or being dutiful. It is a free giving of self to someone who appreciates and needs a bit of TLC. And it makes time and reality take a back seat to simple kindness.

When I looked into her eyes, I saw love and concern. I wondered if she had experienced a family member who was dealing with health issues and had learned the importance of encouraging through gentle touch. It didn't really matter. She understood. She did what she knew was needed. That spoke volumes. After she completed the feet, we moved to the hands part. She took the same care with my hands as she had with my feet, with the added luxury of music! I had shut my eyes partly to avoid the bright lamp that helped Liu see exactly where to trim the dead skin and where the quick flesh was.

As she held my hand, she began humming. Did she know I was a music lover, a singer, a musician? Did she realize how amazing this gift would be for me? It was a quiet little song, very Oriental in nature, and extremely soothing. As I listened with pleasure, she became bolder and added words. I didn't understand them, but I could sure imagine what the song must be about. Suddenly she forgot that we were smack in the middle of a busy nail salon. It was just she and I together experiencing the healing of the moment. She sang unabashedly and beautifully, repeating the little song over and over until I could hum it. And I did hum along, adding words when it was repetitious enough for me to anticipate them. I'm not sure when the other salon employees joined in, but one by one, they added their voices to Liu's and mine, first the deep bass of the operator next to us, then a timid tenor across the aisle, followed by the girls near the front.

No one stopped working, but *everyone* who worked in the salon joined in. Over and over we sang the beautiful little song, the whole salon part of the venture, including the boss who had been in the back room. He came out and stood near the cash register, nodding and smiling. The tenderness of the song overcame the gaudy mall music that filtered into the salon, and the noise of the crowds racing back and forth in front of the doorway. We drowned out the whining of the tired children being dragged along and the crying of the babies begging to be held. For a good ten minutes we sang together, sharing the sound, sharing the zeal, sharing the joy of moving beyond the plane of the ordinary into the extraordinary. The other salon customers looked about perplexed, not sure what to make of it, not knowing whether to join in or what. And slowly, just as imperceptibly as it had begun, the song died away as if it had not occurred, until it was just Liu finishing the manicure, humming softly.

It was magic.

It was way more than I had expected.

It was much, much more than plain.

It was the most amazing manicure I have ever experienced.

I wandered out of the salon lighthearted and filled with joy and wonder. I never asked what the song meant. It was too precious and rare a moment to destroy with mundane words. But I will carry Liu's courageous gift in my heart for a very long time.

Nook

Today was so summery you longed for the beach. I had a meeting at the Office of Diversity in the morning, and on the way there, I discovered a delightful little nook tucked behind the Benton Museum by the Wilbur Cross building. In a bower of leafy trees sat a square fountain pulsing its clear water three feet into the air. Nearby a weather worn bench wore a shawl of white flowering bushes trimmed by the sentinel greens of long-gone daffodils. It was teasingly inviting.

But alas! I had to get to the meeting, so I scurried past, listening to the water splosh against the square foundation and promising myself that I would stop by the "road less traveled" on my way back to the library. The meeting went well, and my colleague was a delight to chat with. Minutes stretched into over an hour while conversation strayed from topic to topic as we got to know one another better. We shared openly cancer experiences as she had just attended her good friend's funeral, and expressed her concerns that there must have been something more that could have been done, how she felt her friend had either been in denial or just given up without much of a fight. Ovarian cancer. She went so fast. Months really.

I left uplifted, but late. I passed the tantalizing fountain, greedily taking in the coolness of the little nook, marveling that so near lunch the benches were completely unoccupied on so glorious a day. I would check in, take care of a few things, and come back for my own lunch. One of my staff had returned from being out for a week, facing cancer herself, having a procedure done. We needed to talk, so I took lunch in my office with her as we shared experiences, talked about ramifications, bemoaned the torturous waiting periods to find out next steps, whether more will have to happen, if the surgery would be enough, how crappy one feels afterwards, the fears, the pains, the interaction with the medical community - all the common things we now share. It was a good conversation. We cried a bit, we hugged, we connected.

But the day was passing. I longed to take a break and go to my newly discovered nook and settle in and absorb the beauty of the flora, the music of the water, the song of the birds. I had to take care of a few things before the holiday weekend, and while I was at the desk, I encountered a faculty person with whom I had connected in the fall. She had flown home to Italy to have her cancer attended to; back where her family could help and support. She looked wonderful now, full of smiles and so tan. She told me how long it had taken her to get her energy back after the surgery. No chemo needed, they got it all. But the tiredness, while not keeping her from teaching, had stripped her of life's fun, life's little pleasantries. At long last, after nearly a year, she was beginning to feel as if she were coming alive again, worthy of her name Gloria. I totally understood that.

Four o'clock. I wanted to finish editing a document for my colleague who had brought me the long lasting bouquet of flowers. In fact, she had brought me another one - pink roses so fragrant they make you melt with pleasure - and this bouquet will be as long lasting as the first. What a joy to open your office door in the morning after battling with a teenager and fighting traffic and struggling from the parking garage to the library, and find quiet beauty awaiting you, just as you left it at the end of the previous day. Continuity. So important. So we talked, and then I decided there was no time to sit in bowers of nature and meditate. It was nearly time to go home, and my trek to the garage was in the other direction.

I felt sad all the way home until I realized that I had in fact been in a bower of joy all day! Talking with good people about important things, sharing experiences, encouragement, support. How precious is that! And how much more productive than sitting by yourself on a splintery wooden bench being splashed by clorinated fountain water. Ah, live and learn. It was a very good day.

Under a Cloud

So often when I am driving to work or making the short trek to my parents house, I observe little wisps of clouds hovering over the side of the mountains. Usually there are patches of rain associated with the clouds, and often the entire sky will be overcast, the day misty. As you drive up one side of a mountain, you drive into the rain cloud. As you go down the other side, you exit the cloud.

Today, I had the weirdest experience. The sky was blue with few clouds. The weather clear and warm. The sun bright and shining. As I was driving *down* a hill, I looked ahead and saw hanging in the air a pure white cloud that sat on the road. As I approached the cloud, the sky above me began to darken, like driving into a tunnel. There was no rain, no fog, no mist. Just shadow. I've experienced that when clouds are high in the sky, but not when they are low hanging. It was so odd.

One would expect rain, a storm, limited visibility, mist - something. But there was none of that. Just a bit of darkness (as in lack of sun), with no cloud formation overhead. Just a clear view of the blue sky above, and the memory of the white cloud before you drove into it. And as suddenly as it happened, it was gone. I was back in the sunshine like nothing had happened.

It reminded me of that verse that talks about clouds that promise rain but don't deliver. Maybe that's what this cancer test is. Looks like a storm should accompany from the results of the test, but perhaps its just a failed delivery. Looks like other storms I have experienced. Should give the same results. But for some reason it doesn't.

Time will of course, tell. For now, I will just be happy with the warmer weather and my plans to lay on the beach in Wisconsin, watching the gulls wheel overhead. Its a good summer coming.

Next Steps

Things are moving along at their inevitable pace. Today I wanted nothing more than to find one of the delightful little nooks and crannies that are ubiquitous on this campus and just sit and soak in the warmth of the sun, the beauty of the landscape, the quiet of a campus on summer slowdown. But alas! There was little to no sun, not much warmth, and absolutely no time to sit and reflect. That will have to come later.

Now there are thousands of details to plan, transitions to be made, ways of letting go here and connecting there. In a way, that's good because it does not give me time to think about what may indeed be going on here. Can I really just get back to living life, or is this thing still hovering in the background just waiting for a chance to resurface? Of course, I refuse to think that. I way prefer to approach life as if everything were hunky-dorey and exciting.

