Ducks in a Row

I heard them honking long before I could see them. Spring is, after all, arriving and birds are apt to return to their northern nesting grounds. I expected to see a neat V of geese appear over the square edge of the Library building. Based on the volume of honk, it was a large gaggle that would dance into view any moment.

I stood staring at the sky, my mouth hanging open as I am wont to do when I look upwards, like some hungry baby bird expecting dinner. There is no extra work to looking up with your mouth shut, yet instinct makes us leave our jaws at level while raising our heads.

It reminds me of the verse "I lift my eyes to the hills from whence cometh my help. My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber." Psalm 121: 1-3. Every time I look up, I expect help!

Suddenly, they appeared, the geese I had been hearing. They flew in a long straight line, not in the usual V formation, not even at an angle to each other, but in a straight line one behind the other, all of them complaining loudly. What on earth? Was there some sort of leadership crisis?

I had always thought they flew in a V so that the group could take advantage of aerodynamic principles and prevent tiring, sort of like drafting behind an 18 wheeler. To prevent the leader -who took the biggest hit from the force of the wind - from tiring, one of the more rested geese in the back of the V would rotate to the front periodically to relieve the leader.

But not this bunch. And howdy were they squawking! That's what happens when things get out of whack. We find no safety in numbers and its every man for himself, if you will pardon the political incorrectness. I think about recent shootings in this area. How sad that we are not providing the kind of safe and nurturing environment, a community to lend a hand when the going gets rough.

I suspect as more people loose their jobs, we will hear accounts more often. If only we could figure out how to work together so no one takes the heat at the expense of everyone else. Maybe if I keep looking up, I will find some answers.

Story Telling Day

The idea for our StoryTelling Event came a whole year ago when one of my colleagues was doing an assignment for a class she was taking. She got the idea and did some research. Then our Operations Manager suggested we apply for a Cultural Enrichment Grant and actually bring some storytellers to campus for a day to promote the Library.

We pulled the material together and submitted it. Though we ended up sharing the grant with the Chaplain's Office (they submitted a grant to bring a storyteller to chapel), we were excited about all the activities involved. First there would be a Bible storyteller in chapel followed by lunch with the same. Then in the afternoon, we brought in a local storyteller who had recently won an award. He presented a workshop in the afternoon and told us stories in the evening.

Meanwhile, we held an Open House for our Curriculum Center and hosted a Scholastic Book Fair to benefit our juvenile literature collection. I had been really looking forward to it. But when I woke up, my tooth was aching and i knew it was going to interfere.

I weighed my options. I could suffer through the day on pain killers and see the dentist tomorrow. I looked at my calendar. Nope. Important meetings tomorrow. I could take my chances with Emergency Care in the morning and hope to catch at least some of the events - unlikely that I would get out in time for many of the events, but at least I was not committed to any specific times for working at the events (how did that happen!).

I took my chances. Sure enough, even though I arrived at 8:30 am, there were 6 people ahead of me, and I sat all morning. Fortunately, I brought reading that I needed to do, so the time went by fast. Usually if they don't call you by quarter of noon, you are asked to come back in the afternoon. At ten of, I was called back. Whew!

After I was comfortably seated and bibbed, the dentist announced that he would not have time to look at me. The hygienist felt badly for me, so she went in search of someone who could at least take a look. What a sweetheart! She found someone. At first they thought perhaps just a prescription would do it, but the senior advisor said they had to take the tooth apart and medicate from inside. Phooey.

I have to say that after they finished, my tooth hurt just as much if not more than before, but I had a prescription and the assurance that they had not seen any sign of infection, but had given me strong internal antibiotics in case. We will see. Meanwhile, take 2 Tylenol and don't come back until next week when your real appointment is scheduled! Unless of course things get worse.

I managed to return in time for my Library Committee meeting, and stayed to catch the evening story telling event which was quite engaging. All in all, we had lots of visitors and did marvelously well with the book fair. Still, I would have liked to have been more involved.

Too Tired

Good thing I backed away from my usual weekend commitments. This recovering thing is taking time. I am definitely not myself quite yet. I know the drugs they gave me take time to work out of your system. I didn't realize I would have to take Tylenol for a few days to get past the stiffness and ache. It felt like I had climbed the Alps for all the soreness in my limbs. Strange.

Even at Church I didn't participate in chime choir rehearsal, just directed and counted. After Church, I went home and stayed there. I did a bit more reading, a bit more sleeping, and nothing in the line of household chores. The dirty dishes and laundry will not go anywhere before I get to them when I feel better.

Somewhere in the afternoon, my tooth started aching. Rats. I have a dentist appointment to deal with it in two weeks. I am suspecting this will not wait two weeks. Even through the pain meds I can feel the ache. Phooey. I don't need yet another twist in the rope. I finally give up and go to bed. Tomorrow I will figure out how to deal with everything. Today I will get out of the way and let my body do its thing.

Refusing Stress

Yesterday they didn't give me a locker for my things at the outpatient procedure place. I handed my wallet to Kiel for safe keeping. Afterwards, he was taking Drew places and meeting friends, and I knew he would need gas in the car, so I told him to use my debit card. Instead of taking the card from my wallet as he usually would do, he just kept the entire wallet.

This morning, after organizing for the day, I woke the boys. As we were headed out for the car, I asked for my wallet back. Kiel got a funny look on his face and said, "I already gave it back to you. Didn't I?" No, you didn't. We looked around, sure he had set it down with the movies he had rented after getting gas. No. Not there.

We began a serious hunt for my little black wallet with the entire core of my life inside - driver's license, credit card, debit card, AAA card, insurance card, cash, stamps. Goodness, I can't do anything without it! It was not in the living room or in anyone's pocket, not in the car or the kitchen, not in the trash, nowhere! Help! My life is LOST!!!

After wasting precious time, I decided to go to the Library and try to get things done while Kiel retraced his steps. I fumed all the way to work, accusing the poor boy of being irresponsible and careless. It was as if a dam had burst and I could not stop my mouth. I knew it was senseless to get so riled about it, but I just couldn't seem to shut up.

Sitting in my office, I tried to put it out of my mind. I was terrified that someone had taken it and was at that very moment draining my checking account and running up untold bills on my credit card. Fear. It smelled bad. OK. Let's get back in control. Deep breath. Check your bank account online. Nothing unusual. Call the credit card number. Nothing reported recently.

Now. You are going to have to ask God to take charge. Leave this to Him and just focus on what you need to do. It wasn't easy, but I was finally able to take care of what I needed to do. Too soon I ran out of umph. Kiel picked me up on my request. Energy dropped off much faster than I had hoped. Darn pain killers. I hadn't counted on having to deal with a recovery period after the biopsy. I didn't really get much done, and figured I could go home and doze and read as I was able.

On the way home, I apologized for yelling. He was quiet. I knew he felt bad. I said that wallets don't just disappear. This one was somewhere. Silently, I acknowledged that God knew where it was. If it doesn't show up by Monday (yikes! That's days away!) I will call the appropriate places and pay to cancel things.

I sat in the big blue chair and read my assignments. From time to time exhaustion took over and I would put my books down and nap. I got almost everything read, stopping only for a quick lunch. Around 3pm, a quiet knock came at the door. I peeked through the peep hole. Our next door neighbor was standing there.

I opened the door, and he was holding my wallet! I was dumbfounded. "Where did you find it?" I almost hugged him. "Out in the parking lot last night when I was going to work. You must have dropped it. I knew you weren't home since your car was gone, so I just took it to work with me, then when I got home early this morning, I went to bed before you were up."

