No Info Today

It has been, in essence, a week since the biopsy, and the lab tech told me they would have the results by either the next day or if they had to send it out to be stained, in a couple of days. The doctor's office was to call me, and set up an appointment.

I decide enough time has passed, and I call them. I congratulate myself on figuring out which number to call, and "to find out the results of a test, press 3" is music to my ears. I press 3. Recorded voice "all our operators are busy helping other people. please stay on the line and we will get to your calls in the order received" repeats a half dozen times.

No matter, I am at my computer and work while I wait. I get the receptionist, tell her what I want, she takes the message and says she will contact the nurse and have her call me. I get optimistic and give her my work number.

In fact, in half an hour, the nurse does call me right before I leave. She can't tell me the results. The doctor will do that, and she is out of town today. But she will give me the results when I see her for my appointment on Friday.

Wait. I have an appointment on Friday? Turns out I do, at 10:30. Good thing I called since no one had told me about that. The nurse apologizes, and says I would have gotten a reminder call tomorrow at least. Well, no matter. I know about it now, and fortunately I am not scheduled to be teaching or on desk (amazing how God cleared my calendar - the only day of the week that is *not* back to back meetings and duties).

I am beginning to relax in God's care again. You would think that after all the times I have trusted Him and He has undertaken on my behalf, I would have that lesson under my belt. But I am surprised to learn that I have forgotten and that's probably why I have been so tired and grumpy. Remember the birds. Remember the too-many-to-count times when He delivered you before. Just relax. As they say, no worries. Not because I take a chill pill, but because I have Someone taking care of me Who happens to be the Creator of the Universe. I think He can handle the job.

Pudgy Birds

I sat in the car and shivered in the morning chill as I waited for Drew to come out. He was finishing packing his lunch, and I wanted to make sure I didn't need to scrape frost from the windows again. Just fog, no frost. I yawned and flipped through the radio stations for something interesting, to no avail. I switched it off and fussed about the time: 7:02. Hurry up, Drew!

I looked towards the door to see if he were coming, and I noticed a half dozen birds twittering about the steps, hopping from one to the other, picking at microscopic stuff. I smiled, half amused. Those steps are always littered with junk - cigarette butts, scraps of paper, food wrappings, broken bits of irrelevant stuff that escaped from some carelessly carried bag of trash. Not usually much in the line of food, but the occasional chunk of pretzel or toast crust.

I know the apartment complex hires someone to clean up from time to time, but it doesn't seem to make much difference. Sometimes I think I should come out and clean up myself for a few days and see if anyone notices. But I resist, mostly due to lack of energy. They guy who does it is far from young and looks totally unenamored with his lot.

As I watch the little brown and gray birds, I wonder that they can actually hop up the tall step, they all seem quite plump and well rounded. I see that they flutter their wings a little and it looks effortless, but why are they so fat? Are they young and have their 'baby fat' still clinging to them? I know its fall and there is plenty of stuff to munch. Perhaps they have put on extra against the coming winter. It must be difficult to hoist all that weight up and down those steps for almost no return. Yet they are in constant motion, hopping, pecking, fluttering, chirping. Its quite entertaining.

They keep at it until Drew exits the building, then they scatter in a dozen directions, chirping wildly. As Drew climbs into the car, I think of a good verse (we have a "mini-devotion" together in the mornings as we drive to the carpool pickup site: I ask him to quote a verse from memory and pray over the day [he spiels of a form of 'thankyouforthisdayblessusandhelpxxx(whatever he is most concerned about)]). Sometimes he gets stuck thinking of a verse and falls back on the one he was learning when we first started this tradition "Come O House of Jacob let us walk in the light of the Lord" - its rather a standing joke for us.

Anyway, I digress. The verse that came into my head was: Matthew 10:29-31 "Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.
But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows."

I am not sure why anyone would want to buy a sparrow. I assume to either eat or sacrifice. But I take the point and smile. God's gentle reminder that He cares about me, cares about my energy levels, the biopsy (why haven't they called me?), the little aches and pains. No need to kavetch. I will just rest in the knowledge that He is intimately interested in my wellbeing, and remember that He is well suited for the task.

Frost!

Drew was all excited. Snow was in the forecast for late Sunday evening. He was rather disappointed that it had not appeared before he went to bed at 11. I myself was tired and hit the sheets at 9:30. I slept well and woke at 6am, but wasn't exactly hopping out of bed with glee.

Fortunately, Drew decided that this was a get-up-early day and I didn't have to call him repeatedly. We hustle to get things ready and get out the door on time - except that I hadn't counted on needing to clear the frost from the windows! In fact, it may well have snowed last night just a dusting. The windows and wipers were frozen in position and not budging.

Drew scraped the frost from the windows while I tried to heat the car enough to clear the fog off and free the wiper blades. You would think with all that bracing cold air I would be wide eyed and full of energy. Not so. In fact, after I deliver the kids to school, I pull over in a Starbuck's parking lot and rest. This is not good.

I manage to summon enough strength to drive home, grateful that my shaking knees still manage to navigate the front steps. I trudge into the apartment and begin shedding as I head for my bedroom. Purse on the table, keys on the shelf, coat on the floor where it fell off, shoes in the hallway, letting each thing fall wherever it landed, finally making it to the bed where I collapse in a heap, pull the blankets up to my neck and sigh.

Not a problem to get back to sleep. I am more worried that I will not wake up! The kitchen is a mess from Drew's after-Mom-goes-to-bed foraging. I know I need to pick up and clean. I have to make a lunch and dinner because this is my late night. I wanted to take a jacket to the tailors to have the sleeves shortened. That will have to wait.

Right now, I rest. This is ridiculous, but it is what it must be. Why am I *so* tired? I am not anemic. My chemo exhaustion times don't usually last this long, especially lately. I get a day maybe of feeling a bit tired, but this is bone-weary-can't-even-think-about-moving tiredness.

Never mind. I will just lay still and pray. I fall in and out of sleep. After an hour and a half, the phone rings and jolts me awake. I seem to be able to get up and clean the kitchen, then sit in a chair and rest a bit more before I have to go out the door. Wow!

Sure hope this passes soon. Not that I feel pressure here (one of the reasons I like my job so much). Things are easy going, and I need that right now. But pah-leeze! There may be frost on the windows and fire in the carburetor, but the wheels just don't move.

First Chime Choir rehearsal

After church this morning, I invited anyone interested to come and play with the chimes. I am putting together a simple chord ringing for Thanksgiving Sunday (before the holiday) and then hope to do some Christmas selections. But I want this first experience to be fun and easy to do. So just chords, and in fact just the root note of each chord.

Quite a few people showed up, and a number of others told me they couldn't stay this week but would be back next week if that was OK. And it was. I made it as simple as I could. We took a few minutes to examine how a chime vibrates, which part gives the most sound and should be facing the congregation, how to damp the sound. We practiced our bicycle motion, flicking our wrists to ring, the follow through.

Then we walked through who rings when, and tried it out. After a few passes, they had it! So I sat at the piano and played the accompaniment. They asked to do it again and again. They were so pleased that they could do it! They got bold and switched chimes and tried it again. One more time. Let's do it one more time. How about another time? Can we do it just once more?

It was delightful to see their joy and enthusiasm as they repeated the familiar hymn, ringing the chords as I played and sang. They were having such a good time - what a precious thing it is to find music fun! After a whole hour (we were just supposed to do 20 minutes) I finally called it quits. They would have kept going for a few more rounds at least!

What a great smile to carry with me this week. We Gather Together. It will be a good Thanksgiving Sunday. There is joy building already. Wait until I add the flutes and oboe! I might even scare up a trumpet - praise can be such joy.

I think I am beginning to understand Kayleen a bit better. When you can do nothing else, praise. Its pretty powerful.