But the constant tiredness and the aching add that tinge of reality that keeps me from giddily floating off into the sunset. So I must choose to continue as if nothing were wrong while knowing that in good time, if there is something more to face, I will be given the strength and support to handle it gracefully.

Meanwhile I have been so amazed at the outpouring of support from everyone - even people I do not know have contacted me with words of encouragement and support. I am so thankful for it all and find myself shaking my head in wonderment. It gives me energy to actually do stuff!

So the next steps for me are planning for the 2 weeks at Concordia immersing myself in sacred music and drinking in the restoration of being in God's good presence, enjoying Christian fellowship. Then there will be finishing packing, transferring duties to someone else, completing endless paperwork, changing contact information, taking up residence in the new place, finding new doctors, new mechanics, new stores, settling in to a new apartment, getting a new table and couch, decorating - wow! This could be fun. Connecting with friends I haven't seen in a long time, getting to explore possibilities, perhaps even setting up Jairus House.

For those who haven't heard my hairbrained scheme, I want to make a place where people dealing with or recovering from cancer can come apart to a place of great beauty and be restored. It comes from the story in the Bible of a man who had a daughter who was very sick. He came to ask Jesus to come to his house and heal his daughter. While they were on their way, someone came from Jairus' house and said that the daughter had died and there was no need for Jesus to come. But Jesus went anyways. He brought the girl back to life.

And here is the interesting part. He had to tell the parents to feed her and get her out of bed. Its not always intuitive as to how to help someone recover from a long and serious illness and return to normal. If there is a normal. As a cancer patient, I returned from the dead at least once along the way when things were touch and go. But even trying to put your life back together once you are free of immediate health threats is not easy. You discover as you go that there are residual effects. Chemobrain was a big one for me. The tiredness, the internal damages, the heart issues - they all surface and must be dealt with after the main event.

And that's just the physical symptoms. How do you even figure out the emotional toll, the spiritual drain? How do you putting your life back together? I'd like to create a place where people can come aside from life's stress and strain, surround themselves with beauty and goodness and learn to take a deep breath again, learn to unwind, to trust, to feel, to connect with God, to deal with things so they can be nourished and restored.

Well, I will take each step as it comes. And at some point looking back, I suspect I will see God's plan in all of it, and smile at how sensible and well ordered it was.

The Verdict

I apologize for not posting the last few days. Its been a bit hectic. Things have been moving in unexpected directions, and I have needed to take care of a bunch of things in order to keep up.

So on Thursday, I called the Gyn/Onc as directed. The receptionist said she would put my name on his call back list, and we discussed when he might be able to call so I could make sure I was in my office. She said after 3 and before 5, and I said after 3:30 since I had a meeting until 3:15. The day went by fast since I was catching up from 2 days of being away. I had dropped the ball on a number of projects, and had to reschedule numerous meetings and adjust deadlines, apologize to people about not coughing up the goods. I was in my office at 3:30 as agreed. I had a meeting going on, but the people knew I might have to excuse myself to take a call.



No call.



I waited until 5:15 before I left, and felt at a loss since I would now have to wait until Friday to try and get in touch with him again. I know he is busy. Me too. It's an exercise in futility to try and sync our schedules. I wondered if he had email and whether he would be willing to at least leave me a voice mail message.



I was rather down once I got home. Drew was at the clubhouse with a friend swimming, and I was alone, moping, when the phone rang. It was the doctor, and his words were not at all what I was expecting. Basically, the upshot was that the additional tests still did not reveal the location of the mass. He referred me back to the colorectal doctor for followup - can't remove what you can't find regardless of what the tests show.



There are now some results of the earlier treatment showing up in the testing, and needing followup. Besides the chemobrain that I have known about, things like heart issues and nerve damages. They are thinking I will need a couple of years of looking at these peripheral health concerns. Survivorship care is a new idea and not too well defined as yet. So I realize I need to be in a better position to be able to manage my health, my son and a job well. Here where I am I haven't the kind of systems around me that make doing this easy, and the job is too demanding.

I gave it a lot of thought and prayer, and in accord with my parents encouragement, I have accepted a librarian position in Rochester, NY. When we lived there before, I had a lot of friends, I know the area, I can minimize my dependence on others when I am not feeling well, but at the same time Drew can connect with a good school, friends from before, and most everything is within walking distance so he will remain functional even when I am not.

The apartment complex we lived in before is about a block or two from where I will be working, from the church, from a grocery store - all the basic necessities. The church has a parish nurse program to assist those with health limitations. There is a well known cancer clinic in nearby Buffalo where I will get a referral.

On top of all that, the College knows about the cancer and is OK with it. They agreed to support me in my MCM degree program, and will consider letting me teach as adjunct faculty in music. My start date is July 1.

We are packing in earnest now. I have about 50+ boxes completed, and more empties to fill. Drew is so excited he is really going to town on his things. Having been given this reprieve, I decided to go ahead with one 2 week session at Concordia. That will be the first 2 weeks of June. So I have 2 weeks to begin strategizing about how to offload my current responsibilities, 2 weeks to step into a world I absolutely love and immerse myself in worship music (I have plans to work more on my article about Psalm 23 choral settings), then 2 weeks in CT to transfer my work to the appropriate people. I will have time in Wisconsin to walk on the newly remodeled beach and let God speak to my soul - an mind/emotion/body/spirit retreat and quiet treat. The campus once was a nuns place and the peace and calm hover over the campus still like a shawl of God's grace that has permeated every inch of ground and building.

My last day here will be June 30, my first day there July 2. I have already contacted Roswell Park (the cancer clinic in Buffalo) to see if I can get an appointment before I leave here. So we are in a whirlwind of activity at the moment. I believe this is the Lord opening up the way for me to get into a much more supported position doing what I love doing.

So for now, I will likely not have a chance to post as often. I will still ramble on, but not so much about cancer concerns until such point as they may rear their ugly heads again. I will likely write a lot while I am at Concordia as I always am inspired by being there. Maybe that's why it is taking me *so* long to complete this degree!

I cannot tell you how much it has meant to hear from so many of you and to know that you are supporting me, praying for me, encouraging me, sending me words of encouragement. While I know I am not out of the woods yet, I remain optimistic that this is some sort of incredible joke - tests say yes, body says no. I vote with the no part.

While I feel a bit as if there is some sort of time bomb ticking away inside, other than the dull pains in the wrong place, and the tiredness, I am fine and will simply hang on to that. Meanwhile, I hope we stay in touch. Its been wonderful staying connected to you all. I hope your summer goes well and you are fully blessed and happy. Please drop me a line and let me know what you are up to. And feel free to check the blog from time to time - provided you don't mind a bit of drippy schlock (-:

Another today

Today I refuse to think about any of the unpleasant things.

Today I will only think about the good things that happened.

Here are a few:

*I got a number of boxes packed before I left the house this morning.
*I had a delicious black forest sandwich for lunch.
*I didn't attend one meeting or answer any phones.
*It rained like gangbusters and washed all the green pollen out of the air
*I am feeling better and the pain is subsiding
*I got to make some new friends (I may not ever see them again, but we had a lovely conversation about North Carolina and grand children)
*I drank a gallon of water - a scarcity in many places these days
*I sat in the flower garden in the middle of the hospital and rocked in a rocking chair - there were robins there and beautiful flowers in bloom
*I saw a deer grazing in a meadow
*I got a wonderful ecard from my good friend (She sends me them all the time - they are such a boost to my sagging spirits!)
*I bought a new blouse - AND it was on sale
*Tomorrow's Thursday and I can call the doctor and see what is happening!

All in all, not a bad day.

