New beginnings

Shortly it will be 2011. I'm looking forward to the new year. Every day I feel better. Every day I can push myself a little farther. God is good. I know that my radiation therapy starts in January but that is the future. This is the now that is very easy to exult in. Seattle's sun is shining. It's cold but beautiful.

I have really enjoyed the holiday season. My son and his significant other are visiting from Oakland and my 2 daughters and their husbands live in Seattle. It's so nice to have all my children close at hand. It's so nice to feel well enough to enjoy them totally. I got to be at the extended Dermody family at Christmas with my grandniece, almost 9 months old. She's cruising around and it's so fun to see her get where she wants. Also, being able to buy toys again for Christmas, priceless!

May all of you have a blessed New Year and may there be peace in your hearts.

Thoughts on getting my energy back, the meaning of suffering, and the Incarnation

I am getting my energy back and it is wonderful! Lady and I have been walking on hills. The 'up' is getting a little easier each time. I am rediscovering Longfellow Creek. Today we went on a short walk because Lady is a bit under the weather with gastrointestinal issues. It's so amazing to take my morning shower and not be exhausted afterwards. The nails are starting to heal. They had been quite painful. They have stopped bleeding and so has my nose. Now I just wish my hair would grow back. All in good time, my friend, all in good time. I need to trust in the slow work of God that Pierre Teilhard de Chardin wrote about.

Next month I start radiation therapy. I'm optimistic that it will be better than chemo as advertised. I know I'll be tired; I've heard that from the medical people and friends and family. I'm a little nervous though. Every time I start to really recover, I get knocked down again. Oh well, it's time to relish the now and put it deeply in my memory for tougher times. I sometimes complain about the being present to the now when I am having trouble.

Oh dear, that brings to mind the difficult questions like the meaning of suffering. Suffering is no joy for me and I do not seek it. It is part and parcel of this human life, a part that Jesus shared with us. He was not enthusiastic about suffering but he endured it. He knew what it was to be hungry, to be betrayed by a close friend, and what it was to be tortured. The incarnation of Jesus is truly amazing. He knew what it meant to be human and chose to come to Earth anyway.

Oh Lord, give me the strength to bear my crosses with grace.

December joys

I saw my oncologist yesterday. I made it 75% through the Taxol treatments but I was starting to develop a spreading rash, worsening motor control and pain in my fingertips (aka neuropathy) and have been fighting an infection under my fingernails that makes them bleed and smell like old cheese. The side effects of chemo outweigh the benefits. I had a transfusion of red blood cells two weeks ago and it's really helped my blood count and hematocrit. Dr. C. said that the 75% was probably enough and asked if I would mind stopping chemo.

Mind? I was ecstatic! Now I can start feeling normal again. I have three weeks to heal before I start radiation therapy. I'll be able to enjoy my family for Christmas instead of being two days post chemo. I can start growing my eyelashes back! Thanks be to God!

November blues

Tomorrow is Taxol treatment #7 of 12. If all goes well I should have my last chemotherapy treatment 2 days before Christmas. I wonder how many weeks after that until I start the recovery process. I'm tired of being fatigued. Taxol and alcohol don't mix; I miss wine, beer, and Irish whiskey. I like the taste and I like the buzz. Maybe I can take coffee, my other allowed drug of choice with maybe some heavy cream to Thanksgiving dinner, something a little on the decadent side.

Yesterday I ran to an old friend from my old church at the grocery store. She asked me where I was going for Thanksgiving dinner. I told her I would be going to my mother-in-law's house. We traditionally go there but this year it makes it especially easy for me and Mr D (when we have turkey at home Mr D usually cooks it). I said that I would be making last night's dinner though. I told her that my last chemo would be Christmas week and went on to tell her more about my breast cancer battle. She was honest with me and told me that I looked like I was in chemo and she had tears in her eyes. I don't know if they were for me or not. I told her that my oncologist held a lot of hope for my beating this thing. I hope that if her tears were for me that it comforted her.