A Day of Rest

What a rare occurrence! Drew had a full day of Robotics Team, and Marcie (knowing I wasn't feeling well) offered to drive both ways. Bless you, Marcie! I got Drew up at 5:30 (yes, am) and made sure he was dressed and ready when they came to pick him up. Then I went thankfully back to bed.

I was startled awake at 6:15 when Drew's alarm for school went off, then again at 6:30 when his second alarm went off. Thankfully I drifted back to sleep, and was shocked to find that the next time I opened my eyes, it was 10:30! I haven't slept like that since college days. I used to have this "run at the speed of light for weeks, then crash for 3 solid days of sleep" thing going on. But once I had kids, that stopped. Something about waking every time you hear them turn over that alters your internal clock.

I took my time getting up, had warm tea and yogurt for breakfast, and did a lot of sitting around. It felt strange. I am so not like that. Either I am recovering from the drugs or the disturbance to my lymph system has me all off kilter. Not sure, doesn't matter. I will allow myself the luxury of a true day off.

There were projects calling my name, but I refuse to think about them. I unbox a few things in my room that have been asking to be set free and tidy up. I do a few loads of laundry, I sit and rest. I do the dishes, I sit and rest. I cook dinner, I sit and rest.

Rest is good. Maybe tomorrow after church I will rest some more. Come Monday, its back to work though. I should be OK by then.

The Day After

Man, I haven't had such a wham in a long time. That biopsy took a whack out of me. And of course, it wasn't a day when I could stay home. I had two classes to teach, and I knew I had to get there early to reset the room from a class yesterday. I arrived at 7 am and made a warm cup of green ginger tea. Then I struggled to adjust the wires under the console and rehook the computer to the LED screen. Done. I made sure the handouts were there and finished just in time for the class. I moved from class to class to desk to desk. Somewhere around 11 am I had a terrible dizzy spell and had to go sit on the bathroom floor for a few minutes and run cold water over my face. Fortunately it passed, but I felt like I had been hit by a truck.

Maybe this is not from the biopsy. Maybe I am coming down with something. By 2 in the afternoon, I told the intern that I wasn't feeling well and would he mind taking the ref desk on his own? He has been with us since the beginning of the semester and seems pretty comfortable with things. He assured me he would be fine.

I wobbled to my office to pack things up, and got sucked into question after question after problem. I finally disengaged at 4 and beat it out the door. The other reference librarian had arrived by then anyway, so I knew she would handle things. By that time I felt lightheaded, my legs were rubbery, and I was very glad I only live a block away! Time to go home and lie down.

Biopsy of Dracula

My appointment was at 8am. My faithful driver, bless her, was at my door at 7 to make sure I got there despite traffic. Right on time, I checked in and went down the hall to the nurses' station for the prep. Change to a gown, go through your medical history (I need to get that put on a flashdrive), wait for an IV to be inserted. This should be way easier than a colonoscopy.

What was I thinking! First, they couldn't get the IV in the man ahead of me, so I waited. I decided to play a Brahms piece on the "piano" of my bed to pump up my veins as much as I could. They did manage to get it first stick, but used the peds needle. One trip to the bathroom. Then I waited and waited - some gentleman wandered by and told me they had to slip an emergency test in ahead of me and it would be another 20 minutes. I pulled out my new testament and began to read Psalms (remind me to get one that's got big print!) Forty minutes later (and another trip to the bathroom - IV drips can really fill a bladder), they wheeled me into the OR.

The young doctor looked with the ultrasound scope and finally found the lump. He looked closely at the screen. "I believe I am going to call another doctor to consult." he mumbled through his mask. The nurse assured me that they would likely not even need to give me anything through my IV. She told me they often are able to do it with local anesthesia only (great - you had to put in the IV before you knew if it was needed?).

Half hour later, the second doctor came, looked with the ultrasound probe. "That's the thyroid, that's the jugular, these are muscle layers. Yes, its in a tricky place. It will take a bit of maneuvering to get." She turned to me. "This is less than a half inch in size. The likelihood that we can get a viable sample is maybe 50%. Do you still want us to do this?"

I am beginning to see a glimmer of hope of escaping with only the IV wound. But the other doctor interrupted. "She had rectal cancer just a few years ago." "Oh," the consulting doctor responds. "That changes things. We will definitely do the biopsy. And she will need a little something."

They are about to begin when the consulting doctor is paged. The technician goes ahead and sterilizes the area, positions cloths in all the right places, then everyone disappears. The clock ticks slowly while I stare at the ceiling with weird fish painted on it. I suppose that is so that when they give me medicine, and I am feeling swimmy headed, things will seem natural. I mention it outloud, and the nurse laughs from somewhere hidden in the room. "They should have painted birds up there. That would have made more sense."

"Yes," I quip, "but I suppose they were afraid of what might drop from the ceiling then." She laughs again and the tech appears and starts squirting ultrasound gel around, making schmucking sounds. It quiets down, and I am alone. I know that I am going to have to go to the bathroom, but I am so tied down with bloodpressure cuffs, heart monitors, IVs, and sterile cloths, I can't imagine how I will pull that off.

I finally ask the nurse how much longer it will be. She tells me another 20 minutes, and that the procedure will take about 15 or 20 minutes. I tell her I can't wait that long. She brings a bedpan and we are careful not to disturb the sterile field. This is one for the record books!

And its a good thing we didn't wait. The procedure took almost twice as long and at least 8 or 9 stabs before they were able to get into the lump and extract as much as they could. The doctor told me it was a good sign that the gland was "running away" from the needle. Once she was able to get into the gland, she put some sort of vacuum thing on the needle and extracted stuff from way down my back - or that's what it felt like, and none too pleasant, thank you very much.

She had to do it three times, and each time required several sticks to get the right angle. Yikes! All told, I was there until noon. A full four hours. Poor Peg! I took her to lunch afterwards, though I have to admit, I really wanted to just go home and lie down. Way worse than the colonoscopy.

And I now have a beautiful blood mark on my neck complete with puncture wounds. Dracula couldn't have done a better job. Guess I will be wearing a scarf for a few days!

No Fair

One of the things I am working on is compiling a bibliography of spiritually encouraging books for cancer patients to read. I am planning to link information about them to the Jairus House website with a little bit of information beneath a picture of the cover of the book. After all, when you are facing cancer, you don't always feel like searching through millions of records to find a few books that will help you.

Anyway, one of the books I am currently reading is titled "Praying Through Cancer: set your heart free from fear" (a 90 day devotional for women) edited by Susan Sorensen and Laura Geist. They set it up to be testimonials from women who have battled cancer, each day's entry with a Bible verse, a story, and a prayer plus activity. It has been a difficult read.

For one thing, most of the stories address the big picture. The "after it was all said and done, I could see God's hand at work on my behalf. Don't worry - God is in control." Nothing wrong with that, but I guess I was expecting more day to day "how God took care of me, supplied my needs, was present - verses that you can hang onto before surgery, Scriptural music that will help you through a chemo treatment, prayer to lift your heart to God when you can't think" kind of encouragement.

It began to sound like these women were saying that God chose for them to have cancer and it was the best thing that ever happened to them. Of course, I know that is not true, and I don't believe for a minute that's what these writers were intending to portray. And I myself have willingly pointed to the good things that God has brought out of my cancer experience.

Still, I kept reading. All along, it was my assumption that these testimonies were written by women who had triumphed over cancer. And then the bombshell. I read a testimony - and was actually thinking that here was one that rang a bit more true, something that spoke of dealing with anger, with fear, with normal human feelings.

I glanced ahead to see the name. My heart fell. It was Kayleen Merry, my friend who had died from cancer just a short time ago. My friend who had encouraged me to put together the first cancer concert so I could share the music with women from other countries who were attending the Mayo clinic where she was getting treatment. My friend with whom I had emailed a number of times and who's progress I had followed all during my own cancer. My friend, for whom I had prayed and over whom I had cried.