Curiouser and curiouser

How inevitable that tomorrow turns so quickly into today. And today began with my cardinals singing me awake. I opened the blinds to a gray and overcast day with a spring chill to the air. Drew obviously remembered what today is because I only had to call him twice! My drive to work was pleasant - I listened to my favorite pianist, and remarked once again at his delicate phrasing, his powerful command, his absolute control - all made to appear so effortless you are only aware of the beauty of the music, and every time you hear it, you become aware of something new.

Work flew by, and soon I was on my way to see the doctor, fully expecting to get the game plan, dates in places, know what to do when. I put on some worship CDs and sang at the top of my lungs all the way there. The truckers I was passing must have thought I was crazy, but I sang myself happy. First the paperwork, then meet the intern, then a thousand questions. External exam, meet the doctor, more questions, another external exam, then the internal one.

"Hum." Probing and poking. He shook his head. "You're going to hate me, but I need to do that again." More probing and poking. I think he made up a few places to poke. "That's odd. We're going to take another look at the scans. We'll be back."

I should have known it would not be straightforward. It never seems to be with me. They return, puzzled. "Have you had a hysterectomy?"

"No."

"Well, that's curious. Are you sure?"

"I think I would remember something like that."

"I'm having a hard time making sense of things. I'm going to ask you to do a few more tests. Sit tight and we'll see if we can get you in today."

They do. I go from waiting room to waiting room. I feel like a science experiment. I am most distraught by the internal ultrasound. It hurt. I grit my teeth, and finally I can't take it anymore and I say "Ow - ow!" The technician is engaged in a focused conversation with the guy who will read the test. Their heads are bent over the screen, they are pointing to stuff. "Yeah - take that one."

"Hey! Stop!" I plead. The technician looks up surprised. "Does that hurt? It shouldn't."

"Yes!" I say, tears streaming down my cheek. "It is excrutiating."

"Huh." They consult and agree to continue externally. Great. Now I will be gooey everywhere! At last I am finished. I can go. No worries about rush hour traffic, now long since subsided. I am weary. I see the little chapel with the beautiful stained glass doors. I go in and sit. I should call Drew and let him know that I am leaving now, that he shouldn't worry. But I don't. I just sit. I do not think. I do not move. Slowly, the hecticness of the day quits washing over me. I can see the quiet gray blue of the walls and chairs. I take in the altar with its beautiful flowers. I lean over to smell their gentle fragrance. There are several small pads of paper and pencils on the altar, and a basket filled with what I assume are prayer requests. Why not? I fill out a little piece of paper with my prayer to God, fold it, and add it to the hundreds already there. I wonder what agonies others are dealing with. I resist the urge to read any. Instead I pray for the others who have opened their hearts to God. I kneel by the open Bible and read Psalm 103:

1 Bless the LORD, O my soul;
And all that is within me, bless His holy name!
2 Bless the LORD, O my soul,
And forget not all His benefits:
3 Who forgives all your iniquities,
Who heals all your diseases,
4 Who redeems your life from destruction,
Who crowns you with lovingkindness and tender mercies,
5 Who satisfies your mouth with good things,
So that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

Yes. I am renewed. My strength is returning. I can drive home. No game plan. More details to see to tomorrow. Call them on Thursday. They hope to have some news by then. Huh. Not the way I thought the day should go. But then, I am in God's hands. He will show me the right way. I will be OK. I go home to lay on the couch and nurse my wounds.

Tomorrow. . .

Tomorrow

First, I'd like to thank *everyone* who sent me ideas about and links to funny stuff. And it really is funny stuff. From Victor Borge to Dudley Moore to angels by kids to Garrison Keillor to PDQ Bach! I am so happy to have more stuff to laugh at. And my card wall is growing - thank you to all who are sending me cards (-: It makes going to hear what the doctor has to say tomorrow a bit easier, knowing how many people are praying for me. Is it twisted theology to think that the more voices that lift your name in prayer, the more likely God is to answer? I suppose so. But it's encouraging anyways.

Tomorrow. I like the sound of that word. I hope I will be able to use it for a long time. There are no guarantees, of course. But wouldn't it be nice to take for granted that you will do something tomorrow? That you of course will experience the milestones in life - the births of your grand children, the day you retire, the weddings of your sons. That tomorrow you will learn a new piano piece, finish knitting that afghan, see your primroses bloom, whatever.

For me, tomorrow means that at long last I get to see Dr. Schwartz (should a cancer doctor have the name black?). At least I don't have to spend the morning thinking about it. I have meetings and deadlines and commitments at work that have to be attended to. Perhaps that's good. And don't think I don't appreciate the fact that I am upright and walking and able to eat real food at the moment. I am grateful every morning that I can sit up unassisted and dress myself. I know there may be days ahead when I might not be able to say that.

But tomorrow - tomorrow - I will hopefully get the game plan. I have not reminded Drew that I will see the doctor tomorrow. He is happy not thinking about my stuff because what happens with me makes his life tricky. I heard two people the other day debating whether they would want to know if/when they were going to die. One didn't want to know, he preferred just living a normal life and being surprised. The other felt it was important to know because you could spend time making sure everything was taken care of and you were ready. You could do things with the people you love that they would remember fondly after you died.

I thought about it a bit, and I prefer to just live every day as if it were my last one on earth. That way, you are ready whether you are facing death or not. Rather easier said than done (one look at my office will tell you that!). Anyway, I refuse to think on it tonight. I have a solid night of deep sleep planned and I'm not going to pass that up! So - I will see you all tomorrow. And with the best of news I hope. Later.

To Mom for Mother's Day

Do you remember when I was in seventh grade? All the girls had to take Home Economics and learn how to cook and clean and sew. What a misfit I was in that class. I was the consumate tomboy, climbing trees and swinging from the monkey bars, not some petite girlie girl with perfectly manicured nails and a penchant for dresses and lace. Mrs. Mee, our teacher, disliked me from day one. When we were learning personal hygiene, she held up my hands and used me as an example of how NOT to look - broken nails, dirt under the tips, sunburnt and bug bit skin. She made me scrub until I practically bled to get clean enough for her hold my hand long enough to show me how to file my nails properly. I never had the patience for such worthless time consuming activities. I was not one to sit daintily on the edge of a chair and watch others having fun. I wanted to be in the thick of things, dirt and all.

When we did the sewing unit, and we each had to make a skirt that we could actually WEAR, I tried. I really tried. We didn't have the money for me to go to the fabric store and buy a pretty color of cloth. I had to use what was in the closet. You sewed so many outfits (remember the checkered poodle outfits you made us girls?) and there were lots of scraps there. I just had to find enough of one color to cut all the pieces out. The only cloth with enough fabric was a plain maroon cotton piece. I wasn't crazy about the color, but it would do.

How you must have smiled at my impatience. Who knew there was so much preparation to do? First wash the cloth, then iron all the wrinkles out, then straighten the selvedges, then identify the bias, cut out the pattern pieces (careful - don't make any ragged edges), lay them down in a dozen different ways to get the best placement, making sure they face the right direction, pin it all carefully in place without lifting the fabric off the table, slowly cut them out and be sure you cut right number of them - the list went on and on! You had to baste the pieces together first before you sewed them for real, then you sewed the same seam again, and sealed the selvedges from fraying. O good Lord! I couldn't believe how ridiculous the whole ritual was. Who in their right mind would do all that? Just go buy a skirt for crying out pete.