I'm beyond tears. I know that I will live or I will die. Early this fall a member of that old church my friend and I attended died after losing her battle with cancer that came back. I see ten-year survivors and then I see J. Maybe I reminded L. about J. Maybe that is why L. was crying. I know my own battle with cancer transports me back to the deaths of my mother and father. Mom got sick in November 35 years ago and died 2 months later of pancreatic cancer. Dad lived 25 years longer and died at age 89 on a November day. The sky darkens, the leaves fall, and this November I am surrounded by nurses, doctors, and phlebotomists. I feel my lack of health and remember my mother and father surrounded by the same type of people. True, their prognoses were much different from mine. I have hope, right? Still, somehow my suffering brings me in communion with theirs. I have to remind myself that they are not suffering now, that they live with God now, but it doesn't negate the memories. The death is not the hard part, it's the dying.

I love roses

I love roses. They bring me hope. Rose bushes are feisty plants. I am not a great yard caretaker. One of the bushes that was planted before we moved here 30 years ago lives among the blackberries. It has been cut back to nothing and still returns with beautiful flowers. Here in Seattle if the weather has been mild it is not unusual to see roses in December. One of my favorite saints, St. Therese of Lisieux, said that she would "let fall a shower of roses" spending her heaven doing good on earth. There is something about a rose that reminds me of God's promises and his love. When I am down I go for a walk and see a rose and remember.

It's reading recommendation time again. My lack of energy has led to lots of time for reading books both on my Kindle 3G Wireless Reading Device, Free 3G + Wi-Fi, 6 (okay so mine's a Kindle 2) and at the library. I like reading both non-fiction and fiction.

Non-fiction:

• A great book that casts some doubt on current gender studies:

• Joy is not found in money, possessions, and high-powered careers.

Fiction:

• Read if you need to survive a science fiction universe. It's fiction, honest.

• Told from the point of view of a boy reared entirely in one room for the first 5 years of life.

• Spenser novels by Robert Parker. I consume these like potato chips which I would eat if my stomach would let me.
• You can't go wrong with Precious Raomtswe of the Number One Ladies Detective Agency. Take your mind off of your cares with a trip to Botswana.

Sit back, have a cup of coffee or tea and enjoy.

Beyond Words

Yesterday I felt well enough to go to mass. I usually go to the 11:30 am Sunday mass because I like to sleep later than the morning-people parishioners. It's usually a pretty quiet mass since the families with children for the most part attend the 5pm Saturday or 9am Sunday contemporary music masses. We have the organ and the traditional choir. This time the 11:30 was full of life. We had four baptisms, four new infants brought into the faith. We had a lot of kids counting the friends and families of the newly baptized making our normally sedate mass exciting.

Baptism is new birth in Christ. I don't remember my own baptism. My parents brought six week-old me to the font and I was reborn, marked with the cross of Christ. When we have baptisms at Holy Rosary I feel reborn. When the sponsors and parents make the baptismal vows for the babies we the assembly renew our own baptismal vows. We are sprinkled with the same Holy Water in which the babies were baptized. What a new beginning to the week!

Hazzard's back home

Hazzard is home. Mr. Dermody picked him up from the vet's yesterday evening. The lab work doesn't look good but for now, Hazzard does. I'm enjoying his company. He's eating and drinking and even popped outside for five minutes. It's a little chilly so I don't blame him for coming back in. He likes warm sunny days, so do I.

It's one day post chemo for me and it's not too bad. I'm fatigued but that gives me a great excuse to sit on the couch with Hazzard and Lady. They are all about relaxing.

I don't want to say good-bye to an old friend

Hazzard the cat

Here I am another two days before chemo. Life doesn't stop just because you have cancer. My sixteen year-old cat Hazzard is fighting kidney problems. I've talked about him before. He had one eye removed in January and has been doing pretty well for an elderly kitty since then. Just this last week he started failing so we dropped him off yesterday at the vet's for IV fluids. We are hoping to get him out of this crisis but we are also realistic. We'll find out tomorrow or Thursday what the verdict is. If it's Thursday, my husband will need to pick him up because I might not be feeling well enough.

I got to visit Hazzard at the clinic today. He loved being pet and being around me. I wanted him to know that we had not abandoned him. I also told him that I knew all about IV's. Whatever happens to him I want him be comfortable, the same thing I would want in his dilemma. You've heard about living in the moment? I was living in the moment but I was also living in Hazzard's kittenhood. We had to keep him separated from our adult cat Stormy who had Feline Leukemia Virus until Hazzard was fully immunized. He had to stay in a room in the basement with visits from us. Hazzard was so smart that he figured out how to escape via the ductwork. Take that Dermodys! As you can tell from his advanced age Hazzard never became infected. We have three younger cats from age 4-10. Hazzard has put up with them all as kittens with grace and aplomb. I know that he's led a rich and full kitty-life but it won't be any easier to say good-bye to him whether he dies this time or his during next health crisis. I love you Mr. Hazzafrazz.