I hadn't know she was a contributor. I felt betrayed. Here was at least one example of a woman who had lost her battle with cancer, and who had died in an agonizing and prolonged state of misery. A woman who had been prayed for and who had believed for healing. A woman who had young children who needed her. A good woman, a Christian woman who didn't deserve to die from cancer.

I flipped through the book to see if there was any information about where these women might be now, how many had survived and moved on, free and clear. But there wasn't any information. I put the book down. I didn't see how I could take any encouragement from someone who hadn't made it.

But I was curious. Did the entire book continue like this? Did other women write anything that would be helpful? I skimmed through a few more. Then I found another one that talked about feeling helpless, about the huge impact that the chemo treatments took on her strength and energy. Again, it was written by Kayleen. Her words were significant. She said that even when she was "useless", when she could do nothing on her own, when she needed help with everything, she could still praise God.

Wow.

She could still praise God in the midst of her terrible health issues. In the midst of cancer. In the midst of dying. In the midst of lying there helplessly in pain and weakness. I began to see that she did not let cancer define who she was. She was still the daughter of God. She could see that even if she died, she would be fine because God is who He is. Because she would be with Him. Because in the long run, she wins.

I will read more before I return the book to the library. These are difficult issues and not to be taken lightly. The Bible devotes much space to this issue - an entire book and then some. Its not fair that Kayleen died (as my father says, "Who told you life is supposed to be fair?"). Its not fair that I didn't realize that some of the women who wrote encouraging words might have won a battle but lost their war. No, life is not fair. But God is still God. I need His perspective. Any maybe, just maybe, I can catch a glimpse from Kayleen's last words as she was looking over Jordan.

How Silly

What was I so distressed about? Just because I haven't the answers about my health that I would like to have doesn't mean that I should turn into a Glum Gussie. And what an amazing basketful of uplifting encouragement my friends and family have sent since I posted about my unexpected reaction in the doctor's office! I have received very nice cards and e-cards of encouragement, and phone calls with words that built me up and reminded me that God is watching over me and that I am not alone.

How thankful I am to have friends who send me such needed support when I am sagging and struggling along and have lost the proper perspective! Probably the most poignant words were those spoken by my Mother, who is a true prayer warrior. She said, "I have prayed for you everyday. I asked Jesus to heal you. If you think about it, in the Bible, He never turned away anyone who asked Him to be healed. He healed them all. And I believe He will send a good report and you will be free from cancer!"

Of course! Why had I lost sight of that? People have prayed for me when I wasn't able to pray for myself and when the doctors didn't have any idea what to do (and some of those people weren't very practiced in the art of prayer). God heard and restored me to the path of life. How could I believe that God would heal me then abandon me?

I know full well that God is not a slot machine. You don't put your nickel prayer in and pull the faith lever and know that you will get a certain result. God is sovereign. He does as He wills, and sometimes we do not see things as He sees them. Still God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He is a Healer. If I should be going to anyone for healing, it is to Him. And I do that.

Perhaps it is all the various little distractions of life that have waylaid my mind, made me forget the Word, dimmed my sight of things heavenly. So, I will double up on my reading, spend more time in His presence, make sure I am focused on Him. Then I won't get caught by surprise.

Phlebotomist Student

In preparation for the biopsy, I was required to have blood drawn (why do I have the urge to add 'and quartered' to that phrase?). I have tried several labs about town, and none of them gave the kind of quality attention I prefer. So I decided that on the way home from driving carpool, I would stop at the hospital lab.

It was no where as busy as I feared, and the waiting room was pleasantly decorated. The ubiquitous TV had been muted and the conversation scrolled across the bottom of the screen, easy to ignore. I watched people come and go as I waited my turn, amused to find two young girls seated across from me, one as straight laced as they come - Mom and apple pie and blonde haired girl next door, and the other as ska as they come - black hair, black nails, black lipstick, tight black jeans, rings sprouting from numerous body parts, hair dyed black and standing up on her head. Both nervous as cats, both leaning toward the Mom who ignored their fears while they fussed and writhed.

Soon my name was called and I followed a very competent all-business nurse into the back room. "Good." I thought. "This person is obviously experienced and knows what she is doing. I should have no problem today."

In the curtained off room, I met a young woman who, I was told, was training today and learning how to draw blood. In fact, it was her first day. I wanted to scream, "Practice on someone else. Do you have any idea what I have been through and how hard it is for experienced people to find my veins? I am a cancer survivor and I have been through enough. Leave me alone and get someone in here who knows what they are doing."

But I didn't. I know you have to start somewhere, and I'm as good as the rest to learn on. After all, if she can get me, she can get anyone. I listened patiently while the experienced tech talked her through it, showing her the tricks of the trade, how to make it look smooth and easy. It was as if I were not there, as if I were a practice mannequin.

I sat very still while she felt my arm again and again. "Do you feel the vein?" "No." "Move your finger down and to the left. Do you feel it now?" "Yes" - tentatively whispered.

"Don't lie," I wanted to say. "If you can't feel it, say so. Otherwise you will hurt me." But I am quiet, not wanting to spook her. At last she feels it. I can see the relief on her face [of course, my arm is turning purple and definitely numb].

She puts on the rubber gloves, swabs the area, bends the wings back on the needle - does everything just as she is told. Gently she inserts the needle. Nothing. The nurse tells her what to do (bend the needle this way, pull it out a bit, reinsert to the left) but nothing helps. I wince. The nurse looks at me and says, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you." Considerately, she says, "Let me see if I can find it." She pokes the needle about a bit more, but still nothing.

She doesn't frog around now. She throws that needle away, pulls my arm down with firm intentionality, slides a new needle expertly and smoothly into the vein. She talks the student through filling the four vials, showing her how to shake them, how to flip the last few ounces from the tubing into the vial to make sure it goes past the fill line, explains how to hold the gauze so I don't end up with a huge bruise (only a small one this time).

As I am leaving, the young girl apologizes for causing me pain. "No big deal." I answer. "I've been through much worse. Besides, my veins are so bad, once they had to call the helicopter crew to get a proper stick. Its OK." And I am surprised to find it *is* OK. I walk out to the car, glad its over, hoping they have a better time of it Thursday when they have to hook up the IV. Shoot, they are doing so many sticks these days, maybe I should ask for a port! Or at least a bit of Velcro.

Well, on to better things.

Ontario Afternoon

Picture a mile of warm sandy beach in either direction with a mere handful of people strolling about, sky so blue you could swim in it, a long, concrete pier, its edges stitched with fishing lines, a great lake decorated with boats of all kinds - tall white sails fluttering in the breeze, speed boats towing water skiers, massive paddle boats marshaling tourists. Sounds like a wonderful summer day in a fabulous resort?

Not so. Its Ontario Public Beach on a glorious Indian summer day, though I'm not convinced we have had our first frost yet. Drew has never heard of Indian summer. He thinks I am making it up. And when we both returned from church and I announced my idea of going to the beach (and one we have not yet explored), he was adamant that he would not go.

But I made him. He fussed about how long the drive was (less than twenty minutes) and before we even got out of the car, he laid down the rules. Once up the pier, to the end of the stretch of sand, and then we were leaving. And it better not take more than an hour. Not that he had planned anything other than kicking a soccer ball around and hoping other kids in the complex would join us.

So we started out. First, he walked kind of fast. Then he discovered the ladders over the side of the pier every ten feet or so, and he stopped to investigate. He could see little shiners darting about, and a few times a huge fish jumped or slid out of the water in full view.