I finally finished the darn thing, with minimal mistakes. One single bit of a stitch showed on the inside of the waistband, and the hem was a bazillionth of an inch uneven. I got a B for that project, the first and only B I ever got in my life. And I vowed never to sew another thing again as long as I lived. I had to wear the blasted thing on the designated day, much to my humiliation (I NEVER wore skirts, ever, except when absolutely forced to) and the day couldn't end fast enough for me. Besides, all the other girls were showing off their beautiful skirts and specially purchased sweater and sock sets they had gotten to match. They all looked beautiful. I was miserable. I tore off my nemesis the moment I got home, stuffed it in the back of my closet, and gave it away as soon as I found someone desperate enough to want it.

But you! You not only sewed lovely dresses and shirts for your kids, you actually stayed up late nights to sew tiny little outfits for my Barbie dolls (yeah, I know. Tomboys and Barbie dolls - what a crazy combination). You made evening gowns, outrageous beach outfits, bridal gowns, zippy pantsuits, winter parkas, ski ensembles, opera coats, sexy underwear, office girl suits, casual wear - my Barbie was dressed better than anyone in the family! And all out of scraps of stuff left over from our outfits. Hours and hours and hours of painstaking needlework, all done by hand. The stitching was so tiny you must have used a magnifying glass to see it. The snaps looked huge by comparison. And on top of doing all that (it must have taken you the entire year), you splurged to buy the spikey high heels and snazzy purses that you couldn't make.

Why did you do all that?! For a mouthy kid who never appreciated all your hard labor. I loved those outfits and played for hours with Barbie, inventing all sorts of adventures - many of them inspired by the outfits you made. I never realized how much of yourself you invested in me, how much you cared that I was happy until much later in life - after I had kids of my own and saw things through different eyes.

I gave all those amazing clothes to my sisters as they came of age to be interested in Barbie dolls. How could I have failed to see what a treasue they were! If I could go back, I would have kept them for myself. I don't think anything even remains of all your hard work but my memories. And I do remember. I remember colors and fabrics and Barbie suitcases stuffed full of your love. I remember the Christmases when I opened those carefully wrapped gifts, each set more wonderful than the last. I remember them strewn across the floor of my bedroom, half of them inside out. I remember the tiny little hangers and the beensey shoes and the hats and scarfs. And I love you for doing that. I have never done anything half so nice for my boys. You are my inspiration, my best friend, my champion.

There are many definitions of love, but one of the best that I know is a slinky Barbie doll evening gown of turquoise silk with matching shawl carefully embroidered with little daisies that fit Barbie like a glove and provided the perfect tool for imaginative evenings of play for a temperamental coming-of-age teenager who would never grow up to be anything but a tomboy.

Thanks, Mom, in case I never told you how much I appreciate all your hard work.

Love,
Your difficult oldest daughter and biggest fan,
Esther

Celebrating my brother's wedding

Today I went to my older brother's wedding celebration. I am so happy that he has found someone to care about and someone who cares about him. Loving and being loved are the most sought after things in this crazy world.

The day was just perfect. Drew and I drove from Connecticut up through Massachusetts and Vermont and over into New Hampshire, a lovely 2 1/2 hour drive under dreamy skies of swirling white and light blue (yes, its totally possible to navigate through four states in less than 3 hours!). Summer had spread over the hills and mountains her skirt of green brocade in every imaginable hue from bushes so pale they looked almost white to pine trees so dark they looked black. The vibrant green grass in the meridian was splattered with bright yellow dandelions. Here and there white allysium crept over a stone wall or across a meadow. It was glorious.

The feast was held at the Jesses Restaurant in Lebanon, a quaint log cabin structure with appealingly appropriate decor including an enormous moose head (we stopped and took a picture of a road sign that said "Moose Crossing"), bear skins, red lanterns, hanging canoes and all sorts of rustic klediments. It was a simple, elegant, understated time of celebration with family and close friends that the couple told us they felt would make their earlier wedding ceremony complete. They had married earlier in Janice's home with just family around for personal reasons.

I haven't encountered many weddings of couples in mid age who have discovered someone special with whom they desire to begin anew. If the wedding feast is any indication of the marriage, it will be quite remarkable. When things didn't go according to the program, they just quietly adjusted and took things as they unfolded - a most enviable approach to life. First we had time to meet other family and friends over a cool drink. Then my Dad blessed the meal and we all broke bread together, enjoying the fabulous foods - teraki chicken, grilled salmon, succulent beef. I was fortunate to be sitting next to the bride's sister, and caught a glimpse of what life has been for Janice.

We watched as Janice's granddaughter Morgan, with a little coaxing to overcome her sudden case of shyness, began the simple sharing by walking the couple to the front of the room, scattering flower petals to brighten their path. The couple expressed how their children and grandchildren are very much a part of their union, and gave gifts from their hearts as tokens of their love. We absorbed the words spoken by all who were willing to share, blessing the couple in thought and song, remembering good times, speaking of how knowing these precious people has enriched their lives. Some of the most touching and significant words were spoken by Janice's son Michael who affectionately calls my brother Pa, and who shared how much my brother has come to mean to him.

Our time together, this celebration of life and love, ended as pleasantly and quietly as it began. It is an afternoon I will treasure for a long time to come - seeing my brother so happy late in life, knowing his path will be eased and his heart filled with joy and laughter. I envy him the gentle touches, the close hugs, the meaningful looks, the deep kisses they shared so openly with us. Fortunate indeed are two souls who find each other amidst life's pain.

Somehow the long drive home was peaceful. Drew slept part of the way, and I had my music to listen to. Wonderment turns through my mind at having witnessed such tender companionship. I know so few couples who truly appreciate each other. I always knew my brother was unique. I am not surprised that his gentle nurturing self has found its niche.


Below I include the thoughts I shared with them (they had asked everyone to bring a writing, a poem, a memory to share).

I have known Peter for 54 years, and thought perhaps I would share a bit of what it was like growing up with Peter. Here are a few memories that I hope capture something of the way things were:

Dear Janice;

I bequeath to you my brother Peter - Peter Samuel,

-my prematurely born brother who, though he lost his twin brother at birth and his sight was impaired by the efforts to save his life, has turned out to be a man of rare maturity, a man of enviable insight.

-my precocious brother who, at the age of 2, bopped me over the head with a can of spinach and sent me flying head over teakettle off the front porch steps in my baby carriage.

-my daring brother who, in grade school, performed amazing acrobatics on his bicycle once too often, wiping out and chipping his front tooth.

-my inventive brother who, in high school, built a computer in his bedroom before computers barely existed. The floor of his bedroom was so littered with capacitors, wires, electrodes and the like that you couldn't see the rug.

-my genius brother who was so smart that college was too boring to bother with and who preferred to spend his time hiking the Appalachian Trail, learning through experience and exploration.

-my coordinated brother who once found himself hanging upsidedown from the front seat of his jeep after he negotiated a turn just a bit too wide to avoid a construction truck.

-my tenderhearted brother, whose green thumb is legendary and around whom animals flourish. You should ask him sometime about a black border collie named Mollie.

-my gifted and talented brother whose writing touches the tender places of your soul and whose photos capture worlds fast becoming invisible or disappearing altogether.

-my shy brother who is at this moment shrinking with embarrassment and whom I love and appreciate a great deal.

It is with solemn joy that I share my supportive older brother with you, a woman who has seen beyond his gruff exterior and has recognized him for who he really is – kind, loyal, sensitive, honest, and caring.

On this occasion of the celebration of your marriage, I wish for you a romance so classic that people will remark on its unusual and enduring qualities for generations to come.

I wish for you an enjoyable journey together filled with enough adventure to prevent boredom and enough routine to alleviate stress.

I wish for you the comfortable companionship of two souls looking out for each other, blessed by God, family, and friends, and sharing a long and happy life. May you have not just the wedding of your dreams but the life you have always dreamed of.