The privilege of going to church

I'm able to make it to church every other week now. Right after chemo, I'm too nauseated and fatigued. It makes me appreciate going to mass more than ever. I miss weekly Eucharist and I miss my church friends.

Yesterday was my day to go to mass. I arrived in my pink scarf, a sign, a person with cancer who made it out of the house. I saw many people I haven't seen in months. One of our number, a woman in her eighties had injured herself in a fall and had a long rehabilitation. It was so good to see her. I had been afraid that for her this would be the fall that disabled her for life. Thank God it wasn't. Another woman had also been out for months with health problems. She was back. There were a couple of women behind me in the pew that I didn't recognize so I introduced myself. They were an adult daughter from Seattle and her mother from out of state. The mother noticed me as one of the afflicted and asked how I was doing. It turns out that she had fought a similar battle against breast cancer ten years ago and she is now fine. She asked me to repeat my name and told me that she would pray for me and that she really meant it. We talked about how important it is for us to have people praying for us. She said that she could feel the prayers of those who had prayed for her. I can't feel prayers but my heart knows that friends, family, and even strangers are praying for me giving me courage and hope.

The mass proceeds from Liturgy of the Word to Liturgy of the Eucharist. We pray the Eucharistic Prayer and we sing the communion procession song of the day. I walk forward realizing how privileged I am to receive Jesus. I eat the bread and drink the wine that are His Very Self. I go back to my pew and reflect on how Jesus is coursing through my body and that everyone in that communion procession is receiving Jesus as well. We are truly the Body of Christ and we are meant to be transformed.

How does Christ being infused in me transform me? What does it mean for my life? As a person with cancer it means that my cancer is not just about me. It is about my friends, family, co-workers, fellow parishioners, doctors, nurses, technicians, receptionists, and phlebotomists. All are affected by my diagnosis and all need love. I know that I can't take care of everyone's feelings; that's not my job. I need to be a calm presence when I can and receive the love and care of others when I can't, when I need someone to be a calm presence. I need to be transformed by Christ.

Hair

My hair falls

Like pine needles on a dry Christmas tree.

My breast doesn't hurt anymore

My breast doesn't hurt anymore. I don't know when it stopped but I can be hugged and I can reach high above my head. It's amazing. I think I expected the pain to last for months if not forever. Even the incision arount the port is healed. There's a little tenderness when I lie on it but not much. After round #1 of chemo I was really sick but I feel pretty good now. I have my next chemo in two days; it's time to get sick again. I can do it, especially after I've found that I'm not nauseous and fatigued all the time. I'll have a few days of awfullness and then I will begin to rise again. I was talking to God just after my last chemo and told him that I didn't think I could do this chemo thing if I was going to be sicker than a dog all the time. You see, I thought that was going to last forever too.

I think the most difficult part this whole thing is keeping hope alive when I am at my sickest. I need to know that the Promised Land comes after the Desert. It helps to know that God understands my despair. The Psalms are so helpful in expressing pain. One that has helped me is Psalm 55. It starts, "Listen God to my prayer; do not hide from my pleading, hear me and give answer. I rock with grief..." (Psalm 55:2-3a, NAB). The Word of God does not sugarcoat pain. Life is good now but it's back to the Desert in two days.

I've got a couple more book recommendations. The first is In the Company of Cheerful Ladies by Alexander McCall Smith, another installment of the #1 Ladies Detective Agency. Mma. Ramotswe's no-good ex-husband shows up and tries to blackmail her. He doesn't know whom he is dealing with.

The second is Juliet, Naked, by Nick Hornby. Annie's significant other Duncan is obsessed with Tucker Crowe, a 1980's musician who abruptly ends his career after a trip to a bathroom bar. Duncan oversees a fan website dedicated to Mr. Crowe who hasn't been heard from in over twenty years. Annie posts on the website, Tucker e-mails her, and the fun ensues.