He was fast becoming hooked. He was hoping for a lighthouse tower at the end of the pier, but there wasn't one. We slowly ambled back the full length of the pier that had to be at least a mile long. We watched others who were fishing though no one seemed to be catching anything.

We remarked at the various leashed dogs who passed us. Before we got to the end of the pier, Drew jumped the fence to the beach and took off to find a place to dig while I located a rest room. When I caught up with him, he had no desire to walk the beach. But he hadn't really seen everything yet. Against his better judgment, he accompanied me in a slow saunter along the water's edge. Both of us had long since stripped off our shoes and socks, and quickly we were dabbling our toes in the chilly water. It felt so refreshing and joltingly cold!

At last he found a place where he wanted to create a castle, so I lay on the warm sand while he engineered a wondrous creation. I lay on a sneaker pillow, pulled my baseball cap over my eyes and relaxed. The breeze was gentle - just enough to keep the bugs away, sometimes whipping up little dirt devils that danced across the expanse, skittering a leaf or two over the shell laden beach.

The waves rolled up on land with a delicate whoosh - swish. If you closed your eyes, you felt like you were rocking quietly on a raft. Gulls wheeled overhead, and when I opened my eyes a slit, their white enticed the sky into a more dazzling blue. The sand shifted about me, cushioning my bony parts and accommodating my saggy parts, embracing me comfortingly.

When I got too warm, I wandered to the edge of the water and stuck my feet in just far enough to send a chill tingling up my spine. Drew had discovered the plenteous supply of rocks lying just under the shallow waves, and began collecting them to see how far he could skip them. His record for the afternoon - no fewer than eight skips!

"Mom," he asked. "Who inventing skipping stones?"

"Its as old as Adam," I replied.

And he was happy with that. He kept skipping stones and rebuilding the moat around his castle while I napped happily and drank in the glorious day. Before he realized it, hours had passed and suppertime was approaching.

Reluctantly we tore ourselves away. This would be a cherished afternoon for weeks to come. On the way home, I said how sad it was that Lugia's Soft Ice Cream Parlor was closed for the season. On the off chance that somehow they were still open, we swung by, and to our delight, they were open. We both had baby cones - his vanilla with sprinkles, mine chocolate straight up.

We sat in the car happily slurping the last cone of summer. Drew didn't seem to mind that he had missed out on soccer and friends. He even said what a good day it had been and how we should do it again. I agreed.

Slogging Saturday

Saturday - my day to sleep in. My kids joke about what that means for me. "Yea, Mom. What are you going to do, get up at 8am instead of 6?" I admit I have always been a morning person. But lately, getting up has become more and more difficult. I do wake at 6, but I go to the bathroom, then slide back between the sheets. I toss and turn, doze and wake, adjust the heat, get a drink, and finally turn the light on and read a bit. I am resting. Really.

Finally I can take it no longer. I want to stay in bed, but I can't. Its 9am, and I begin cleaning up last night's dishes and mess. At 10 I make Drew get up. He grudgingly complies, doing each little chore at lightning slowness. I swan, a turtle would make better progress. But I don't complain, even though most of the clutter is his. At least he is here helping.

I hurry to finish the cleaning part so I can get to the bank before it closes. I need quarters for laundry. I can't possibly go with out clean clothes a minute longer. It feels like I am working with weights tied on everywhere. Slow. Slow. Time flies, but I can manage no more than a crawling pace. I feel as if I am slogging through the proverbial molasses.

I have a list of things I need to accomplish before I run out of energy. I can feel it draining away, and my list is still long. I urge Drew to move faster. I keep on him to not sit, not watch TV, not listen to music, not play, not make any more messes.

How can he understand how urgent it is to get everything finished before I collapse? How can I make him understand that if this biopsy takes me down a difficult road, I do not want to be embarrassed by the state of my house. Things need to be taken care of while I still can. (I got caught that way last time repeatedly). But of course, I cannot expect him to understand. He is only 13. He is also a boy. I tear the bottom half of my list off. It will just have to get done another day. There are only two more things on the list. I think I can manage those.

Its been a steady whittling pace. I did get a lot done. Tomorrow I will try again. Better yet, I will ask God to help me. In the grand scheme of things, if the house is not squeaky clean, it will not matter. I will live. Drew will be happy. I let it go and sit down to rest while he goes off to find his friend.

TGIF

This weekend more than most I am grateful for the workweek to cease. I need to get back to normal routines and housekeeping. No soccer this weekend, no working, no demands. Drew and I had talked about going camping because we never got to do it, and since I had given my word, I was willing, though I have to admit, the idea of sleeping in a tent in the cold and the rain wasn't very appealing.





I checked online reservation to see if the parks were even open. They are, though I can't imagine why. Only one or two sites were reserved. I ask Drew which park he wants to go to. He hesitates. Then surprise of all surprises, he changes his mind. He decides it would be better to wait until next summer and go then. I am relieved. And delighted. Then he drops the bomb. Turns out the NewsBoys are going to be in the Rochester area in November, and he really wants to go. I had also said I would take him if they came to town. Yikes!





So now I have to see if I can afford to take him. I sure hope so, though I'm not crazy about taking him. I don't bother to tell him that I didn't think I could have survived a weekend of camping the way I feel (I had begun to think whether I could manage to sneak out of the tent after he was asleep and curl up in the car, turning it on here and there to stay warm). And I don't have any way of knowing whether I will be up to that concert either, depending on the results of the biopsy.





I will find a way for him to go though. If I can't, maybe I can bribe someone to take him. We'll see. Right now, I'm just glad its Friday, and there is a choral concert tonight at Eastman. Drew is happy to watch a movie and let me go. I plan to enjoy it to the fullest and think about laundry tomorrow.

Doctor Solutions

I like Dr. Hayden. She shoots straight from the hip and doesn't mince words. On the other hand, she is compassionate and understanding. Before we got into the current problems, she asked me how I was doing with all the testing and cancer issues. Normally, no matter who asks me that question, I always say, "I'm doing fine, thanks for asking." And for the most part, that is the truth. So I was surprised to hear myself say, not 'hanging in there' or 'holding my own' but "Not too good."



Really? Am I not doing well? It must be so because I felt like crying, and the tears were banging on my eyelids to get out. It is quite wearing on you to undergo test after test after test and never be released from the bomb hanging over your head, ready to go off, never knowing what it is or how to address it because you can't quite determine what the problem is.



She knew immediately and said as much. It would be different if we knew what it was and had a plan of action to move forward. But not knowing and always being reminded that its there because of the procedures that force you to face it takes a toll. You can't plan, you can't put things off because you may become incapacitated at some point, you can't think ahead because there may not be an 'ahead' - you go through the motions without being able to commit to things.



Well, I appreciated her concern for me. We move on to today's complaints. I tell her I don't know if its the lymph nodes thing, my age, the weather, the flu. She laughs. She adds "STRESS" to the list. I smile. I have always been able to look calm cool and collected on the outside, but my body knows when I am upset and reacts accordingly.



She suggests that I begin taking an aspirin a day, and writes me a prescription for a blood pressure medicine. I knew that was coming. My blood pressure has been horrible for months. My bloodwork is all within acceptable and normal limits, though I could stand to work on my cholesterol level a bit (comes of eating consolation foods. . .).



She will see me again in a few weeks, and hopefully by then I will have a solution to the problems. I smile on my way out, because I know the solution to all problems: take it to the Lord in prayer. I still feel punk, but I believe she has put her finger on something important. Things will resolve at some point, even though I have been dealing with this for a year and a half, ever since my first visit to Yale. I think God brought me here partly to be at this cancer clinic where there is less academics, less assemblyline, more individual attention, better strategies in diagnosing.



See? It will all work out. Meanwhile, I will take full advantage of this weekend and catch up on some much needed rest.