Laughter

Its supposed to be one of the best medicines. "A merry heart doeth good like a medicine" comes to mind from my days of memorizing Bible verses. I half remembered that the other day when I was checking out my gooey romance flick, and grabbed a couple of movies labeled "uproariously funny comedy" that turned out to be mildly amusing. I recall that there is a whole institute in upstate NY dedicated to laughter as a healing art. "Mirthful laughter diminishes the secretion of cortisol and epinephrine, while enhancing immune reactivity." Or at least that's what they say.

So I am ready to laugh heartily. Only one problem. I need a list of things to either watch or read. Google searches turn up the same horrible stuff that gets shown on that TV show the world's funniest home videos - usually at the expense of an innocent person. I have a real hard time with watching someone get hurt or humiliated. To me, that's not funny. I guess my sense of humor has changed over the years. I'm not sure *what* I would find belly-splitting funny these days. I remember reading the Joy Sparton series of books when I was in junior high school, and laughing over her antics. But I tried reading them after I had a kid or two of my own, and they didn't seem so funny anymore. I guess humor is age specific. Maybe I have turned into an old hag for whom there are no jokes written!

My friend sent me a YouTube video of a kitty playing piano - cute, but not side splitting (though I really liked seeing it). I have some joke books that I should probably take a look at - one by Garrison Keillor. Perhaps that's someplace to begin.

Well, if you have any suggestions, please let me know. Perhaps a bit of laughter would help me forget that I just used up two whole sick days that I will need later on. I know it was better to use them before I got real sick, and I sure was grateful for the rest. But I know there are times coming when even if I want to, I won't be able to push myself and go in spite of not feeling well. Ah, but we cannot go there. What is done is past, and the future not yet arrived, so we will just take each day as it comes, and look for the best in each moment. Leave the details to the good Lord.

On the mend

Today I spent the day sleeping, and it felt GOOD! Long about five o'clock, I began to rally, and Drew and I stepped out to pick up a package at the office. It was nearly summer outside, so warm with perfect blue skies. The tulips are glorious reds and yellows, nodding in the slight breeze. We parked at the office, right across from the strip of natural wetland (the clubhouse is nearly a half mile from our building, so I took the lazy way out and drove down).

The water level is still high from the earlier flooding, but the rushes are winter brown and rustly. A duck flew across the windshield of the car, so close the irridescent green blue of his feathers startled me. Wow! It was then that I saw him - our resident heron. He is early returning this year, and generally does not allow himself to be seen. I have never seen him with a mate, always standing solitary on a clump of marshy grass, quiet and motionless, the white crest of his head poking up above the surrounding browns.

I wonder what brings him back year after year alone. His presence is a huge draw for the residents, and many of the retired couples bring their grandchildren to see him. He will not stay visible long. I don't know if he has other hangouts in the area - perhaps his mate is nested on another wetland area, and this is his getaway spot. Or his fishing hole. His comings and goings intersect with our lives obliquely, and perhaps he comes to gawk at us as much as we come to gawk at him.

Drew comes out of the office with a box. One of my wonderful friends has sent me some delicious English treats - perfect for a light supper. We drive back up the hill with full hearts, drooling over the goodies, sampling the white chocolate cranberry cookies, and smacking our lips. Sometimes even a quarter of a day can be most pleasant.

Bad Night

Between the hacking up a lung thing from my allergies and the side hurting thing from the cancer, I didn't get much sleep last night. OK, I didn't get any sleep last night. Normally, I would have just gone to work anyways, but the added tiredness (maybe from yesterday's all day retreat where I did some presenting and was out of the normal routine) was enough to make me call in for both jobs and go see my doctor. Maybe it was also realizing that I need to kick this thing before I see the specialist. I can't very well have enough energy and stamina to fight cancer and heal from surgery if I am still working on little stuff.

So the doctor said I have a sinus infection. He gave me the appropriate prescriptions, and was very kind. But I decided there was more to it than just that. The vitamins I have been taking were what I had on hand, not exactly fresh and new, and almost gone. So I hied me to the vitamin store where I was appropriately overwhelmed by the sheer number of selections. You can't just look at a handful of varieties of vitamin C. There's natural, organic, famous name brands, with acerola, with rose hips, with bioflavonoids, ester-C - in fact, three whole sections of floor to ceiling shelves to scan and pick from. Strategies needed! First I eliminated everything that had junk or objectionable stuff in it. Then I looked at price (holy cow - really? $100 for 150 tablets???), then narrowed it down to the parts I thought were really necessary. THEN I read what they had to say about their products and ditched everything that sounded like mere hype. So I ended up with a half dozen, and picked the middle of the pack. Same for the multiple vitamins. I could have been there all day.

But I left with a new bottle of one a day vitamins and minerals, and a small bottle of vitamin C. If I like them, I'll get more. Who has time to make these decisions when there are more important things needing attention? Then to fancy grocery store (we don't have a Wegmans, but the Highland Park markets carry specialty things) where I was able to get some fresh carrot juice and organic yogurt. I already had strawberries and bananas from the last grocery shopping. I renew my commitment to drinking more water. Its hard to remember to do that at work (plus you have to deal with the inverse water breaks). So I dream up a strategy to remind myself to drink more often. I will take 5 marbles to work with me and put them in front of me on my desk. When I leave my office, I will place them in my chair. Everytime I return to my office from a meeting, desk hour, or errand, I will have to pick them up to sit, and that will remind me to take time to drink (I suppose if I were an alcoholic, I would not have this problem). Ya think this will work? Maybe. If not, I'll try something else.

I am nearly out of Olbas, so I will switch to White Flower until I can find a place that sells the Olbas. And I decide I will make an appointment to get a massage since the coughing has made my back sore. I'll aim for early Saturday morning before I leave for my brother's wedding celebration. And tonight I will get the rest I need so my body can rebuild. OK, I am tired from all this effort. I am on the way home, stopping just long enough at the library to post this blog and check out an old movie for tonight. Something drippingly romantic - the horrid 'chick flick' that my boys so disapprovingly wrinkle up their noses at. That and a good hot bowl of chicken soup followed by lemon honey tea should do the trick. I am relaxing already.

Facing Forward

One week. Doesn't sound like a lot of time, yet it stretches ahead of me like an eternity. Part of me wants to hurry up and see the specialist and get the details so I can move forward, make plans, take care of things. Part of me wants to delay as long as possible having to face unpleasantness, pain, feeling crappy - let me just enjoy what I have now, like a student hanging on to the end of summer. Part of me wants to focus on putting the whole ordeal behind me as quickly as possible and moving on with life.

I guess it must be similar to what a soldier feels while being transported to a battle zone. You know its coming, though you don't have the details. You aren't sure if you are ready to handle whatever you might encounter despite what you have been told. You know there is a chance you might not come out of it alive. You wish you would wake up and find out its all been just a dream and you are safe from all harm.

One thing I refuse to do - worry over anything that might be. Most of what we worry about never comes to pass. So I don't cross bridges until I have to. I don't allow myself to comtemplate the "what ifs." I have faced many unpleasant situations before in my life. Some of them huge like the death of a child. Some of them small like owning up to having done something wrong. In all of them you learn, you develop strategies for facing forward in the good times and in the bad.

As I think back, some lessons came the hard way early on. One situation stands out in my mind, from when I was in elementary grade. Every year, the church Dad was pastoring at the time held a rummage sale. I loved rummage sales. I'm not sure where the name came from. Perhaps its because people rummaged around in their attics, cellars and garages for things they could donate. Perhaps it came from the huge assortment of stuff that filled every nook and cranny of the church fellowship hall, and you had to rummage through all sorts of things to find what you wanted.