If I have to be on medical leave, I might as well have fun.

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

It's so much easier to feel positive when I feel good like I do today. Lady and I were able to walk along part of the Longfellow Creek Legacy Trail. Getting there and back involves going downhill and uphill. It's a much better workout than walking on the flat and today was the first day after chemo round #1 that I have felt well enough to try it. We walked past the beaver pond and there were scores of mallard ducks. We waited at the ponds edge and watched them. They streamed over to see if we had any food. We started walking off and the ducks gave up on us. It's a good thing too. We didn't have anything for them. The trail is so beautiful this time of year. The deciduous trees still have all their leaves and form a canopy overhead.

After the walk I dropped Lady off at home and drove to the clinic for my last Nuepogen injection this cycle. It's just a little subcutaneous poke. The whole visit takes about 10 minutes from check-in to needle stick. Now I'm at Starbucks playing with my computer. I haven't been able to stomach coffee since my chemo treatment but I can do plain black tea. Ohhh, that and a pumpkin scone, mmmm.

Good read

I had my first round of chemo last Thursday. By Friday I was sicker than a dog. Speaking of dogs I just read Dog on It: A Chet and Bernie Mystery (Chet and Bernie Mysteries) by Spencer Quinn. It's a great read when I'm miserable and a great read when I'm not like today when I'm feeling better. It's told from Chet the dog's point of view. Sometimes when telling the tale he goes off on little tangents like wondering why Bernie isn't redeeming those 2 for 1 rib coupons but Chet keeps on the case.

It's a beautiful sunny day

It's a beautiful sunny day and I'm happy. I saw my surgeon for my last check-back and everything was healing nicely. My margins are clear and I've known that for a while. It was just so nice to leave that office on an upbeat note. Dr. W reminded me that I know where he is if I should need him again. We both hope that I won't be needing his services any time soon.

I'm getting prepared for chemo which starts on Thursday. I've been told by others who have walked this road to get lots of water, juices, and such. Both my fellow survivors and my dental hygienist recommend Biotene products. One of the side effects of chemo is dry mouth and sometimes mouth sores. I've stocked up on all of the above at Safeway. I'm shopping while I can. I've got my strength back and you know what that means; I'm about to get knocked down again. Such is the nature of fighting this disease. I know that some take issue with calling this a fight and I used to be one of them. After what I have been through and what I am about to go through I realize that it is a full scale battle. It's me or the cancer cells even though they came from my body. Still, I'm upbeat. It's a beautiful day and I feel wonderful. I am going to bask in the joy of now.

Living my life

I've been thinking about the next few months as something to get through rather than to be lived. I've been wrong. I was reading The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything: A Spirituality for Real Life last night. James Martin's father is dying and Father Martin isn't sure that he can walk the path of his father's suffering. A friend, Sister Janice asks him, "Can you surrender to the future that God has in store for you?" He concludes that (obedience) "is stepping onto the path of daily life and continuing on it".

I have a long road ahead of me. I know that in these next few months there will be some really tough times but I also know that there will be times to treasure in my heart. Each day of my life is a gift from God. Each breath that I take is because God sustains me. I have to surrender to what God has in store for me. In surrendering there is trust. I trust that he will be with the whole way. I'll know more what chemotherapy is like after it starts. I think that part of my fears are the fears of the unknown and that's where I have to step out in faith with God.

Moments of Grace

The third time was the charm. My margins are clear--no more surgery! I'm really happy about that. I'll be starting chemotherapy next week. The sooner I start it the sooner it will be over.

I'm reading a book called The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything: A Spirituality for Real Life by James Martin, S.J. It talks about looking through your day and finding the times that God was present. You can find Him in very ordinary circumstances. I find Him at the clinic when I start fainting and panicking and someone from the staff rubs my arm and tells me that they will take good care of me. Their touches tell me they are there more than their words. I find Him in the touch of my husband's hand and in all the myriad ways my family works to care for me during this rocky time. One daughter cleans my house. Another ferries me to the doctor. My son calls me and visits me from miles away. My brother talks about visiting me which he hasn't done in years. My brother-in-law calls to see how I am doing. My sister-in-law waits for me through two surgeries as does my mother-in-law. My church supports me and prays for me and friends and family pray for me as well. I am truly blessed and amazed. I don't have to look far for the hand of God.