Well, that explained it! No wonder we couldn't find it. It had fallen from Kiel's pocket when he got out of the car. God knew it needed to be kept safe, and had a good samaritan pick it up for safe keeping. Whew! I didn't even think to give him a reward for returning it intact.

Kiel suggested maybe a Starbuck's gift card. Good idea. Meanwhile, that will "learn" me not to get all bent out of shape and be a bit less stressed when there's nothing I can do about a situation.

Bone Biopsy

Because Drew didn't have school, I slept in until 7, then got up and cleaned the kitchen, living room, bathroom and my bedroom. It occurs to me that after the biopsy I might not feel up to the usual weekend cleaning, and I won't want to sit around staring at dirt mess and clutter!

Then off to a voice lesson and work - don't have to be at the hospital until 11:30, so figure I should stay productive until then. At last Kiel and I are headed towards Strong. A bit of butterflies in the tummy, but I am calm.

I have been watching the digital picture frame with the good verses and pictures. This new frame has a scramble mode and it has been interesting seeing slides not in the order of the Psalm or the Lord's Prayer. Makes you think about things from a whole new perspective!

I arrive and check in, get my required two plastic bracelets and head for the Nurse's Station. They assign me to bed "F" as in fabulous, fun, fantastic and a bunch of other descriptors Kiel and I make up. The nurse has the usual hard time finding a decent vein, but after two sticks, she gets one in my index finger. I have to say, I have never had a finger IV!

The doctor comes to explain the procedure and get my consent. I ask a lot of questions and he takes the time to truly answer them. I thought the suspicious spot was on the outside of the bone, sort of like a fungus. But it is actually inside the bone. They will have to drill a hole in my vertebrae to reach the long skinny place where the scans show abnormality.

He draws me pictures and we talk about how this will unwind. He tells me my options - not do it, wait for an open surgery kind of procedure, etc. I opt for this less invasive test, and do not want to ignore things. The cool part is that they do the procedure while you are having a live CT scan so they can see where the needle is exactly. Its the digital version of fluoroscopy.

The doctor tells me that cancer in the T1 vertebrae is uncommon. I suggest perhaps it is nothing. His eyes suddenly look directly into mine, with something like shock. "Yes!" he says. "It could be nothing. Nothing at all." I can tell the thought is foreign to him, but he is happy to entertain the idea. It will not stop the wheels from turning though. I sign the consent form.

They wheel me into the procedure room. I roll onto the CT scan table on my tummy and they put pillows under my chest and forehead. I get hooked up to an EKG, the blood pressure cuff and oxygen in my nose. They hang an IV bag. I can't see anything, and I struggle with the pillows to be able to breath something other than my own exhalations. My head must be straight, and above all, I cannot move. Since they haven't started, I wiggle my chin trying to dig a breathing hole.

They run some baseline CT scans. I hear many people moving about positioning stuff and asking directions from Dr. G. The nurse sits by my head and occasionally asks me if I am OK. Throughout the procedure they run me in and out of the CT doughnut to make sure things are where they should be.

I feel the cold of the antiseptic as they sterilize the area after spreading out a sheet of sterile papercloth. I feel the pinch of the Novocaine numbing the skin. I definitely feel the pressure as they insert a small drill, and the push of the drill as they enter the bone. Reminds me of dental procedures in some convoluted way.

Every few seconds, someone says, "Let's see where we are," and they call out a number - "Go to 68.7. Let's see 70.5. Now 72. (I think these are millimeters). OK We're good. Perfect." Then they bring me back out and I feel more pressure. Every once in awhile I feel pain, and almost immediately the nurse will ask if I am in pain.

The doctor approves more medicine. I start with .5 Versed and 25 of the pain med. They up the dose to 50, then another .5 Versed and another 25 pain. At one point, long after the procedure was well underway, I got a whole unit of Versed and another 75 of pain stuff. They need me to stay on the cusp of aware yet not in agony.

After the drill comes what feels like a chisel and hammer. The tap-tap-tap-tap is firm and insistent. It is followed by a rocking motion. More rocking. I can feel the pressure as they aspirate a piece of bone they have chipped off. More drugs. They get a first sample. No good. Too much blood. I listen as the doctor who is overseeing talks to unknown others about what is happening. It is a teaching class. I hear voices over an intercom with questions and answers.

They need three samples to make sure they can get a read. It is taking longer than they thought. I have very hard bones! I can sense that from time to time someone else is trying - the touch is different. Less firm, more angular. I hear the instruction - if it goes in easily, you are in the same location. Pull back and change the angle. It should feel hard to push.

Then back to the familiar hands. Someone enters the room and asks how much longer they need the room. At least a half hour more. The voice says to take your time, they will move the next procedure to another room.

Finally they are satisfied. Things zip off quickly and I find myself suddenly alone with the nurse, free of wires and sheets and paraphernalia. I roll back onto the gurney and head for slot "F" for finally. The nurse offers me some apple juice. In a short while, they bring me a turkey sandwich and applesauce.

The yellow discharge papers are not far behind - go home and rest. Take Tylenol (I can already tell I will need to - it feels like I have been hit very hard by a baseball bat in the spot on my upper back where they were working.) My arms are already sore from holding them over my head for so long. I am a bit wobbly, but can navigate well enough to get to the car.

On the way home I find I need an emergency bathroom stop. I console myself with a small cone of soft ice cream from Russells - chocolate of course! Then home to sleep. Not so bad. At least, so far. Now the waiting begins. I can call next Friday and see if the report is back yet. The praying continues.

I walk in the door and am greeted by my digital picture frame. I left it running to fill the room with goodness while I was gone. It helped me to remember that it was running, and I recalled many of the scenes and slides while I was listening to the voices about me. The inner voice was more comforting! I shall be happy to just sit awhile. I am glad it is over.

Wow-ed

I tried to set up my digital picture frame early this morning, but didn't get it going until after lunch. Almost as soon as I set it up, I began receiving emails from friends and family just to let me know I am being prayed for and sending me peace.

At first it was a surprise, but then I began savoring each message. After a bit it reached into my heart so far that the tears began to twinkle at the edge of my eyes - how wonderful that people care and are lifting me up! I am so blessed!

Its the most amazing thing. They come to both my work email box and my personal email account, a steady stream. I am astounded that people with the most hectic schedules somehow found time to drop me a note - I fully appreciate the sacrifice they made to do that.

I know tomorrow I will be covered with love and grace and a confidence that God is with me. I am taking my digital picture frame home with me and setting it by my bedside. Should I begin to fret, I will be reminded of the love of Christ and the love of those who have sent me encouragement. Nice. Very nice.

Tomorrow I go with God. 'Nuff said.

Taking My Own Medicine

One of the things Jairus House had offered to those who are dealing with cancer treatment is a digital picture frame loaded with pictures of nature that Drew and I took, overlaid with encouraging and familiar spiritual words like Psalm 23 and the Lord's Prayer.

The idea is that it is the whole person who will be battling this disease, not just one's body, but the soul (will and emotions) and the spirit are also involved. While the medical profession addresses the battle waged by the body, and sometimes you get a social worker or counselor to help you do battle for your soul (address your emotions and your will), there aren't many resources out there to help support and strengthen your spirit.

So filling your mind with Scripture and prayers and spiritual songs is meant to provide this important piece of care. I have given out some of these, but of course have no way to know how much they get used or how helpful they have been (its relatively new).