It was fascinating to behold all the oddities, the pieces of the past, bits of history, samplings from lives. They revealed a great deal about people that you otherwise would not have known. We had in our congregation a number of older women who were either never married or long widowed, many of them from families of old money. They would bring their costume jewelry, their stoles and furs, their old fashioned elegant clothing still smelling of moth balls.

There would be a delightful assortment of lamps, puzzles, books, odd pieces of furniture - it was grand to wander about taking in the marvels. We kids never had money for such stuff, just a handful of nickels and dimes - enough to buy 1 or 2 little items of interest. Money we earned usually went for shoes or clothes or a grinder and Coke at the local sub shop.

One year, Miss Keck, a staunch elderly "blue hair" as we liked to call her, brought a kicky little fox stole with a real fox head on it with little black beady eyes that shone brightly from the depths of the reddish fur. I had never seen anything like it, and thought how marvelous I would look in such elegant attire. It was over $5, a lot of money back then. I counted my pitiful handful of change - not even a dollar's worth.

I asked Mom for the money, and she thought about it, but it was just too much to indulge the fleeting whim of an impressionable young girl. She said no. Divide and conquer, I asked Dad. I should have known better. He would never approve such silliness. So I left the sale and wandered home to think it over. I don't know what made me think of it, but suddenly I recalled that Dad always had a ton of change in his pants pockets. Surely he wouldn't miss it if I just borrowed some money from him. I could earn more money babysitting or cleaning, and put it back before he would miss it. I was certain that even if he noticed, he wouldn't mind since I was only borrowing it.

It took less than 30 seconds for me to rifle through Dad's closet checking all his pants pockets. Sure enough there was a ton of change. I carefully counted out enough to make $5 and flew back to the church. Miss Keck herself waited on me at the cashier table, complementing me on my good taste, happy to see that someone young had a bit of sense about things. I put the stole about my shoulders (it must have looked jarring against my dirty tee shirt) and strutted home like the Queen of England.

Mom stopped me at the door, curious to know where I had gotten the money. I told her I had borrowed it and would work to pay it off. She looked suspicious, but didn't question me further. I thought everything was AOK. Until later that night. Dad noticed right away that money was missing from his pockets, and it didn't take them long to put two and two together. I was called on the carpet, and I 'fessed up. They were not willing to let me pay it back. I'm not sure why they decided on the course of action that they took, but the upshot was that I had to return the stole tomorrow AND get Dad's money back.

I spent hours trying to think of a way to avoid the humiliation and embarrassment. Dad had said that I had to tell them WHY I was returning the stole. He was not content to just let me say I had changed my mind. I had to tell stern Miss Keck that I had stolen money from my father, and that I had bought the stole under false pretense. Good Lord.

I spent the entire night dreaming of all the possible scenarios that might play out the next day. The closer I got the the opening of the rummage sale, the more nervous and upset I got. After all, I was the pastor's daughter, and I was supposed to be perfect. I figured this was hot enough to get written up in the local paper. Local pastor's daughter turns bad apple. I had worked myself into a real tizzy by morning, imaging all the horrible things that could happen to me for my wickedness.

You would have thought I was headed for the gallows for a hanging. Dad was not content to let me go in on my own. He wanted to hear me say the truth, so he stood in the hallway, listening. I knew there was no escape. I was going to have to tell those sweet old ladies at the table what an awful sinner I was, and beg not only forgiveness, but for them to revoke the "NO returns" policy clearly printed on the sign.

I hung my head. I spoke in a whisper. I near about cried. I confessed. I waited for the explosion, the tirade, the lecture on immortal sins. Nothing. No one said a word. Miss Keck handed me the $5, a little smile playing around the corner of her mouth. That was it. No one called the police. No one gasped in horror. No one slapped me or called me names.

I turned to leave, head hanging. "Just a minute, dearie," I heard Miss Keck say. "I want you to have this." She held out the stole. I stared in disbelief. How could she taunt me like that. "No thanks," I mumbled. "But I insist," she replied.

Slowly I held out my hand and gingerly accepted the cursed thing, my face a flame of red. I crept out of the church, my Dad watching me go. The message was clear - don't ever do that again. Whether Miss Keck realized it or not, that stole reminded me of my faux pas for a long time.I thought at the time that what I learned was not to steal, not to take someone else's things without permission.

But I learned much more than that. I learned not to anticipate things or get upset over something that might not even happen. And I learned how to face unpleasant things with forthrightness and grace. It was one of those defining moments that you hate your parents for at first, but later on, thank them for caring about you enough to teach you well.

So I sigh, and wait for the doctor appointment and don't allow myself flights of fancy about what might be. I will face this as I have faced other things - with peace that whatever comes, God will see me through. Too bad I don't still have that old stole. It might be just the thing to wear to my appointment!

Perspective

Back when I was in college, one of my sisters spent a year in Japan as an exchange student. Mom fussed over her being so far away, and worried that she might be homesick. She got the idea to record the conversation at our annual Thanksgiving gathering, particularly around the dinner table, and send it to my sister so she could share the family togetherness even though she was miles away. Everyone agreed it was a good idea. At first, people were a bit self conscious, but soon they forgot that they were being recorded and settled down to the business at hand.

Oh's and Ah's flew round the table as the golden turkey came out of the oven. Spoons clinked against plates as mounds of potatoes, heaps of stuffing and the inevitable cranberry sauce got dished up. There would be snatches of conversations followed by quiet as people dug in and savored the familiar dishes - punctuated by comments about missing Gram's oyster stew that had always been on the table when Gram was alive, wondering where Uncle Loran was that year, thinking of friends far away.

Before she mailed the tape, Mom played it, curious to know what my sister would experience. She smiled as familiar voices commented and topics came and went. At one point, my youngest sister asked for the potatoes to be passed. She said it nicely, with the appropriate please. Voices carried on. A few minutes later, she asked again, just as nicely, while conversations continued. This repeated for quite some time until my sister got fed up with asking, and yelled, "Pass the potatoes!" whereupon she was reprimanded for yelling and told to ask nicely.

Its not that my Mother didn't want to give her the potatoes, its just that she didn't hear her ask. You have to be listening to hear the needs around you, especially the ones you are able to meet. I am beginning to listen. I want to hear the voices around me, especially those who are at my table, as they ask for me to pass them the potatoes that they need. I want to hear the voices of those who are far away, too. Last week at church we had a speaker talk to us of his work in places worldwide where there is great need. He works with teams who go in after a natural disaster and assess the needs, work with organizations and countries to provide relief, and after the basic needs are met, continue to work towards restoring life as it was before the big destruction. I see the pictures, I hear them. They need help. My perspective improves vastly. My battles are not so big.

I am fussing over black ants in my house, they are without a house. I am fussing about taking time to drive to the grocery store to get food, they walk miles in the blazing sun for a bowl of rice. I am grumpy over company in my house, they are searching for loved ones thought dead. Right now my battles seem insignificant compared with the people in Kansas who just lost their entire town. I am in great shape compared with people still struggling to put their lives back together after 911 or the tsunami or New Orleans or any of the dozens of disasters that have hit the world recently.

I choose to be content with where I am and what I have, and focus on those around me. I trust that when my battles get tough, God will send the needed help. And right now, while I am waiting for things to be decided, I will be someone else's needed help. So, what do you need? Let me know how I can help you today. I will do my best to hear you. It will help me keep things in the proper perspective.

Graduation

On the campus of the University of Connecticut in Storrs, on the corner of Stadium and Hillside, between the Co-op and Gampel auditorium stands a graceful ornamental tree. I don't know what kind it is, but it reminds me of a Japanese kimono with its flowing lines and delicate lavendar flowers. It is planted in a concrete raised planter about 4 foot square, and its downward bending boughs seem to be embracing you as they dance in the quiet breezes that pass on down the hill.