Enforced Down Time

Good thing I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Granted it is with my Primary Care Physician, but I feel so horrible I am hoping she will be able to help me figure out what is wrong. The exhaustion gets more intrusive. Every episode grows more severe. My joints ache, I have pain here and there about my body. My stomach feels nauseous on and off. I have a lot of skin sores that seem to erupt at will. I can't seem to make any progress on the projects I want to finish. My head aches. Lately I have been taking Drew to the carpool pick up site, then going back to bed. I don't even bother to shower or dress for work beforehand as I usually do. I have been late to work several mornings by as much as 15 minutes.



Problem is, I don't know whether I have caught the flu that is going around, I'm just getting older and my body is showing its age, it is something from the lymph glands issue that lights up my PET scans, or its the change of weather. I do know this is the most I have ever given in to not feeling well. Usually I just get up and make myself keep going. Perhaps I am just tired of plodding forward. Maybe I need a vacation! Or maybe it is because I worked both weekend days and didn't have the usual recovery and pampering time where rest helps my body rebuild. That's the most likely cause.



Ever since the cancer, if I don't get enough rest, I become dysfunctional. I cannot push myself as I have always done. Maybe that's not such a bad thing. Maybe I should be taking life a bit more easily and value the time to absorb the beauty of the world God created, the comfort of a friendship, the joy of talking with my kids. After all, even God rested. And told us to. In this crazy helter skelter world, we just keep doing things and never pause for reflection and renewal not to mention resting.



When we do have "down time" its because we are ill and have no choice. I prefer taking down time voluntarily. So I will not schedule a double weekend again. Its not like I didn't have offers from my wiser colleagues to take one of the days. Next time, I will listen.

Unexpected Anointing

Twice before I have been anointed for healing since my cancer diagnosis in September of 2004. The first was an amazing pre-surgery service in the prayer chapel at the hospital in Illinois early in the morning on the October 2004 day of my initial surgery, with my family from University Place Christian Church. It was an extremely personal and significant time of fellowship and dedication where the pastor, John Faircloth, anointed my head with oil, as well the palms of my hands.

The second time was last summer at Concordia College where, motivated by the very real concern of a recurrence, I requested the chaplain to hold a service of healing for me. Fellow students and faculty came together for a more formal time of prayer and petition, offering support with music and presence while the Lutheran chaplain anointed me for healing. The presence of God was there, breathing life and light.

Today, at the United Methodist Church of North Chili, where I am ministering as choir director, the pastor preached on the healing of the ten lepers. She invited us to the prayer rail to bring our requests for healing for ourselves and our loved ones, not something common for Methodists. A number of us responded and knelt together at the altar.

I did not realize she was going to anoint us, but she gently asked each one if we wanted to be anointed for healing. I said yes - of course! She gently made the sign of the cross with the anointing oil on my forehead and spoke God's healing over me - not even knowing what my request was about.

I was surprised and touched. By her compassion, by her obedience to God to step out and offer something new to the congregation, by the response of other women at the altar, by the tears in others eyes as God's love reached them, by the lack of my own tears for myself as I looked about the congregation and saw the desire in so many to be there with us, but they were afraid to come.

Afraid to make a spectacle of themselves, afraid to admit that they needed a touch from God, that they couldn't make health happen on their own, that their faith in medicine felt contradictory to the message of God's willingness and ability to heal. We should be offering to lift people to God for healing much much more often.

We should hear the word of God, we should know His heart towards us. We should offer anointing for healing regularly. Regularly. So many are sick. So many have serious illnesses. So many are dying.

I am glad the pastor invited us to dine at Christ's table, to receive of God's gifts. I have now experienced the anointing from the Disciples of Christ for just myself in a very private and personal way; from the Lutherans in a more formal but no less caring anointing; from the Methodists in an open and non personal service.

In all three I have felt the presence of God, understood His love better, been wrapped by the family of God in support and care. I treasure these experiences. I hold on to them. I encourage you to seek them if you need a touch from God. I would be honored to participate in an anointing for you or anyone else. If you want that, let me know. I will be glad to find a way for that to happen for you. Don't be afraid. All you have to do is ask.

Jairus House progress

In between working at the library, directing the church choir, going to Drew's stuff, keeping house and running errands, working on my next article ( an annotated updated bibliography of choral settings of Psalm 23 - which is mind bogglingly extensive!), and keeping the doctors happy by donating all sorts of body samples, I am working at making Jairus House become a reality. And I am slowly (agonizingly slowly) getting there.

I have a wonderful Board of Directors, the business entity has been legally formed, I have officers, and a list of tasks from the lawyer for us to accomplish so she can file the paperwork for the 501c3 status. Some days I wish I could just set everything else aside and concentrate on this. I want to be able to pull together the choir, start performing in the clinics and hospitals, hold prayer services for cancer patients, especially those undergoing surgery, hold memorial services for the family and friends of those who have lost someone to cancer, minister the comfort of the Word of God to fellow sufferers.

Everyday I hear of someone who has just been diagnosed with cancer. Everyday I encounter stories of what someone's aunt's sister's son has had to endure. Everyday I am reminded that we as ambassadors of God's love and care to the world, are missing an important task - comforting those who are suffering, ministering cups of cold water to the dying, crying with the grieving, walking with the wounded.

Our churches sometimes do small things to help, but they have so much more to do. Jairus House will concentrate on ministry to cancer patients. Praying for them, encouraging them, building up their faith and hope, singing of God's power and strength, reminding them that God has promised never to leave them or forsake them, holding their hand in the dark hours, letting them know that even when they walk through the valley of the shadow of death, God will be with them, being with the family if they are called home.

I was especially made aware of the need when I got my Lance Armstrong Cancer Survivor's manual in the mail. Its a HUGE yellow notebook divided into many sections. He has included a lot of good advice and links to resources for so many aspects of dealing with life as a cancer patient / survivor. Things like making out your will and determining your DNR desires. Things like tracking your treatment and recording important information. Things like where to find support groups and financial assistance, dealing with your emotions, with your mental anguish. Things like dying with dignity.

But the one glaringly absent aspect that does not have a tabbed section is faith. Scattered about in the testimonies he includes are mentions of how much God has helped people. It is suggested under the mental issues tab that people can and should draw support and strength from their religious beliefs.

But he cannot wholesale provide links and organizational grids and resources for developing your faith to a world with so many beliefs. Jairus House can. Both on the website we are developing and in the resources we hope to offer. I want to publish a book of Psalms for cancer patients, release CDs of music that fill you with the Word of God, provide opportunities to be prayed for and with, anointed for healing, to find solace in meditating on God.

Won't you please help me with Jairus House? Won't you please pray that we will be able to do what needs to be done so we can get on with the ministry part? Won't you let us know if you can contribute your skills and expertise?

Thanks. I look forward to hearing from you. God bless.

The report

I had been told that the James P Wilmot cancer center has most of their appointments on Fridays, and that the place would be crowded, the waits long. Indeed, there were more people about, but this was nothing compared with Yale or Illinois. Maybe they managed their patient load more carefully. Maybe they have more competition. Whatever the reason, though the waiting area was somewhat full, there were still chairs to sit in.

It was less than ten minutes before a nurse called my name and took me in the back for the requisite measurements. But no second waiting room back here. I was shown directly to an examining room. And there, yes, a wait. I didn't consider 45 minutes too bad.

I was struck once again by how young the doctor is, how mature and competent, how upbeat and cheerful she was in the face of what I am sure is a difficult and depressing environment. We could have been planning an excursion on the Riviera by the tone of our conversation.

Instead, we were puzzling over the strange spots showing up on my scans, the same spots that the oncologist at Yale had puzzled over. Dr. Mohile had no way to compare them with what Dr. Saif had seen since I STILL can't seem to get the actual tests sent to them. I renew my determination to call the clinic yet again and ask for that CD. How hard can it be?