Now that I am facing this bone biopsy, it occurred to me that I should be taking this medicine myself! So I am loading one of the new picture frames to set on my desk and glance at on and off all day as I come and go and work at my desk. I am including both the Lord's Prayer, Psalm 23, and an assortment of other verses.

I will see first hand how it works.

The Skinny

I showed up at 1:30 as instructed, and was a bit startled to have a lab form shoved under my nose and be directed to go get blood drawn before even seeing the doctor. OK. I can do that. Shoot, I wore a long sleeved sweater blouse that doesn't have roll up sleeves. I will have to strip to present a vein. Oh, well.

I return to the cancer wing and wait to be called. Predictably, my blood pressure is 188 over something, which they are used to and ignore. I am ushered into a different examination room and before I even get a chance to sit down, someone enters and introduces herself as a social worker. She hands me her card and tells me she is always available to talk to if I need someone. Yikes! I didn't get that when I started seeing the other oncologist. What is this?

I immediately like the woman who introduced herself as Faith - what a great name for a doctor - especially an oncologist! She told me that she was going to say words that would sound scary, but that I needn't be afraid and she would explain why. Here's what she said:

You have an advanced stage level 1 follicular lymphoma. It is terminal and there is no cure. That being said, it is much more likely that you will die of old age before this cancer kills you. Any patient in this clinic would trade diagnoses with you in a heartbeat. If you have to have cancer, this is the least problematic one to have.

Its a very passive non intrusive cancer, and we say advanced stage because it has spread throughout your entire body. Looking back at all your PET scans and MRIs over the last three years, I can track a definite progression from just one tiny spot to the ubiquity I have now. Still, even had we known what we were dealing with, there was nothing that we could have done.

As I described the symptoms I experience, she nodded her head and said I just described the lymphoma. There are periods of waxing when my system ramps up and the cancer becomes active, then it just as unpredictably ramps down or wanes. Wherever the lymphocytes travel, they bring cancer with them.

Problems erupt if during the waxing episodes a swollen gland presses on internal organs which can cause damage and pain. So we watch for that. And we track how my body is experiencing the disease. If a waxing episode gets stuck and doesn't ramp down, then there is intervention. If an internal organ gets damaged, there are ramifications. Kidneys are susceptible.

Its possible that this cancer is a result of the other cancer. Current thinking is that there are links. The odd factor is the spine spot. They will do the biopsy Friday (please pray!) to see if its rectal cancer related, an entirely new cancer (which would indicate that I am cancer prone and mean I could develop other cancers as well) or related to the lymphoma.

Given my age and the wars my body has already been through, they will not try the "restart" method they sometimes use on younger patients. Any questions?

Oh, one more thing. No more PET scans or MRIs. Lymphoma shows up just fine on CAT scans without contrast, so they will do one 3 weeks after the bone biopsy (which btw takes a week to process) to set up a baseline, then repeat every 6 MONTHS!!!! unless there is some extenuating complication that needs to be looked at.

She fills out reams of paperwork and pushes it at me across the desk. She shakes my hand and shows me out. Whew! My head is filled with stuff to sort out and ponder. It sounds more like walking a tightrope than a walk in the park. OK. Let the games begin. Or continue, now that I know the rules.

A Day of Waiting

Tomorrow is my appointment with my new doctor, the lymphoma specialist. It was hard to focus all day and my mind kept turning over the events that had led me to this step. Nothing has changed, really. Other than the confirmation of the suspected cancer, I feel the same - which is pretty good most of the time, except for those little episodes when everything puffs up and hurts.

My chemobrain days are few and far between, and the sheer exhaustion that I was experiencing when I first moved to Rochester has mostly abated. I feel as back to normal as I think I will. So while I believe my other oncologist that they will not do any treatment, still, there is that nagging little question - "what now?"

I have begun to pray more earnestly that the cancer will simply go away and leave me alone. God, please heal me and restore my body and health. That would be wonderful! But until that is evidenced, I must keep seeing the doctors and following up on the symptoms.

So tomorrow I will get the skinny. Meanwhile, there are books to shelve, meetings to attend, assignments to read.

Happy Birthday Drew!

Tomorrow Drew turns 15! I can't believe my baby is a young man. Yes, he is six foot tall and has a mind of his own, but it seems like only yesterday the nurse was holding him up for me to see his wrinkled red face crying in protest at being forced into a world he did not want to face.

Usually I give the birthday boy the choice of what I will make for his special birthday dinner. This year, Drew wanted to eat out. Normally we don't go to restaurants very often, and I debated, but it seemed like a good idea.

He chose the Cheesecake Factory. I have never been to one, but have been told they are wonderful. There is a nice one in Pittsford, so after evening service we headed in that direction. The parking lot was full and I wondered how long we would have to wait for a table.

To my surprise, they seated us right away. The menu was a thick book of options, delicacies and desserts (after all, they are known for their cheesecake). Kiel got the Shepherd's Pie, I got the Madeira chicken, and Drew ordered plain pasta! Plain pasta? With cheese? I could have made that at home in a heartbeat!

Never mind - its his night. Be happy for him and listen to him. We ate and chattered and enjoyed the ambiance. We all stopped after eating half the portion served - all of us considering that dessert should be tried! Everything was delicious.

Yes, Kiel had the Godiva chocolate cheesecake, Drew had white chocolate raspberry cheesecake, and I tried the chocolate triffle. I let it drop to the waiter that it was Drew's birthday. After the waiter left, Drew said, "You know what they do in restaurants to birthday people?" Yes, they sing to them. He expressed that it was the last thing he wanted. He would be embarrassed - why o why did I have to tell them it was his birthday!!!

Secretly I think he was pleased to have the attention, and indeed, the wait crew came over with his dessert that had a lighted candle in it and "Happy Birthday" written in chocolate around the edge of the plate, singing. Drew smiled from ear to ear, and afterwards took a picture of the dessert with his phone.

He is that awkward combination of boy and man as his requests for presents indicated. He ended up with an action figure, a VeggieTales DVD and a new pair of sneakers for Monday night soccer. Happy Birthday, my young son. May you have a blessed and wonderful adventure throughout the year as you grow more and more into manhood.

Love, MOM

Insurance Insanity

The doctor told me if I hadn't heard from the bone scan people by Tuesday, to call and remind them to follow through. So, being in the neighborhood, I stopped in. My doctor actually came to speak to me about the situation.

Remember when the insurance company denied us the contrast for the MRI you had done? Well, now that we are requesting a bone biopsy, they are claiming you can't get it approved unless you have an MRI with contrast first! A plain MRI won't do.

She was so angry I thought she would spit nails. She assured me that she was in conversation with the insurance company and would sort it out and let me know.

I personally think they have flagged my account because I have so many tests done and they routinely deny everything. So the philosophy is that if you are sick and need treatments and tests, you will have to fight to get them because you might abuse the system and you will definitely be costing them money.

I have been told that sometimes when the patient deals directly with the insurance company they get better service. But I had such bad experiences with insurance companies when Michael was sick that I bristle at the very mention of their name. I went round and round with them about getting bills paid.

They kicked everything out of the system and questioned and delayed until the expiration date for submitting had passed and then refused to pay because it was past the date even though they had pushed it there.

I suspect these sorts of issues will simply continue especially given this economy. Meanwhile, I am grateful to have insurance and will let the oncology department sort it all out.

Spring?

You've got to be kidding - here it is the first day of Spring, and I look out the window expecting to see flowers and hear birds singing. But what do I see? Snow!!! For crying out Pete!