Full speed ahead to Grouchville

Wednesday I had an appointment with my surgeon. I didn't think I needed to take anyone with me because I was sure there would be good news. Wrong! The path report from my second surgery came in and they found a new spot, ductal carcinoma in situ. It was not good news. Oh well, at least the third surgery is done. They had a cancellation on Friday and fit me in. I'm recovering faster this time and Lady and I walked to the library today with no problems.

Thursday I had my appointment with both the oncologist and the radiation oncologist. My husband was by my side for both appointments. I am at stage IIb I found. The oncologist wants to start me on chemo as soon as my breast heals. I hope my new path report shows clear margins so that my breast can actually heal. He is going to treat my cancer aggressively if my body can take it. I get a heart scan next week to find out. This Wednesday they are going to install a chest port so that they don't have to poke around for veins so much in the 20 weeks of chemo. My appointment with radiation oncology was basically a get-acquainted time. The six weeks of radiation won't take place until after chemo. I was totally wiped out after those appointments. They told me all the side effects I can expect. Oh, joy!

I feel like I'm being sucked into the cancer vortex. When first diagnosed I hoped that the path to recovery would be a "bump in the road". I would have my mastectomy or lumpectomy and my radiation and I would get on with my life post haste. I couldn't have a nice little tame tumor. I had to have one that spread to the lymph nodes. I haven't gotten clear margins (cancer free tissue) on my path sample yet. I hate surgery. It hurts. I like my hair. I like my health. I don't want to go to the doctor all the time. Grump!

One of my daughters suggested a book for me. I bought it immediately for my Kindle.

It's called

Bright-Sided: How Positive Thinking Is Undermining America by Barbara Ehrenreich. I love the first chapter, "Smile or Die: The Bright Side of Cancer". Everyone tells us that we have to remain positive in order to fight our cancer. Ms. Ehrenreich writes that cancer is not positive. It has not been proven that a positive attitude leads to better outcomes. Grouchville here I come!

Reading for distraction

I'm getting stronger. Lady and I were able to walk to the library downhill and back from it uphill. The Seattle weather is beautiful today, blue skies and warm temperatures.
I've been reading as many books as I did when I worked in a bookstore. They help distract me from heavy moods. Right now I am reading The Full Cupboard of Life.

It's the fifth in the Number 1 Ladies Detective Agency series. It's a great escape to Botswana to follow the adventures of the "traditionally built" lady detective Mma. Precious Ramotswe.
I am also reading a more serious book of short stories called Say You're One of Them
by a Nigerian Jesuit priest, Uwem Akpan.


The stories are written from children's points of view to some pretty horrible but real situations. Jesuits try to "find God in all things". I have to strain very hard to see the hand of God in these stories but it is there. I can only absorb one story at a time and then need to go back to The Full Cupboard of Life.
If there's one thing to be said about breast cancer, it gives you time for reading. Thank goodness for libraries, bookstores, and Amazon.

Two days post-surgery

I'm two days post-surgery and I just took off the dressing and took a shower. That was a lot of work. Now I'm resting on the couch. I'm more tired this Saturday than I was after last week's surgery. Evidently twice isn't the charm. I have been taking little walks to the mail box and up to the neighbors with Lady.
My medical center will soon be my home away from home. I have an appointment with my surgeon on Wednesday as a follow up. Thursday morning I have my first visit with my oncologist and Thursday afternoon I see the radiation oncology people for a consult. I'm bringing my daughter with me as an extra pair of ears per their suggestion.
I am not used to this. I've often worried about my health thinking that this sign or that sign is cancer. The tests come back and I'm fine. This time I am most definitely not fine.

More surgery tomorrow

My margins weren't totally clear so they need to remove some more breast tissue tomorrow. I was supposed to have my checkback appointment today but I got a call this morning while I was walking with Lady. The nurse called and said that I needed more surgery. Okay, that's bad news but then she said it had to be tomorrow. There just happened to be an opening in the schedule and they want to get this done sooner rather than later so that I can get my radiation and chemo started. But tomorrow! I just was able to walk two miles on the flat today. I'm taking only Aleve for pain but I'll have to go back on the Vicodin after the surgery. I feel like I'm on a board game, I just rolled the dice, and they sent me back 10 spaces.
The path report is back obviously and three lymph nodes have evidence of cancer so it's spread past the breast meaning lucky me gets chemo. One good thing about the tumor, they said it was slow growing so at least that's good news.
Now I know why my dog pulls the other way when we get to the vet's office. Still, I want to fight this cancer and I know that God is sustaining me in all of this. I can feel his presence. He is definitely giving me strength among the tears.