She had spoken with other specialists, and they definitely advise followup. The options? It could be an anomaly, nothing cancer related. It could be rectal cancer presenting in the lymph nodes. Not the usual path for rectal cancer to go. It could be lymphatic cancer - more serious than metastasis of the original cancer. I opt for anomaly, Dr. Mohile opts for biopsy.

She is not sure we can actually get one because, as we discovered at Yale, the spots are not palpable. You can't biopsy what you can't find. But she decides to try an ultrasound based biopsy. The spots are still small - 1 cm. If this *is* cancer, we get it early. If we can't get the biopsy, we redo the scans in 6 weeks.

Same story. I am tiring of the chase. But I cannot afford to ignore it. Drew needs me for at least another 5 years. Maybe more. So I sigh and take the paperwork to the check out desk. They will call me.

Fatigue

Father?
I'm here, your daughter,
Home today resting,
waiting.

I lie patiently on my cot,
Arms folded across my chest,
Not moving,
Letting my body do
What You created it to do,
Fix the broken places.

The exhaustion will pass.
The clock
My metronome,
Measuring
The needed rest.
Within
I hear my heart
Rushing aid
To distant battlesites.
Toxic air
Escapes my lungs
In quiet puffs,
The occasional joint
Pops like a canon
Under stress.

Without, neighbors leave for work,
Mailtrucks rattle over the speed bumps,
Dogs bark, children chatter and laugh.

But I,
I lie still
And wait,
Wait for the tiredness to pass,
Wait for my mind to clear,
For my energy to return.

While I wait
A single tear crawls slowly
Down my cheek
As Your Words
Revolve in my head.

He restores.
He restores.
He restores my soul. . .

The Screamer

Drew was excited about getting to "play under the lights" at Bishop Kearney (pronounced car-knee). Most of their soccer games are afternoon games, but this Catholic High School, funded in part by a local entrepreneur, has an official field with a fancy track, scoreboard, and lights for night games.

Our team, with its one senior and tons of short jr high boys and struggling to reinvent itself after last year's winning mostly senior team, was woefully outmanned by this all star senior starting lineup of good sized men. The Kearney team had obviously been playing together for awhile and had honed their teamwork to a science.

Nonetheless, Finney parents, myself included, bravely lined the bleachers, battling the chilly fall temperatures, to support our boys. I huddled in my layers, wishing I had been able to go home first to get my winter jacket and gloves. At least my raincoat was long and lined, and I had the thin airline blanket I carry in the trunk for emergencies to wrap my legs with, and a thick towel to position on the metal seat to keep my butt from freezing.

I watched the teams warm up in their shorts and short sleeved uniforms. You have to be crazy to want to brave both the cold and the expertise of the opposing team. Our boys straggled in, their awareness of the odds apparent in their demeanor. I could read a determination to at least keep it from being a total slaughter.

We stood for the national anthem, and the game began. I didn't know the name of the woman I was sitting next to, nor could I tell from her running commentary on the game which player she was there for. But I knew right away which team she was rooting for.

The label truck driver came to mind as she used and reused her limited vocabulary to egg the team to victory. She shouted (and I mean shouted) the same few phrases over and over, as if somehow saying these things often could sway the outcome of the game.

Come on, Green!
Step in it!
Make 'em work for it!
Go, go, go, go, go! (exactly five)
Do it again - again!
That's it, [insert name of player here], that's it!

That was pretty much it, punctuated with groans and moans and foot stomping and arm waving. She jumped up and down on those bleachers wildly until I feared for my safety. It didn't matter to her what anyone else thought, she was totally involved in the action on the field. Sold out, 100% supportive, she knew every team member by name and number.

At first it was amusing. Then it became irritating, and finally, it was downright obnoxious. At half time, I went and sat in my car, trying to warm my bones. And when I returned, I didn't sit near her. She went right on doing what she knew she should do to support our brave boys against overwhelming odds ( we lost 5 - 0 ).

I wondered what she thought her actions were accomplishing. I'm pretty sure the boys couldn't hear her or weren't aware of her while they were playing. Her advice gave them no new strategies or suggestions on how to improve their game. She didn't elicit any sense of camaraderie from the other spectators. I'm pretty sure she didn't influence the outcome of the game.

But all told, I'd a lot rather have someone like her in my corner than the other parents in the stands who were talking on cell phones, reading, gossiping with friends, coming and going, eating, and otherwise disengaged except for the few occasions when the other team scored and they groaned in unison.

I think she must have worn herself out. I'm sure she was hoarse afterwards. She probably felt very alone since no one else joined her in her cheerleading. And I'm certain she will do it again on Saturday when we play Gananda. She may not know it, but, though I am no screamer, I was just as engaged in the game in my own quiet way. My heart rose and fell as the ball bounced back and forth, dropping into my toes when the other team scored, rising into my throat when our team came close to scoring.

Maybe next time I will strike up a conversation with this woman. It seems to me she would be a good person to know.

Autumn

Isn't that a lovely word? Autumn. It wraps itself about your mouth when you say it. The word is older than Chaucer, newer than a young girl's name. Third season of the year, filled with maturity and harvest, a harbinger of winter's dormancy and renewal.

Autumn was a trickster this year, springing itself upon us after fooling about, hiding behind the skirts of an October summer, then suddenly leaping out with frosty nights and color tinged trees and dry leaves blowing about. And rain - raining on our hopes of the mild weather continuing, jerking us from our lulled contentment of hazy days and blue skies.

I love fall rain.

It is not the bone chilling, ice melting, crocus forcing harshness of spring, a merciless parent demanding that we get out of our winter bed.

It is not the comfortably splashing, earth drenching, tomato plant growing coolness of summer, a playful companion enticing us to dance in its showers.

Nor is it the snow sifting, ground-blanketing merciless blizzard of winter, locking us in, plaguing us with cabin fever.

Rather it is that gentle, predictable, air cleansing, drowsy bedtime-bath, umbrella patter that draws us into solitary walks on country roads, gives us space for reflection, for clearing the mind, for breathing deeply. Neither too hot nor too cold, it braces us with just a touch of chill, delights us with gorgeous, wide-open vistas of mountains and color-filled carpets of trees, providing us with just enough daylight to walk until we tire, working out the kinks and bringing sweet deep sleep.

I love autumn rain.

Its Curtains for You!

When we first moved into our little apartment, I couldn't hang curtains in the living room because I didn't have a long enough curtain rod. It took me some time to find both rods and hardware. More than a month actually. Kiel hung them for me right before he left for college. They fell off the wall, and he went and got those drywall anchors and rehung them minutes before leaving.

They fell off the wall again - shoddy construction and many nail holes make for a weak wall. Drew managed to re hang them. And a week or so later, they fell off again. I asked my friend if her husband, a construction whiz, could come and try. But he has been too busy and otherwise occupied. I thought of hiring someone to do it, but doggone, I am not stupid. I will go to Home Depot and have them tell my what to use and do it myself.

So I did that. I used what they told me. It didn't work either. I finally decided to purchase huge ten penny nail spikes and hammer them into the wall and straight into the outside of the building if necessary. I did it this morning before I left for work while Drew was still sleeping. He never heard me. Go figure. Let's see how long they stay on the wall this time!

No Walk for You

Sunday I had plans. I wanted to go to the main library after church, then take a walk. Rochester was hosting a River Romance Weekend - scheduling events along the river: hikes and leaf walks and tree investigations and photography sessions of nature and regattas and all kinds of fun things. But Drew. Drew didn't want to do anything. He was in a blue funk.

I made him go to the library. He informed me that he intended to spend no more than ten minutes, and expected me to do the same. Fortunately once we got there, he ended up spending enough time for me to find the studies on the book of Samuel that I was interested in reading for my lunch Bible study and a book of poetry.