Not that I'm complaining, but really. Shouldn't we be seeing crocus and daffodils and robins? Spring in the northeast is short at best. Once it starts you better pay attention or you will slide right into summer and miss it completely. Now Illinois does spring wonderfully.

The first year I was there I couldn't get over how glorious the flowering shrubs and bushes were, what a riotous kaleidoscope of color abounded as far as the eye could see. Every imaginable hue, variety, species of delicate petal greeted your eye. I loved to just stand outside at lunchtime and drink it all in.

Like a good New Englander, I expected the whole phenomenon to disappear in the usual less than a week timeframe. Imagine my delight when it lasted well nigh a month! And the birdsong that accompanied the season was rich and plenteous. I never appreciated spring so much until I tasted a true Midwest spring.

You should try it. Just make sure you take your Benadryl!

On Being a Ferry

I never was any good at the whole Mom-as-a-taxi thing. I always figured that since I work more than one job and run the household, I don't have time to drive children to activities I have to pay for them to participate in, especially if it involves hours of hot traffic jams.

But there is always something about looking into your child's eyes and seeing how much they want to play soccer or whatever the activity is that makes you do it anyway. I always did it with lots of complaining and constant reminders of how they should appreciate the sacrifice I was making and what it was costing me to allow them to do this. You owe me, honey.

Isn't it a delight to know you are such a beast? I clearly see in living color all the places where I am less than perfect and far too human. I did lots of activities when I was in high school, but we lived within two miles of the school back in an era when there were safe communities and you could walk down the street without being accosted.

Nowadays we live far from our places of school and work, too far to reasonably walk where we need to be. We rely so much more on independent transportation capability. Still, my parents didn't ferry me about, and I saw no reason to cater to my own brood, especially since I homeschooled most of the boys for their elementary education and part of their high school inasmuch as I was able. We made our own field trips and activities and did things together at convenient times.

In fact, there have been plenty of times in my life when I had no vehicle and found myself walking everywhere. When the older boys were just babies, I used to pile the dirty laundry into a red wagon, slap the baby on my back, tuck the middle kid in with the laundry, take the oldest by the hand and walk to the laundromat downtown every week.

It wasn't so bad getting there since our little apartment sat on the top of a huge hill and we sort of coasted all the way to the bottom. I dragged detergent and coins and bottles and diaperbags and water along. The boys played with the laundry baskets, pushing them about and chasing each other while the clothes were processed.

Then we piled everything back in the red wagon and the long trek up the huge hill began. Some days we were lucky to have overcast skies and warm weather. Other times it was too cold or too hot. Once in awhile it rained and we would run the rest of the way home once we had scaled the heights. Winters were wicked.

Having to walk to work and markets and church sometimes as car situations changed made me fiercely determined not to let some little transportation issue keep me from doing what needed to be done. It also gave me a healthy appreciation for reliable cars - and I have been blessed when others enabled me to get needed transportation. I have a particular fondness for a dear benefactor couple who helped me get my current car.

I find it very satisfying to be able to help someone in need of transportation, and lately have had the honor of playing that role for several people. I suspect as the economics tighten I will be able to help in this way more often. I am extremely grateful that I current have the ability to help out in this way. I just pray for the grace to do it with a tender heart and a joyful attitude.

Daffodil Day

One day a week I have the morning off to run errands, catch up on housework, schedule doctor and dentist appointments and generally take care of things. That day I go to work at noon then stay for the evening shift, leaving me a full glorious morning to myself.


Its a good system and I appreciate having time to breathe a bit. This morning, as Drew was getting ready, in between hustling him along, I planned my day. If I'm careful and organized, I might be able to squeeze in a number of errands I have been putting off due to the extra medical procedures and unusual activities I've participated in.

I mapped out the day according to locations of places I needed to visit. First, drop off some music at my sister's, drop off more music at the church, hit the bank, go home, load laundry and while it washes, clean the kitchen and living rooms. Flip the laundry into the dryer, get to the YMCA, then the hospital with paperwork and followup on the bone biopsy. Then make a dentist appointment to finish a root canal started last fall (yikes!), on the way home stop at the grocery store for a few items needed, go home, finish the laundry, make lunch for Kiel and I, and dash off to work.

Crazy but do-able. I was happily loading laundry when my downstairs neighbor peeked into the laundry room. Startled by my presence, she said, "Oh! I'm so used to being here alone I didn't realize anyone else was around." She and I have exchanged pleasantries before, but I don't know her very well. I glanced up from stuffing clothes in the washing machine, and my heart sank.

Clearly written on her face was a plea, an invitation, a desperate cry for someone to chat with, someone to hear her story. All I needed to do was ask the question. My mind actually began calculating the cost of asking the question that I knew would lead to deep topics. Maybe if I worked it right, I could get away with just an hour of talk time. Immediately, I berated myself for even thinking such mean and selfish thoughts.

Obviously, this was a divine appointment that needed to happen. Shut up, mind. God will make a way for you to get your list done. Get your priorities straight and ask the question. "How do you come to be home alone all day?"

I might as well have just tapped a nail right into her pain. The dam burst and she couldn't have stopped herself if she tried. Here was a woman who used to be a top flight executive for a major corporation pulling down a comfy six figure salary. Suddenly, she was unexpectedly blindsided by health issues, and two years later she is barely able to pay rent on a dumpy apartment.

Her whole self esteem has disappeared. She feels worthless. She begged her husband to leave and start over without the health issues dragging his life into the toilet too. The tears washed down her face and puddled on the floor as she sobbed in agony.

I listened, nodded in understanding, hugged repeatedly and let it come. Mentally, I ticked task after task off my list until there was almost nothing left. She finally took a deep breath, realized how much she had bared her soul to a complete stranger, apologized profusely, and backed away. I reassured her that it was OK. If you can't talk to your neighbor, then who can you talk to?

After she left, I flipped the laundry into the dryer and recalculated my list. I still had time to run to the hospital with the paperwork for there and check on the biopsy progress. While waiting in the director's office for the finance person, I noticed pots of cheery daffodils everywhere throughout the facility.

I looked at the poster displayed prominently behind the receptionists' desk. The flowers were being sold to support cancer research, a worthy cause if ever I have heard one. Then it came to me. It was perfect for my neighbor - bright and yellow and cheerful AND it helped others, the one thing she longed to be able to do again.

After I concluded my business (the biopsy story I will tell you another time), I found the place where they were selling the plants and selected a particularly heavily budded plant, carrying it carefully to the car. I tucked a little note of consolation in the green stalks and quietly set it in front of her door. Perhaps it will bring a smile and for a brief moment, lift her heavy burden.

Meanwhile, I shall have to plot how to continue to encourage her when opportunity arises. AFTER I get my list done!

St. Patrick's Day Party

I opened the door to the break room and was greeted by a delightful surprise. Everywhere about the room were green decorations, gold coins, books about Ireland and St Patrick, and four leaf clovers! A breath of springtime on a chilly day.

The air was redolent with cloves and spices from the simmering crock pot of mulled apple juice, the table proffering mint brownie confections and other treats. Staff gathered in a cheery mood to chat and partake of the goodies.

I'm not Irish, but I enjoy a good party. In fact, I am about as English as it gets, with a heritage of names like Appleby and Morton. I refrained from wearing orange (purple being my color of the day), but fully participated in the conversations and the word games set about as a challenge.

This was way better than dying a river green or eating foods like eggs or mashed potatoes dyed some horrible shade of unappetizing green.