Nice things about my surgical adventure

I've been recovering for a few days and I realize there are some nice things about my surgery day.

1. They have warm blankets that come from a blanket warmer.
2. They had a device in pre-op that blew warm air into my paper gown. The nurse said that in a hospital, "If you're not cold now, you will be."
3. I got slipper socks.
4. The breast center nurse stayed by my side and rubbed my arm to comfort me when I was going through a painful pre-op procedure. When I almost fainted after the mammogram she stayed with me until I got to nuclear medicine.
5. In Nuclear Medicine the tech said, "Hi, I'm Neal and I'll be doing your scanning." I felt like teasing him suggesting, "Hi, I'm Neal. I'll be your waiter," but I let the moment pass.
6. I need my glasses for seeing so the nurse anesthetist made sure that I had them in the OR before they knocked me out and available in the recovery room when I woke up.
7. The operating table was warm and I got more warm blankets.
8. My husband, my sister-in-law, my mother-in-law, and my daughter were brought into my room when I got settled. They had been waiting all day long and it was so good to see their faces.
9. The nurse not only brought me juice but she warmed up my muffin. Now that's service!
10. I got to go home.

Surgery is over

Thursday, July 8th was a long day. I had to check-in at 7 am for my lumpectomy which was scheduled for noon. The early check-in was due to some things that had to be done beforehand. First I had to go to the breast radiology people so that they could do two things. The first was to insert a wire into my breast to guide the surgeon to the tumor (how glad I am that I didn't realize they needed to do that earlier; I would have obsessed about it). The second was to inject nuclear material in my breast to map the sentinel nodes. I may not have known how many pain receptors there were in a breast but I sure found out quickly. The radiologist injected some Lidocaine beforehand but it wasn't enough. At least at the dentist I get nitrous oxide so that if I hurt, I don't care. The medical team was very supportive emotionally but I wish the procedure didn't hurt so darn much! Then I found out that they would need to do a mammogram (sandwich my breast between two panes of plastic and snap an x-ray) of my already painful breast. I had a grumpy mammographer who was made even grumpier by the fact that she would have to position me awkwardly for the picture. We got it done and she was going to do another view when I said I needed to sit down. Things started going black on me. They brought in a nurse and my husband. Thank goodness the one picture was so clear that they didn't need another. They gave me oxygen and sent me down to nuclear medicine on a gurney instead of a wheelchair.

Nuclear medicine didn't hurt at all. I just had to stay still for five minutes at a time while they scanned the nuclear material in my breast for the node mapping. Then it was back up to pre-op where my husband and I would wait for the anesthesiologist, the anesthetist, and the surgeon to talk to us.

The surgery itself was the easy part. I got onto this warm table with warm blankets, got strapped in, listened to the staff joking around, and the next thing I knew I was in the recovery room. My breast hurt and I was sleepy. They gave me drugs for the pain. They understood about breast nerve endings. After recovery I was re-united with my loving family while I rested up and ate a blueberry muffin and did all the other stuff one needs to do to get released from the hospital.

My daughter came home with us and made the family phone calls. Both Mr. D and I were too stressed to want to talk to anybody. It had been a long day!

July 8th is frightfully close. I call tomorrow to see what time I'm scheduled for. Why don't we just call this cancer thing off? I'll have vacation time on my books after July 16th; maybe instead of surgery I could fly out of the country and sit in an Irish pub drinking Jamison's or Guinness or Harp. That really sounds like a much better idea than having my tumor and some lymph nodes removed.

I can't run away from my cancer. I'm an adult. Adults don't put up a fuss when poked and prodded and stitched. Adults say, "I will do anything I need to do to fight this cancer." We understand why the procedures are being done unlike cats, dogs, or kids. When my cats have had surgeries they have no idea why they can't eat after midnight the day before the surgery. "Mom, you're up and we're hungry." This Thursday morning I'll have to watch everyone else eat.