There's rarely a workday goes by that I don't pass that corner and draw strength from its classic beauty regardless of the weather. In the rain it seems bright and cheerful. In blue skies, warm and friendly. In winter, full of promise and hope for a soon coming spring. Its very existence caresses my soul, encouraging me to sing for joy.

Today was graduation at UConn, and I had the dubious honor of being the sole access services staff to come to the library and receive the thousands of books pouring back into the collection after all the papers, thesis, exams, and assignments have come to an end. The sigh of relief can be heard from the north to the south end of campus, not to be confused with the weeping and wailing of exams week.

As I drove on campus, there were herds of people everywhere. You would have thought it a parade. Balloons floated behind nervous mothers, gowned grads hugged flowers, proud fathers snapped pictures of everything, mortar boards sailed in the wind. No one paid any attention to where sidewalks ended and roads began, despite the plethora of police directing the sluggishly crawling cars full of gawking visitors.

I was pleasantly surprised to find parking not a problem, perhaps due to all the buses porting folks from far parking lots. As I threaded my way through the crowd, I heard snatches of conversations, mostly punctuated with pride and happiness. Grammas and aunts, nieces and nephews, whole families in support of some young closing-one-chapter-starting-another person, hugging and laughing and having a marvelous time.

Passing my corner took more time than usual what with the tent where they were selling floral bouquets (the roses were phenomenal) and gaudy orange barricades across Stadium Drive. It wasn't until I had crossed the street and glanced back that I realized I could barely see my tree. It was stood quietly, patiently in its concrete confine, unswayed by the human drama unfolding beneath it branches. I thought it odd and a bit puzzling that the tree seemed neither out of place nor totally in sync with the day. Not removed, nor a part. Just there.

I wondered if anyone in the crowd noticed its beauty, or remembered it from their own days on the campus. But it was not a day for soul searching or filling empty places with the delights of creation. It was a day for connecting with those who are most important to us on this journey - family and friends who, when the major events of life occur, show up to irritate us, celebrate us, invigorate us, and in the end love us and care for us.

Tomorrow, the corner of Stadium and Hillside will be quiet once again, the crowds dispersed to the four corners of the world to begin new adventures. I will miss the bustle and activity. I will wish them well. I will walk past my tree and drink in its beauty, and smile.

Fellow Warriors

"So, Mom," Drew said. "I invited a few friends over. They're gonna go see Spiderman 3 with us tomorrow (Drew had spent his birthday money on advance tickets for the two of us). I told them they could come over afterwards to swim and have something to eat." Drew has been patiently waiting for this premiere for weeks. Too bad he doesn't get this excited about studies or reading! I groaned. I had other plans for the day - Saturdays I need to clean the house, do the laundry, pay the bills.

So I had only figured on a couple of hours for the movie, not a whole day of company. And there was nothing in the house to eat since I hadn't been shopping yet. Last thing I want to do is entertain a house full of teenage boys. But he had already invited them, so there was no help for it. I have to say I wasn't too happy.

I got up at 6am to start the cleaning and laundry. I wanted to pack more stuff. "Lord, I need help!" Somehow, things went along better than I could have hoped. I got all the winter clothes cleaned and packed, did another box of books, and one of accessory stuff. Not bad. Drew's laundry was finished before I made him haul out at the crack of 9am. We got the house cleaned and vacuumed, ran a few errands, took care of the garbage, and got groceries before the 12:30 departure time for the movie. We even had time for lunch, and I made Drew dance impatiently while I fixed a half a turkey sandwich and munched strawberries (buy 1 get 1 free at Big Y).

By rights I should have been exhausted, but I wasn't too worn out. Maybe I would even stay awake for this movie. Then Drew dropped the bomb. I have been so self centered that it didn't occur to me that perhaps Drew had his reasons for asking these kids to spend time at the pool. Turns out, he had an ulterior motive.

As we were driving to the theater, he quietly said, "My friend's Mom is a lot like you. She is a single parent raising two kids by herself and she has cancer too." The arrow zinged right into my heart and I immediately lost all my irritation with Drew's planning my day for me when I just wanted to think about myself.

When I met her, I recognized right away the tiredness in her eyes, the thinning and limp hair, the gray wrinkled skin. She was pleasant and happy for her son to spend some time with friends, and that I was willing to be the designated parent. My whole attitude changed. I wondered how many other women are in the same shoes - alone, cancer, raising kids. Lots I bet.

When we got home, the kids headed for Drew's room and the video games. They had a grand time yakking and swapping tall tales. Then we headed for the clubhouse for a swim and a round of computer games. I was proud to be able to offer these young men an afternoon of fun that they would not have otherwise have had. They whooped and hollered and splashed about, tossing a ball and jumping in like cannon balls. I had to drag them away for dinner. Tired and happy, they all trouped back to the apartment for hot dogs and chips and soda.

Despite my initial grumpiness, it turned out to be a decent day. God gave me energy and helped me get things done. Drew was happy. His friends had a good time, and Drew's friend's Mom got a short reprieve (whether she wanted it or not). All in all, it was a good day.

Light

One time when I was young, we were living at Charlie Lake where our family owned a small hunter's cabin. The place was no showcase, and the amenities were all outside. The only way we got running water was if we ran from the pitcher pump to the kitchen with a pail of water.

For the most part, it was kind of fun roughing it. We spent evenings together, taking hours to do things that in a modern house would have taken minutes. Washing dishes was like that. You had to heat the water before you could fill a dishpan with warm suds. Then you carefully chose the order in which you washed things so as to take care of the "cleaner" items first, the greasy yucky pans last. We had it down to a science. Glasses and tea cups first, silverware and bowls next, plates and anything else before the cooking pans.

Rinsing was even more of a game, carefully pouring water over each item without getting it all over the floor, saving the drips in a glass, seeing how much you could catch, tossing it out the door at the end. The part I hated most was drying. Especially if the washer decided to see how fast you could work and handed you stuff faster than you could dry it. But it was all good natured fun and we chatted happily while we worked. They didn't call it 'bonding' back then. They called it 'chores.'

The living quarters were small, and it was crowded with us kids and Mom and Dad. I forget if all eight of us children were there at the time, but I think we were. You tended to live by the whims of nature, rising when the sun woke you, going to bed as soon as it was too dark to see. Propane lanterns weren't a lot of help, nor were flashlights. Their little circles of light barely made a dent in the thick country darkness.

The problem arose at night if you had to go to the bathroom. You tried to hold it until morning, but sometimes it just got the better of you. We kept big flashlights near our bed in case we had to find our way to the outhouse in the dark. One particularly cloudy night when there was little moonlight, both my sister and I had to go. We decided it was best to go together, even though our outhouse was a one seater.

I went first while she stood outside and held the light. Then it was her turn. Right about when she got seated, we both heard a rustle in the bushes. We'd been hearing tales of bear in the area, emboldened by their hunger, coming into inhabited areas. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. We heard it again, closer and more rustly.

My fear got the best of me and I turned and ran for the house with all the speed I could muster, stranding my poor sister with her drawers down in the black night to face the bear alone. She didn't wait for an encounter. She was right behind me, and mad as heck at my abandonment. I don't think she said a civil word to me for days, and she had every right to be mad. I apologized, but she was too angry to hear me.

I could think of nothing that would make it up to her, so I just let her alone for a long time. Life has a way of wearing away the edges of raw emotion, and eventually, we were on speaking terms again. I'm not sure she ever forgave me for my betrayal. Or trusted me again. I'm also pretty sure it wasn't a bear. We never found out what it was, but there were no bear claw marks in the dirt.