So Happy St. Patrick's Day, and hope yours was as sunny and cheerful as ours.

Remembering Jenny

Jenny had Alzheimer's before Alzheimer was a word. We called it hardening of the arteries back when I was in high school. She didn't mean to be difficult, she didn't even know she was being difficult. Tales abounded of her wandering about naked, her husband in hot pursuit. I can't imagine how it must have been for Harold to see the woman he had loved for decades become infantile in her behavior.

Harold was treated with respect by those who knew the situation, yet the full burden of Jenny's care fell upon his shoulders alone. As far as I knew, no one lent a hand to see to her care. You could see his tiredness in the droop of his shoulders, his lack of sleep in the wan color of his face. I never heard him complain though he surely had reason since this situation went on for some time.

He brought Jenny to church every Sunday he was able in spite of her condition. He bathed her and dressed her in the same floral print dress, strand of pearls, and gauze decorated straw hat that she had always worn, the outfit that marked her as a long time member of the Presbyterian community.

She still smiled at everyone through her black rimmed glasses, her hair slightly askew and her once impeccable lipstick somewhat smudged. I am sure she would have been both mortified and grateful had she been able to understand her situation. Mortified at her unlady-like and unChristian actions, and extremely grateful to Harold for his commitment.

He spoke to her with kindness and patience, as if to a toddler who didn't know any better, and tried to maintain for her some semblance of normality despite the gargantuan effort to complete even the simplest of tasks. I never once saw him snap at her or lose his temper.

I think of Jenny from time to time, especially when I am facing unknown health issues that could affect my mind and turn me into a bowl of Jello. More to the point, I remember Harold's remarkable care and his simple acceptance of responsibility for the task unexpectedly handed him by life.

Disease affects so much more than just the person with the symptoms. It touches many lives, even if by story. We feel so helpless in the face of the unmanageable and undefined problems that crop up, long term or otherwise. Its so frustrating to be hurt and in pain when you are not the sick one.

Sometimes I think about what would happen if suddenly I "Jenny-ed" out of control. In this day and age, I suppose I would be committed to some institution who would manage my care and see to my needs. Family members would come visit from time to time, but eventually give up due to the futility of it all.

Harolds are few and far between these days and I'm not sure I would deserve such dedication anyway. I just have one question. Who was with Harold after Jenny died when he was sick and in need of a helping hand?

Coming Home

I wondered how I would ever come back down from the euphoric high of the weekend, even though I had this persistent concern about all the reading I needed to be doing for my seminary class. Not to mention the paper due on Tuesday.

Nevertheless, I was sure things would work out one way or the other. After all, what is a mere 300+ pages of reading. I arrived home around 4pm, expecting the worst what with two teenage boys alone for an entire weekend. I was pleasantly surprised that the living room was actually quite navigable and there was a basket of laundry in progress.

The kitchen, of course, was littered with pizza boxes and remnants of snack food, and the boys were seriously into some movie on TV. Good. Maybe I can manage to get some reading done. Even better, they decided to wander over to Roberts for awhile, leaving me to my own devices.

So I curled up on my bed (ah, the comfort of your own little beddy bye) and started reading. I read, and read, and read until I thought my eyes would fall out of my head. Not just your typical reading, mind you, but the writing of John Calvin and Jacobus Arminius and the complex issues of predestination and the elect. Yikes!

Not something you can skim, or even read once and totally get it. No kidding, by 11pm, as I was finishing the last few pages, I was actually seeing double and my eyes burned. Man, remind me not to do that again! I have to say, it didn't take me long to fall asleep. I didn't even hear the boys come in.

Day Away

What an amazing day! I had been invited to a Koinonia weekend by good friends who just wanted to bless me. And bless me they did. Besides the change of pace from the daily grind of work, work, and work, it was wonderful to get together with other Christians from all over the region.

They came from every conceivable denomination, economic class, education level, personality type - you name it. Yet the weekend went tremendously well. No clashes. No one considered themselves to be better than anyone else. Everyone was encouraged to speak their piece. Everyone was fully accepted.

Not only were you made to feel totally at home and welcomed, but all your needs were anticipated and met over and above anything you could have possibly wanted. At first, not knowing quite what to expect, you felt a bit out of place. That lasted all of two seconds. People went out of their way to introduce themselves and took a real interest in you, helping you feel at home.

I believe there were at least twice as many people working to put the weekend together as there were guests like myself. The day was filled with fun singing, good food, quiet fellowship, and blessing after blessing. It was the closest I have ever come to being loved unconditionally and feeling like I really belonged. I moved through the day laughing, crying, feeling better about myself than I have in a long long time.

The encouragement given was awesome. Its so easy to forget that you are not alone. After forging through so much garbage in the world around you, sometimes you just don't realize there is a bigger picture with a much better view! If ever you have an opportunity to go to a Koinonia weekend, make sure you go! You will not be sorry.

The Report

So today is the day I meet with the oncologist and find out the results of all the tests, scans, and biopsies I have had over the past few weeks. I know many people are praying for me, and I am not worried as I head out from work for my 11am appointment. If I were a drama queen, I would place the back of my hand strategically on my forehead, wilt a bit to the left and sigh deeply while announcing that I am off to learn my fate, standing on the cusp of disaster, clinging bravely to a thin strand of hope.

Fortunately, I am not a drama queen. I know the drill and what could come. I know that God is with me and come what may, I shall be fine. So I drive up five levels in the Strong Hospital Parking Garage, take the stairs to level one because I can, and march down the hall and into the Wilmot Cancer Clinic, giggling just a little because the player piano in the main hospital lobby is playing the same Chopin nocturne that it was playing last time I exited this building. Talk about deja vue! Or maybe deja aura.

I endured the endless wait, surviving no fewer than five whole episodes of WWII on the History Channel while I strained my ears for my name to be called. Finally they call me, check blood pressure (only 185 over 71 - not bad for me), temp 97.5 - normal, and escort me into an exam room for an additional wait. I hear the doctor making her rounds from one room to the next, greeting patients, wishing them well. She is very upbeat and encouraging.

My turn at last. She has been busy on my behalf. Yes, the biopsies confirm what we have suspected all along. I have a lymphoma, low grade and prospering. With this firm diagnosis I can now be referred to a specialist - and they have a well known specialist right at Wilmot - hard to get in, but I have an appointment for March 24 since she has been talking to him all along about my case.

And I still have to have the bone biopsy. They will schedule it before I see the specialist, so sometime in the next week or so. But its not the rectal cancer flaring up. She is fairly certain its not. Barring anything unforeseen from the biopsy. And the good news is, now that they know what we are dealing with, I will not need a scan every 8 weeks. I can drop to 3 months now (OK, so its not that much of a deal, but I'll take it.).

And that's the skinny. The doctors are happy. They expect it will not affect me any more than it currently is, and that's a good thing. Except for that little blip on the spine. That and whatever the new specialist might suggest. So life is good. Let's keep it that way for awhile!

Packing

Tomorrow I am going on a weekend adventure - not a retreat exactly, but a time for renewal. I have been pressed for time all day, on a tight schedule packed with all kinds of activities. Finally I am home after work and choir practice. I pick up, fix dinner, do some dishes, and manage to get to my room before midnight.

I need to leave almost right after work, so I know I won't have time to pack tomorrow. I really need to get it done tonight before my head hits the pillow. I sit on the bed and try to think what I will need. I have a list of suggestions, but I stare blankly at them, already in shutdown mode.