I tried to get him to check out a cookbook since he has been talking so much about learning to cook, but he wouldn't budge. There were fliers about the River Romance, and I tried to get him interested in the photography session with the city photographer. It was in a half hour, and there was no charge. But he just wouldn't do it. What is there about boys - ah, men - that makes them unwilling to try something new?

Really, I just wanted to get out in the air and enjoy one of the last few weekends of good weather. But it was not to be. We ran our errands, got our groceries which hadn't happened yesterday, and went home, him to watch movies, me to read and do dishes. He has Monday off, I don't. Lucky him. I will just have to find another walking partner. I can't wait for him forever.

Schedule Confusion

I find Saturdays crowded, what with needing to clean the house, gather supplies, fill the larder, attend Drew's soccer games, do the laundry, prepare for Sunday, etc. It didn't help this week that the coach told everyone to be at the other school's field at 9:30 for a 10:30 game, when in fact the game was at 1:30 and we didn't need to be there until after noon. I had the dubious joy of driving 4 boys there.

We wondered that there was no one else about. Then when we were informed that the game was in the afternoon, we had to decide whether to just stay there (and go out to eat) or whether to go home (half hour drive) and come back. But I needed to run errands and the bank closes at 1, so I made them all go home. It doesn't help my ranking in the car pool, let me tell you!

I got them back an hour before game time, and set out my camp chair, took out my knitting and settled in for some serious quiet time. Alas! It began to pour, and I didn't have an umbrella on me. It had been so gorgeous in the morning, I hadn't thought it necessary. I used to carry one in the car, but it had broken and I tossed it.

I packed up my stuff, and headed for the nearest store to get an umbrella, preferably one I could clip to my chair so I could keep on knitting! By the time I returned, there was no parking left anywhere on the school grounds. I grumbled as I parked a half mile away and walked through mud to get back to the field, lugging my chair, my new handy dandy weather channel huge sports umbrella, my bag of knitting, and my jacket.

It had rained just enough to make it humid and sticky and bring out the gnats. I finally managed to make my way to where the car pool Moms sat, missing the kick off and the first 2 scores of the game. Still not making any brownie points. They are not happy with my knitting during the game, but I don't care. Drew only plays about ten minutes, and I watch him. Otherwise, I knit and keep abreast of things as best I can. I suppose I am rather rude.

I was quiet and concentrating, but I couldn't help overhearing the conversations going on between the car pool Moms. Oh, my goodness. Grumbling and complaining and whining like I haven't heard in a long time. I have forgotten what it is to be a stay at home Mom, and even then I was busy home schooling and trying to keep bread on the table.

I am beginning to see that even if I were perfect (which of course I am not) these women would not be happy with me. They are unhappy about many things, most of which they can do nothing about. I am glad I have not tried to placate them at the expense of acting like a phony.

I can't imagine how they would have felt if they had driven all the way to the other side of the city only to be told that the game time had been changed. Funny they didn't seem to notice that I had experienced that. Nor did they care. They were just grumpy that they had had plans to leave town to go to their weekend cabin, and now they would have to get there late.

I make a note. Count your blessings. Be happy that you have a car that works well and time to make a change in plans and money to buy a new umbrella. AND you don't have to clean a weekend cabin, deal with the dog, or take the boat out of the water for the season. How lucky can you get?

Colonoscopy

Prep for this test might actually cure the common cold! Basically you empty out your entire intestinal tract, then take pictures of it. Some way to make a living, I say. I woke at my usually early hour, despite the fact that my ride wasn't coming until 9:45. I read my Bible, prayed, showered, and rested in the easy chair. At 8 I called Dr. Mohile. Her office doesn't open until 8:30. I listen to some choral music - settings of Psalm 23 mostly. I call again at 8:45. She doesn't arrive until 9:30. They will give her the message. I tell them I am headed for the hospital for the colonoscopy. They write it down.

I wasn't planning on taking my cell phone to the hospital - they tell you not to take anything valuable. But I don't want to miss her call, so it goes in my pocket. We arrive in plenty of time, I check in, get two bracelets (there's that wonderful little allergy red alert again) wait a few minutes in the waiting room with my friend Peg. She is knitting a prayer cloth for me - a beautiful multicolored yarn with 3 crosses outlined in the middle of it. She shows me a new way to cast on stitches. I do it several times. I probably will have to have her show me again.

I am called. The process begins. Height, weight, medical history. Change into a gown, put all your belongings into a plastic bag. They are concerned about my blood pressure, hovering in the 200 vicinity. The whole routine about bad veins crops up, once again taken seriously. They put hot packs on my hand, lower my arm, put a blood pressure cuff on my upper arm and make it not too tight. She gets it first stick. Its good. My blood pressure drops to a comfortable 128. Gee, nerves sure can wreak havoc on your system.

An intern introduces himself and asks about my medical history. I start to tell him when the doctor enters the room. It is the first time I have met her. She is young, competent, full of life. I like her right away. She listens as I continue the story. She asks if I have had other tests done yet, then proceeds to the computer to have a look at the PET and MRI results. They are talking and laughing and discussing what they are seeing.

"There's the brain. Nothing there." [I wonder if that means I am dumb?] Suddenly they move close together so that I can't see the screen. Their voices drop, and I can't hear what they are saying. That can't be good. Perhaps they are looking at someone else's records - maybe the patient they just got done with. All in good time. I will know what I need to know when I need to know it.

She comes over to the gurney and touches my arm. "I just looked at your scans. There is nothing in the colon area that concerns me. I just want to let you know that if rectal cancer returns, it usually doesn't show up in the rectal area a second time. I don't think we will find anything to worry about, but if we find a polyp or any abnormality, we will address it today. We will remove and biopsy if need be. Let's get started." She give the nurse instructions about how much drug to give, I feel the burn in my arm, I relax.

I know most people sleep through their colonoscopies. I never have. I am pretty much awake and watching the show for the whole thing. Its glorious to see your insides displayed on the screen in front of you in living color. The camera snakes this way and that, the light casting shadows sometimes. I ask if she sees my deadend pouch, she says yes and shows me on camera. I ask if she sees any adhesions, she says no - and no polyps either. Everything looks very good.

"I don't see any reason to do another colonoscopy for at least 3 years. I am glad, but I also remember that the Yale doctor said the same thing, then ordered one two months later. I go to recovery. The get out of jail card is the ability to pass gas, and I am happy to comply. They make me a warm cup of green tea and give me a packet of animal crackers. I can go.

On the way home, my cell phone rings. It is Dr. Mohile. Turns out the scans are showing the same 2 spots that the Yale doctors saw, plus more. She had called me to bring me in for biopsies, then had spoken with some of her colleagues. They think the problem is in the lymph glands. They advise not to biopsy yet, but to repeat the tests in 6 weeks and see what is happening. She is concerned that I know before my appointment with here that the tests were not all clear.

We will talk about options on the 12th. We will get to the bottom of it. Then we will decide what to do about it and when. I only know I have to make sure that I have done everything I can do to put myself in as good a position as I can. Take a deep breath, go home and eat something juicy. The tough stuff is over - at least for awhile.

The Scary Call

You know when you get a voice mail from your oncologist directly, there's something amiss. I had been teaching all morning for an honors Freshman class. Their faculty person was at a conference and had invited me to come and help make sense of the multitude of resources they will need to explore while researching their papers.



I enjoy working with people on a mission who really want to know that Google scholar is a better resource than plain Google, and that our own online reference collection is more dependable than the millions of hits their search terms will bring them from the world wide web.



I hurried to return to the library because I was scheduled to work at the circulation desk from noon to one and the reference desk from one to three. Lunch would be late, but that was OK since I was fasting (excuse me, liquid dieting) in preparation for tomorrow's colonoscopy.