If I could go back and do it over, I would have jumped into the outhouse with her and shut the door, keeping us both in the light. But I can't go back and change my foolish act. I'm sure by now she has forgotten and moved on. But I still remember how I hurt her without meaning to, and wish I could take it back.

I hope heading into this particular dark time, I can take the light with me without stranding anyone else. I am loading up on uplifting thoughts thanks to my many friends who are sending me helpful poetry, great music, thoughtful suggestions, verses that speak comfort and strength. Yesterday I got cards in the mail from friends I haven't seen in awhile and I was so happy to remember them and read their kind wishes for health and strength. Thanks for shining some light in my life. Thanks for not running off and abandoning me to the frightful bears of destruction.

Maybe, just maybe, I will find that what I think is a bear in the darkness turns out to be nothing in the light.

Black Ants

They appear each spring unannounced and uninvited - hundreds of big black ants. I don't leave doors open for them or lay out any feasts, but they come anyways, mysteriously finding their way into my apartment. I am amazed that no matter what I do to rid myself of this invasion - laying out ant buttons, leaving orange rinds laced with Boric acid, being fastidious about putting food away - they seem to increase in number for dozens of days.

They crawl around in the most unexpected places. I find them in the bathroom carpet, on the couch, in the laundry room. I've swept them up with brooms, flushed them down the toilet, scalded them with hot water - they just keep coming. (Don't tell the animal rights people)

I always thought ants were day creatures, but I have found them active and running in the middle of the night in the dark. I am beginning to think these fellows are some mutant colony left behind after a failed extermination attempt.

I have to admire their perseverance. They just don't give up. I watched one little fellow for nearly a half hour try to swim across what must have seemed an ocean to him, even though it was just a bowl of water. He flailed and floundered and struggled, then lay still for a bit, then wriggled and twisted and kicked. At one point I thought he was a goner, but somehow he made it to the edge of the bowl.

Without a moment's hesitation or rest, he scrambled away down the side of the coffee table and disappeared under the mint plant as if he had not just barely escaped the jaws of death by the skin of his antennae. He fulfilled every word of that irritating song about high hopes and ants and pie in the sky and all that. Despite his small size and the huge obstacle, he just kept trying.

Odd thing is, after a week or so, they all disappear, as if they had never invaded. They don't seem to have taken anything although I am sure they had a royal feast. They don't leave behind any visible dirt or broken stuff or make holes in walls. They come, they run around, they go.

We are told in the wisdom book to consider the ant who, without supervisor or overseer, gathers food and takes care of business. I have to say, even if they *did* manage to gather food, it sure looked like they could used a supervisor - or at least a traffic cop! There was no discernible pattern to their wild escapades.

Perhaps it is their unflagging energy and focus that is to be envied. They are in constant motion, rarely ever pausing, even when confronted with an immovable obstacle. Sort of like the energizer bunny - keeps on ticking.

Well, they are still running around in my living room. I expect to wake up any morning and discover that they have departed for sites unknown. And I can't say as I will miss them. I just hope they aren't replaced with some other moving critter less amicable.

Cardinals

Ever have one of those mornings when you just don't want to get out of bed? You wake before the alarm goes off and your body refuses to move. All the things you have to do in the upcoming hours keep running through your head and you turn over and try to ignore the clock counting down to the moment you know you absolutely have to get up.

It didn't help that the sky was gray and rain was coming down cold and unforgiving. It didn't help that I had to drive to one of the regional libraries for a big meeting for which I was doing a lot of presenting, and I didn't feel like I had covered all the bases thoroughly. It didn't help that my allergies are in full force and my throat is sore. It didn't help that my side was hurting most of the night and I had to keep getting up to refill the hot water bottle to soothe it enough to sleep (the doctor thinks its referred pain from where the small mass is growing). I pulled the covers over my head and debated what would happen if I just didn't go.

But alas! There is no help for it. I drag myself to the edge of the bed and twirl open the blind. I blink, my eyes trying to adjust to the dim light. Just outside my bedroom window is a mid-sized flowering tree, leaves and white blossoms fluttering in the rain. It seems like those leaves are fluttering harder than the rain warrants. I look closer. There, flying back and forth, are two birds. One is small and brownish, the other a bit bigger and soft red. Cardinals. Hopping from branch to branch. They seem to be playing some sort of game, chasing each other, hiding behind the trunk, brushing against the white petals. They fluff their feathers and shake off the rain and call to each other. I wonder what they are doing.

Do birds get cancer? I have seen deer with cancer growths. They eat in garbage dumps. People food. Probably explains it. If birds got cancer, would they know it? Do they have some berry or bitter leaf they eat to prevent cancer? Is anybody else asking these questions? I envy them their reality, so different from my own.

I watch fascinated for much longer than I should have. Finally I shake myself and call Drew. We step through the usual morning drill. I pick pants that are big and baggy so they won't irritate my aching side. Drew toasts a bagel. I pack my bag. Drew makes his lunch. I go back to the window to see if the birds are still there so I can show Drew. But they are gone. The tree is just standing there like trees do, fluttering its leaves in the rain. The pair has flown off to someone else's tree to help them get over the morning blahs.

Bouquet

My colleague was standing by the little sink in the back area of our library, filling a glass vase with water. I admired the bouquet of flowers she was arranging as I grabbed my seltzer from the mini fridge. "These are for you!" she said. "For me?" I gasped. "What's the occasion?" "Just because I thought it would brighten up your office," she replied as she tied a purple ribbon around the vase.

She carried them to my office and set them on my cluttered desk. Immediately the whole room brightened. The stacks of paper waiting for my attention didn't seem so daunting. The delicate pinks and purples were just the inspiration I needed to settle in and get to work. I had a most productive afternoon, and I smiled as I closed the door and tucked the cheery bouquet in for the evening.

Next morning I had quite forgotten about the flowers, and it came as a wonderful surprise when I unlocked my office. How nice to start the day with a smile instead of a list of stuff to take care of post haste. Throughout the day everyone who came to my office remarked about the flowers and enjoyed their vibrant color and sweet fragrance.

Was it my imagination or did the conversation go more smoothly? This is annual evaluation week, and we talk not only about accomplishments and goals met, but places for improvement. Those can be hard conversations. One would rather NOT have to see where you have dropped the ball or misunderstood something. Hard enough when you purposely ask for that kind of feedback, but when someone is offering it unsolicited, it can hurt.

Those flowers were uplifting and encouraging all week long, and my colleague who gave them to me peeked in at the end of the week and was surprised to see that they looked just as perfect and full as when she first put them there. And they *still* look gorgeous almost a whole nother week later.

Funny thing is that I ignored them all week. The water level in the vase kept getting lower and lower. I didn't change the water, add any more, put food in the vase. Yet they continued to offer their beauty unaffected by my negligence. I began to wonder what there was about my office space that was so congenial to their well being! After all, it wasn't cold like outdoors or warm like a greenhouse. I have no window, and my door opens to a hallway, so no sun. I wondered if it were all an illusion. Perhaps they were hanging together by a thread. So I jiggled the vase just to see if petals would fall. Everything was solid and intact.

Now it has become something of a game to see how long they will last. Yesterday, I finally added some tap water out of pure admiration for their hardiness and pluck. My evaluations are still ongoing. I wonder if they will give up the ghost when I am done with these difficult conversations. After all, God has promised that you will have what you need when you need it, and if he can feed an army in the wilderness for forty years without resources, he can uplift my soul for a few weeks with His designer decor.

One way or another, I will continue to enjoy the feast for as long as it lasts.