The boys are still playing guitar hero and I can hear their music, which doesn't help me think. I calculate the number of changes of clothes I will need, try to remember the weather forecast (cold), pull out my travel kit and check to see if I need any refills.

I travel less these days. The professional tenure track required me to attend three or four conferences a year, presenting at as many of them as I could. Now that my position isn't tenure track, I only go to one or two a year, depending on the locations and topics of the presentations.

So my packing skills are a bit rusty. At least I don't have to fly. A short car trip is much easier to contemplate. I begin tucking the essentials into my blue suitcase, determined not to overpack. Dress is casual, so sweatshirts and comfy pants, warm woolly socks, sneakers.

Sleeping bag, blanket and pillow. Check. I had realized earlier that I had tossed all the sleeping bags before we moved. They were old and tattered and worn. So I had gone to Walmart's to get a new one (very reasonably priced), and Drew began dreaming of camping this year. Good idea!

Suddenly the suitcase was full. Had I forgotten anything? My exhausted brain could barely think. I will have to check tomorrow. I think I have everything - power cord for my cell, blood pressure medicine, cash in case. OK. Then I rummaged back through the neat piles of clothes, recalculating. I always overplan, then talk myself out of the extra sweater, the "just in case" items.

12:32. Not bad. I have one small suitcase, a small carryon bag, and the sleeping bag. I can travel light (I laugh out loud at this, knowing that many people have had to leave home and loved ones with much, much less). I bundle everything together in the corner of the room and slip between the sheets with a sigh. Ready.

I hope I have more time and energy than that to prepare for my final journey! Guarantee I will pack much lighter for that one. Maybe I should make sure I take care of things right along so I don't get caught with a midnight task. Maybe.

The Rhetorical Question

It was an innocent question. I was just making conversation, really. I had no idea what was about to unfold. I just needed to get my hair cut. Overdue, really. I couldn't make the long strands behave themselves any longer. I am still trying to find someone who makes me look perfect (right, like that's gonna happen), so I keep hoping with different hairdressers.

Today, though, I am constrained by time, so I take whoever is available. She came to greet me, and help me get settled in her chair. We briefly discussed the plan of action [take one aging and washed out gray-haired lady and turn her into the 21st century's idea of how not to look your age] while she fluffed and poofed at my scraggly locks.

The plan set, she got busy mixing goop and laying out gear. It will take an army to tame this old broad. I thought I would make some polite conversation. "So, how long have you worked here?" I should have known by the over long pause that I would not get a simple answer. She even prefaced her comments by "its complicated."

It was. Her life had been difficult and filled with pain and disappointment. The day before all her nail gear - over $500 worth - had been stolen. Her livelihood. Somehow I have the sort of face that people feel comfortable with, and soon she was daubing, folding, and crinkling my hair, and crying while she spilled out her story. Not that her life was all that unusual - I have encountered many of the same events myself. But sad. Especially for one so young. I doubt she was out of her twenties.

She finished applying color, offered me a cup of tea and a magazine, then sat down next to me and we talked - really talked - for almost an hour. The entire salon was empty and private. It was as if we had permission to take time out and deal with stuff. I didn't say anything, really. Just listened while she poured out her heart. We covered every topic from abuse to illness and death to unfair life events to boyfriends and quitting smoking.

She took her time about the haircut itself after the color had cooked. We had moved from the dark and hard things to the normal everyday topics. When at last I was staring at some stranger in the mirror, trying to take in my new look, she hugged me.

"Thank you for listening. I don't usually tell total strangers my whole life history. You're so easy to talk to. With my Mom gone and all, its been a long time since I had anyone to share with. I am so glad I met you, and I hope you will come again. I promise I won't be so weepy next time and talk your ear off." She expertly flipped a stray hair from my cheek with her tattooed hand.

I smiled and thanked her and hugged her tight for a long moment. We ladies have to be there for each other. Someday this lovely young woman will realize her full potential, a far cry from where she is right now. I am happy to have the honor of standing in for her Mom for a brief moment in her journey.

Morning Moon

I couldn't tell if it was the sun hiding behind the clouds, or the moon. Suddenly the gray clouds parted, and I could see it was the moon. Definitely the moon. How odd to see the moon in the daytime and not see the sun. That's backwards!

The moon is the queen of the night, blessing creatures roaming the darkness with her magnificent light, all glittery and shining. Musicians spin its magic into romantic songs and poets weave its gold into word chains to adorn our minds. We are drawn by its tantalizing shapes and colors - and in ways well beyond mere tides rising and falling.

But to greet this spellbinding creature in broad daylight takes on a whole new dimension. No longer hidden, mysterious and otherworldly, the moon participates in our daily activities, becomes our exemplary friend encouraging us to lift our hearts and spirits to see the extraordinary in the normal, the riches embedded in our routines.

It calls us to set aside the dullness of daily drivel and sharpen our senses to experience the beauty of the world around us, to truly hear the symphony of the spheres. The paper whiteness of daytime moon invites us to experience all the colors of the rainbow, all the fragrance of the flora, all the kindness of the world.

Today as you gaze at the moon in full daylight, won't you open your eyes and ears to the world around you and experience the treasures you miss in the glare of the bright sun?

Sidewalk Rhythm

The brisk 20 degree air encouraged you not to linger and lolligag on your way to your destination. Across campus, classes were passing as I headed to my voice lesson. My breath hung frozen about me and I ducked my head into my warm hood, tucking my chin below the snapped collar. I have always had a hard time breathing in the cold. I think I am allergic to cold air!

As I walked purposefully towards Cox Music hall, I could barely see past my black hood. Mostly I saw the feet of people around me, enough to stay out of the way. As I walked along hugging my music folder, I started to giggle a bit. The beat of the shoes of those walking by was quite rhythmic.

The tap tapping of spiked black high heels (how does she walk in those?), the firm bass clumping of rugged outdoors hiking boots, the tapping of loafers, the quiet thud of sneakers, the slapping of - yes - flip flops! all accompanied by the swish of winter coats and the rustle of the wind passing through the pine trees was a symphony all its own.

Some walked fast and hard, others slow and sloppy, some with irregular step. All were going somewhere and together created the community of marching band Latino rock country folk beat that pounded the pavement for a brief ten minutes until all the players settled into their next assignment of the day.

How interesting!

Snow??!!!

No, no, no. We are done with winter. Didn't you get the memo? We are into sunny days and warmer temperatures. Spring is on the way. You can't just dump a snowstorm back into the mix. We won't have it. Go away.

That's not just my sentiment. Almost everyone I met reflected the same opinion. We have been so spoiled with better weather that we just don't want to go back to winter, especially since this year winter began early and remained constant for a long, long time.

Still, its better than I remember from my childhood. Those winters began predictably in October, usually before Halloween, and lasted well into April, sometimes even a freak snowstorm in May. I can't tell you how often I was surrounded by lawns of thick ice and had to walk through frozen rain in April when I was younger.

Those were the days when snowbanks towered over the heads of the adults, sometimes even reaching the roof of the house. We build tunnels and forts and saucer slides that lasted for weeks. I haven't seen that quite yet. But this year we certainly had a lot of the white stuff.

And here we are in March having more. Well, perhaps it will kill off the virulent flu germs that are circulating and making people miserable. Who knows? One thing is for sure. We have no choice about accepting or rejecting the weather, so we are stuck with snow for today.

As the saying goes, if life gives you snowflakes, make a snowball and pelt someone you love. Enjoy.