I took my cell phone from my pocket just to make sure Drew hadn't tried to reach me, or worse yet, someone in the car pool. I am on the black list for carpool. I made bold to speak my piece about being a single Mom without additional drivers living in my house, and the fact that I work 2 jobs. It was not appreciated that I was indicating that I might not be able to pull my share of the load (even though most of them have 2 or 3 drivers to pull their share of the load and a number of the women are stay at home Moms who don't work 9 to 5 schedules). So I am in the doghouse.



I sure wasn't expecting to hear Dr. Mohile's voice asking me to call her as soon as I got the message, and having her give me her private number and tell me that if anyone else answered, I was to tell them to put me through immediately. Yikes! THAT can strike fear in the heart of the boldest lion. She ended the message by saying that if I didn't get the message until noon, she would be in a conference all afternoon and that I should call her first thing in the morning.



It was just noon. I called the number she indicated, but no luck. It would have to wait until morning. I panicked. Maybe I shouldn't be having the colonoscopy. What if they found a tumor and doing a scope would be dangerous? What if I drank all that yucky stuff, went without food for 36 hours, and then was told not to have the test? What if, what if, what if!



Well, you can't go by the what ifs. Anyways, there was nothing I could do about it, and fortunately both desks were busy and I didn't have to dream up scary scenarios. Once again, I remind myself that I am in God's hands, trust Him. At end of day, I was off my game enough to leave a few minutes early. Thursdays are choir rehearsals, and I had already decided not to drink the yucky stuff until afterwards, but I did go home and have the big meal of the day - green jello. Yeah! Something semisolid.



Choir went well. I enjoyed working up the piece for Sunday - Valerie Crescenz's setting of Psalm 23 for World Communion Sunday. We had a decent flute player join us, and by end of night, it was shaping up nicely.



On to home and the drinking of gallons of 'doctored' Gatorade. I was wrung out - literally and figuratively - by midnight, and slept with the bathroom light on. Just because you don't have to drink anything else doesn't mean you don't have to get rid of stuff. I cat napped between trips, and was beginning to think things wouldn't stop by the time I had to leave. Well, it makes for a good night of praying. If you have to be awake, you might as well use the time profitably.

Tomorrow would come soon enough. And I count myself most fortunate to be in my own place, with a flush toilet that works well, and running water, with soft tissues, and a tube of axle grease to liberally apply. How lucky to be well cared for, with all the amenities, and not just left in the street to die. My bed is comfy, my blankets warm, I am content. Tomorrow I will think about tomorrow.

I Samuel

Wednesdays at lunch Katherine Martin leads a women's Bible study at Pearce Memorial Church at the other end of campus. Several women from the library attend, and I have always appreciated hearing Katherine teach. I don't usually attend chapel either, but Katherine's husband, John Martin, the president of RWC/NES was speaking. So I decided to make it a double header day and catch them both.



John's study was from James 1, and he was encouraging students to become all that they could be not just mentally, but in how their understanding affects their actions. You can be smart as Merthiolate, but if you don't do anything with your brainpower, you will not reach your potential. He urged students to be transformers of society by developing their Christianity in practical ways. Kudos for teaching something useful.

Then on to the Bible study. Katherine has been enduring a difficult case of shingles, and is still in a great deal of pain despite nerve blockers and pain meds and weeks of discomfort. I feel for her, admire her bravery in trying to continue functioning as best she can under health defiant circumstances.

She had prepared study outlines, asking thought provoking questions, given us a list of resources to consult (Omitting her husband's articles published in Biblioteca Sacra back in the 80s). Ah, let a librarian get involved, and the resources become much richer! We talked our way from Genesis to Judges, engaging in the "big picture" of Scriptural history. A humble beginning, yet necessary in laying the foundation for future discussions.

We close with prayers all around, supporting one another and Katherine in the ups and downs of life. Here a cancer patient, there a death in the family, here a financial crisis, there a broken heart. We come together to share our sorrows, celebrate our joys. I know some of these women from the last time I lived here, some from my work at Roberts, some I just met, others I have yet to meet. But there is a togetherness that begins to develop as we bow in prayer and listen to Ruth offer up our concerns to the Almighty Father.

I have not mentioned my own concerns, the scans of recent days, the upcoming tests, the nagging thought that Yale was not totally off base and that there is stuff to be dealt with. I quietly mention it to my Father while still tuned in to others around me who are also fighting battles.

Yes, it is good to be a part of this lunch time Bible study. I will draw strength here, I will drink at this well and be refreshed. Next week we fly through the first seven chapters. I certainly have my work cut out for me!

Murder on Union Avenue

I saw it with my own eyes. I could hardly believe it. It was evening, about nine pm, and very dark. I was coming home from the library late shift. He ran right out into the road without looking, and the car in front of me hit him. I watched horrified as he smacked into the back left tire and bounced neatly backwards, the breath knocked out of him. He seemed only stunned, except that I knew the impact was too much to survive. The only sound had been a quiet little bump. No time for anything else. One minute he was racing across the street, the next minute he was lying on the yellow median lines, eyes vacant, not breathing.

There was no blood or guts splattered about. The body was intact. The SUV slowed and pulled into the apartment complex drive, hesitating, unsure. I had slammed on the brakes, and sat in the turn lane, waiting to see what the driver would do. We both looked at the dead body, and I was struck by the blackness of the circles around his eyes, the softness of the rings on his tail. Poor little raccoon. He would steal no more from any garbage cans or dumpsters. His days were done.

The car that had hit him pulled slowly from the drive and continued on his way. I pulled into the drive and wobbled my way over the speed bumps, reflecting on the unpredictable and fine line between life and death. It was sobering, even though it was only a raccoon. Life is so fragile. I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving, gathered up my backpack and purse, and climbed the steps to my apartment. Onward to more productive things like making dinner. I wondered briefly if raccoon tastes like chicken, then dismissed the thought as silly. Tonight is baked potato night anyway.

Coming Up for Air

Today, Northeastern Seminary sponsored a Women's Conference - Gender and the Bible. I wanted to go, but not for reasons of feminist interest. I wanted to connect with women of high education and moral standards, to rub shoulders with people on a level beyond myself, to challenge and encourage and get my mind off the mundane picayune problems into a more elevated pursuit of loftier aspirations.

I had every intention of catching all the seminars that happened before I had to be at work at 1. I had signed up for the luncheon with a keynote speaker from Gordon Conwell seminary (and I was a bit intrepid since I have heard of them, and some of the stories were pretty leftist.). But life pulled and pushed, and I only got to go to the luncheon. (literally, I spent half the morning at the lab trying to give them enough blood for the tests the doctor had ordered. They must have stuck me dozens of times, all to no avail. My arms ache horribly. They finally took it from my wrist, with severe warnings not to try this at home).

The glimpse was enough. Our accomplished speaker spoke 17 languages, had published many books, had worked with and launched a number of non-profit organizations to help abused women, was a humanitarian. She had a doctoral degree and had taught for many years. She was engaging, witty, with a charming sense of humor, and most of all, encouraging. AND she was not young. You get to a point in your life when you think you are over the hill and have nothing more to offer, especially when those around you have no vision, can't see what you are working so hard to accomplish.

But today was like coming up for a breath of fresh air, seeing the possibilities, getting a second wind, pulling up out of the mire and muck and trying again. Telling yourself that you are neither crazy nor too old, but merely needing to persevere. It will be OK. Others have gone before to blaze the way. If they can do it, so can I despite all weights and hindrances.

So I take a deep breath and put my hands to the wheel. Tomorrow I will renew my efforts to establish Jairus House. Even if I don't get the whole ball of wax, I can get enough momentum going until its a downhill race.