Surprise Box

Moms are wonderful inventions. When you are feeling blue, or just a tad weary, they seem to have some sort of second sense and pop a little hug your way, wrapped in bright colorful tissue paper. Mine did! After a long and busy day that lasted late into the shank of the evening, I trod home wearily, expecting the usual - boys want to eat, dirty dishes everywhere, loud music blaring - you know, life.

As I barged through the door balancing bookbag, purse, empty water bottles, Drew greeted me, his eyes shining. "What is this? He must want something," I thought, dropping my stuff on the piano bench. There is a box addressed to me in my Mother's handwriting. Strange, I don't remember her telling me she was sending something my way.

"Open it! Open it!" Drew practically yells. I puzzle as I find a cutting implement to crack the tape. Its not my birthday yet. Christmas is over. It is Drew's birthday soon. Maybe its a present for him and I had better use caution opening in front of him.

I lift the flaps and am greeted by a bouquet of cheery colored tissue papers - a veritable rainbow of pastels that immediately bring a smile to my tired face. Gently I lift out the first item and unwrap the tissue paper. Out rolls a small jar filled with vanilla scented candle wax. Ummmm. Smells wonderful!

Next comes a pair of black socks with white snowflakes scattered about, complete with one gold spun angel per sock. Cozy! One by one the box yields its little treasures - a silver serving set, another pair of socks, kitchen implements of odd sorts. How delightful!

The weariness rolls off my shoulders. Drew chatters happily, hoping to convince me that he should have some of the chocolate coins from the mesh bag. Suddenly winter doesn't seem such a long and weighty affair. Work is a distant thought. The house not so demanding.

Somebody loves me! Well, of course, there are lots of somebodies who love me, but this was such a delightful reminder. Thank God for Moms! Now, let's see. I have a few children to bless myself . . .

Endoscopy

I am awake at my usual time, shower and dress and sit by the kitchen window waiting for my ride. She pulls up and I wave, tiptoe out of the house and join her for the short ride to Strong Memorial Hospital Konar Center for Digestive and Liver Disease.

We are met by my pastor and my chaplain (how blessed to have two strong women of faith to come alongside me!). We chat easily and happily for a few minutes, then they call me back for prep. Only one person can go with me, and my friend the chaplain comes first. I am not nervous or upset. My blood pressure is even reasonable - way lower than when I just talked with the doctor!

During a break in the questions and prepping, we pray together. She speaks words of faith and encouragement that feed my soul. She holds my hand while we pray, and her hands are warm and soft. She speaks slowly, purposefully. She invokes the presence of God, and I realize that He is with us and has been since before I left home. I am not afraid.

The nurse fusses with my hand, slapping it to find a good vein, pumping it up with a blood pressure cuff. I am not worried. She gets the IV first stick and its good. Nothing blows up. When they move me to the procedure room, the chaplain leaves and my pastor comes to be with me. In another lull, she also prays with me, words that bless my mind and lift my spirits.

I have a good friend in Illinois who used to go with me to things like this and she always held my feet. I spoke with her beforehand, and she told me she would be with me in spirit and prayer, holding my feet for me. She sent me a great online card about it. I recall her words too, and as if on cue, my pastor moves to the foot of my bed and begins to hold my feet!

The words the nurse is telling me about how things will go should have caused me fear, but I hear them and do not worry. God is with me. He will not leave me. They put the oxygen tubes in my nose, I see my pastor leave, I remember little else until I wake in the recovery room. Whew!!! I have only a vague recollection of something being in my throat, a tube being pulled or pushed. It is over. My blood pressure never raised.

The doctor appeared and told me he was able to get 7 or 8 biopsy samples. That should be good. I will find out the results when I see my oncologist next Friday. I am definitely woozy. I talk like I am drunk! I think I am walking in a straight line, but sometimes I tip a bit. I say funny things. This is weird.

My friend takes me home and Kiel is there. I sleep, and sleep and sleep and sleep. Thank you Lord for being with me. Thank you to all my friends who prayed for me. Thank you to the three women who went with me and helped me. You are wonderful! Four tests down and one to go. One day at a time. Just trust.

Power of Prayer

It is the prayer, I am convinced. I expected to be overwrought about this procedure, anxious, unable to concentrate, feeling nervous. I have a particular fear of not being able to breathe. I think it stems from a field trip to the Alcoa aluminum plant when I was a young child. In spite of the fact that my Father was with me, I was terrified of the sulfur smell, the loud noise of the machines, the lack of windows, no clear idea of how we would ever get back to the little door we entered by.

Somehow I was afraid. I felt like I couldn't breathe. Of course, it turned out fine and we eventually exited into the broad and wide out of doors, but that deep fear seared my poor young brain. Just the thought of someone shoving something down my throat and not being able to breathe or talk or live is frightening to me. I have been through lots of medical procedures, but this one has me reduced to jello.

I am no fool. I called everyone and asked them to pray for me. Not because I merely wished their good thoughts and to somehow borrow their strength for my own, but because I truly wished them to seek the Lord's strength on my behalf so that I could withstand the trial. I am, I fully know, too weak to go through this without help.

Here it is the night before. I am not worried. It is a miracle I am not tense and cranky. But I am at peace. I know I will be able to sleep well, and will wake in a positive frame of mind. In the past, I would have been tied in knots, and have known sleepless nights based merely on starting a new job. Sometimes I have been able to allay fear until the last moment by forcing myself to not think about it, to deny that it would happen, to refuse to believe its coming.

But tonight is not that. I do not have to purposely focus my thoughts on the Lord's Prayer or Psalm 23 or anything else. I do not find my brain constantly thinking about the procedure until I am scared. This is different. This is truly the power of prayer, the grace of God. I have a quiet confidence that all will be well, that God will go with me through this valley and that I will not need to be afraid. It is God's peace that passes understanding.

It is possible that tomorrow I will be a wreck, but I don't think so. For now, I simply plan to get a good night's rest. I am not compelled to rush about making sure my house is in order and that things are clean and there is cash for the boys in case something goes awry and I end up staying in the hospital - or, God forbid - something worse. No, I just go about my usual business and retire in a timely way. Everything will be OK.

Thank God for Washcloths!

Everytime some TV show pictures a patient going into an MRI machine headfirst, I laugh because all the MRI's I have had (and they have been many) I have been put into the machine feet first. Well, surprise. Today's MRI I was going in head first. Yikes!

There is something less troublesome about going in feet first. Like stepping into a pond of water, you can tolerate things better if your head is above water and you feel as if you can come up for air. But if your head is immersed the deepest, its much more difficult to think you will be able to get to safety in a timely fashion should the need arise.

Like you have any control! The wall of that huge magnet is unforgiving. It will not give way no matter how much you press against it. Those tubes are uniform in size, so the bigger your body, the more uncomfortable you will be. Basically, they use the magnetic force to line up the cells of your body, then zap you with an electromagnetic field to shake rattle and roll your innards, and measure the rate at which things settle back down.

Diseased cells settle at a different rate than healthy cells. Of course, this is all a v-e-r-y simplified version of an MRI, and the contrast (which I am NOT getting - thanks, insurance company) they use makes your cells glow in the magnetic field more brightly. (Can you tell I am not a scientist?). Regardless, when they make you lie down on the table and insert you in that tube, your face is less than an inch from the ceiling, and your arms are pressed to your sides by pillows (so as not to burn any skin).

Your head is wedged into a holder and tucked in with more foam wedges. In you go, deep deep in and far far from the opening and safety. You cannot turn over. You cannot sit up. You cannot move your arms. You could not wiggle out if you wanted to. Its not a straightjacket, but it is quite confining.

You are totally dependent on the good graces of the technician to rescue you if something goes awry. You must trust this total stranger to believe you if you say you need help. My usual strategy is to close my eyes and visualize myself lying on a warm sandy beach. But that's when I go in feet first and have some sense of being able to escape should I desire to.

Head first is another proposition altogether. The technician was very understanding. He asked if I was claustrophobia, and laughed when I said "Not usually." On his very first day of work, his supervisor asked him the same question and he said he didn't think so. So she made him get on the table and inserted him in the machine. He gets it now. Great training. And he suggested that I have a washcloth placed over my eyes so I can't accidentally see how constrained I am.

It made all the difference. He inserted the foamy earplugs, I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and obediently lay down on the table, keeping still while he wedged the foam inserts alongside my head until I couldn't wiggle. He talked to me the whole time, explaining what he was doing, handing me a call button, just in case I needed anything, putting a pillow under my legs so my back wouldn't feel strained, and asked me quietly if I wanted the washcloth. YES!!!

With my world now a gauzy white, I feel the table move up and into the tube. Yikes! The pillows wedge my arms alongside my body until I panic a bit. I shift slightly as the unforgiving tube pushes against my arms until I find a position I can live with. I hear his voice tell me that the test will begin in a few minutes and that I am as far in as I will have to go. I try not to thrash about.

The words of a song go rambling through my head. "My Lord knows the way through the wilderness. All you have to do is follow. Strength for today is mine all the way and all that I need for tomorrow. My Lord knows the way through the wilderness. All you have to do is follow." The technician's voice interrupts my song. The first test will take about 15 seconds. Banging begins and ends almost as quickly. I take a deep breath. This isn't so bad. Just lie still. There is a nice fan blowing, offsetting the warmth my arms feel from the walls of the machine.

The voice announces each test. Some three minutes, some four, some two, some longer. The percussive pattern for each round changes. Sometimes its a steady low drumbeat, like African drumming. Sometimes there is a little bit of high pitched ringing after the pounding ends. Sometimes there are three or four sounds weaving patterns around my head, like an orchestra. I hear Latin beats and make up a melody to go with it. I hear sinuous romantic lines and imaging Casablanca. I hear bird sounds and envision a meadow filled with daisies and Queen Anne's lace.

I relax a bit, encouraged by the voice who asks me how I am doing, encourages me that we are almost done. I open my eyes to the white washcloth. I can't resist. I look down as far as I can, and I can actually see beyond the washcloth. The tube is well lighted - it almost looks like an airport runway - but no kidding, the ceiling can't be more than an eyelash length from my face. I quick shut my eyes again. I sing my song, in sync with the rhythm section around me. The tube slides further in. Don't panic. Further. Trust the nice voice. Once more deeper into the maw of copper and wire and metal. Breathe. Breathe, relax.

And we are done! I almost cry when the table slides out of the machine. The technician congratulates me on lying so still. He pulls the plugs from my ears and helps me off the table. "You doing OK?" Yup! Piece of cake. Good to go. I thank him for the washcloth. Its a real life saver. He tells me he has applied for a patent. We laugh and I wobble down the hall to the freedom of the frozen outdoors.

Watering Plants

One of my colleagues has a true green thumb. I love her gift - I only have a partial green pinkie. She singlehandedly brings lush green life inside the library with a multiplicity of plants - tall trees, bushy shrubs, leggy vines, perky plants, and beautiful violets.

The violets are particularly prolific right now. One plant is so laden with perfect blossoms I almost thought it was fake. I had to pick it up and take a close look to verify that it was indeed a living, breathing and totally gorgeous flowering potted plant. The blossoms are a beautiful white scalloped with a deep purple that darkens almost to black as it gets closer to the center.

Every week she performs the ritual of watering her children. She has it down to a science - fill the 2 apple juice bottles and the little green watering can. Take one section of the library at a time. Linger over each plant to make sure it is healthy and prospering, feel the soil, look for roots, touch the waxy leaves, inhale the scent, move the container to get the best light. She does it all intuitively, instinctively, without even being aware of her process.

There is something homey and comforting about the process. It gives you those nurture goosebumps you get when someone is caring for you. I watch her move down the reference stacks, greeting each plant, tending to its needs, fussing over each leaf and saucer. It feels good to witness such love and care. The plants certainly respond to her touch. I am sure they stand taller and greener after she passes.

Back in her office area is the infirmary. Any plant needing an extra special touch, some bug treatment, some feeding solution spends quality time near her desk, basking in the sunshine pouring through the bank of southern exposure windows. I have yet to see anyone meet their demise. I am not surprised. It is a gift. I am blessed by her ministry every day.

Oh, deer!

Kiel appeared in front of the Reference Desk where I was sitting, his eyes bugging out of his head, his words breathless, his body agitated, his face white. "I almost got creamed!" he sputtered. "Deer! It was right there."

I tried not to laugh at his animation. From what I could gather, this was serious. He had almost hit a deer with the car. I wonder about letting that boy drive Baby so much. He was nearly gasping for breath. "I must have deer hair in the grill. It was right there!" he put his hand in front of his eyes with millimeters to spare.

"I don't know how I missed it! Drew ducked. I yelled. I could see its eyes. It was there and then it was gone. I'm late." and he dashed off to class. It took several minutes for the air around the desk to settle down. Kiel's angst was palpable. I remember hitting deer at various junctures of my life.

Once when I was young, our family made a trek to California to see my Dad's Dad. In the pre-dawn gray of a foggy Sunday morning in North Dakota, our snazzy new maroon station wagon hit a huge buck. Our car careened into the ditch on the opposite side of the road, the small trailer we were towing rolling over and over behind us, smashing itself to smithereens.

I was sleeping in the back, jolted awake by one of my siblings who landed on top of me. We slid to a halt and sat for a minute. Slowly, Dad got out to inspect the damage, Mom telling us to lie still and be quiet. No one was hurt except the deer who had met an early demise.

With great patience and a lot of water being poured into a defunct radiator, we got to the nearest small town and ended up on the red stools of a local diner eating breakfast while Dad tried to find help to repair the damaged radiator on the one day of the week when nothing was open. Eventually, Dad purchased an old army tent and we kept on going, dents and all.

Yes, a deer can certainly startle you from the complacency of normal life. This time Kiel was fortunate. Let's hope he keeps some small bit of the adrenalin rush when he drives during peak deer hours. Radar on, peripheral vision in full force. I'm not in the mood for venison. Not tonight at least.

Prednisone Blues

Last time I took Prednisone, I felt great for days. Lots of energy, no pains, clear thinking. I was expecting the same thing this time around, even though I took it for no apparent reason, the MRI contrast having been disapproved.

I was not prepared for the migraine headache, the exhaustion, the foggy thinking. Ugh. I just plowed through my paper assignment anyway. I am sure its not my best effort, but I did feel as if I answered the question with a good amalgam of resources. Never mind the pounding in your temples. Never mind the bone weariness. Never mind the feeling of lead in your legs.

Ignore the dirty dishes piling up in the sink, the unwashed laundry, the empty cupboards. Just get what you have to have at the grocery store and save the big shopping for when you have recovered more. Go to bed as soon as you get home. Take an afternoon nap. Don't read your email or answer your phone. Be quiet and let it pass.

Phooey on the prednisone blues.