Now that I'm finished complaining I want to talk about the spiritual side of all this. On Sunday I was a lector and proclaimed about Jerusalem, "Oh that you may suck fully of the milk of her comfort, that you may nurse with delight at her abundant breasts."(Isaiah 66:11 NAB). Does that seem ironic to anyone but me? I told Father Dunstan that I would be having surgery this Thursday and he laid his hands on me and prayed for me. Then it seemed like his homily was meant for me. In the Gospel, the sending of the 72 (Luke 10:1-12, 17-20), Jesus tells his disciples to eat what is put in front of them when staying at a house. Father Dunstan said we who give care need to be ready to receive care as well. We are not to refuse the food (love) they put before us. I don't think it's possible to survive cancer without accepting love.

I am spending my pre-surgery days getting housework done. Some times are filled with fear and others are filled with a quiet acceptance of whatever God wants to throw at me. I know that God and my friends and family are with me every step of the way.

Cancer, Cancer, Cancer

There, I've said the word. I have breast cancer. I had a routine mammogram. I got the dreaded call back but I wasn't too worried because that has happened to me before. Last year they took extra films and an ultrasound and that was that. This time I had the extra films, the ultrasound, and then a biopsy. I have infiltrating mammary carcinoma. I've met with the surgeon and his team of nurses. I'm scheduled for surgery July 8th. I have mixed feelings. I want the time to go fast so that I get the surgery over and done with and so that my cancer can be staged. I also want the time to go slowly because each day marches me closer to surgical pain and the hassles of treatment. Right now, I don't feel too bad. It's the treatment that's going to make me feel bad. If I sound like a whiner, I am. I freely admit it.
When I hit 50 I came to the realization that I really would die some time in the future. I don't know or how or when I will die but everyone leaves this world in a box. I have more time behind me than ahead of me. When I found out I had breast cancer I couldn't ask, "Why me?" I knew it might as well be me as someone else. People get sick. They die. It's the way of the world. Besides, there has to be room in the world for all the new people. I'm not dead yet and may not be for a long time but cancer gives me pause for contemplation.

Sick at Work

Some of our workers need to go to work when they are sick because they cannot afford to lose a day's pay.

notes from the checkout

On my last shift the weather outside was wonderful. As our local newspaper said, the thermometer finally caught up with the season. I frequently work in the afternoons so I can walk Lady in the morning and catch some sun. My customers tell me how sorry they feel for me to be stuck inside on a beautiful day. I tell them that it's much better to be employed and inside instead of unemployed and outside. Trust me, people, we know the weather outside; we have windows.
Our union is in the midst of negotiations with the big grocery chains. The independents will settle for whatever the chains and the union agree upon. It's a disconcerting time. We have extended the contract to June but right now both sides are pretty far away on the issues. It would be nice to get some of the extra things that we are asking for but I just hope we don't lose anything. Some of our members do not get paid until the third day they are sick. lWhere I work we can get sick pay the first day with a doctor's note. Management wants to increase our deductible and make it so that new hires have to wait 24 months to get their families insured. We need fair health care for all of our employees.

Lent

I always seem to begin Lent reluctantly but yesterday was Ash Wednesday and here I am. I went to mass at 7am yesterday morning. Father John traced an ash cross on my forehead and I received Eucharist. I didn't have to start work until almost 10am so I spent some time at Hotwire Coffee eating breakfast and wasting time. All through the day I would see customers who had ashes on their foreheads and hear from others who said that they would be going to mass or church later in the day. One woman told me I had a smudge on my forehead and I explained Ash Wednesday. She knew about Fat Tuesday but didn't know what Ash Wednesday was for. I explained that Fat Tuesday was the prelude to Ash Wednesday, a feast before the fast. I'm glad I went to mass early yesterday. It meant that I wore my ashes all day and for a brief time I was a sign.
Now I am on day 2 of Lent. I've given up alcohol for the duration and I signed up for the Days of Deepening Friendship retreat. It's a good way to keep praying and to spend special time in prayer and meditation during this special season. I don't like the fasting part of Lent but I do like the praying. May this Lent bring you closer to God.

notes from the checkout: The I hate coupons rant

I have advice for all consumers. Get a magnifying glass and read the stupid fine print. Of course the manufacturer or the store puts FREE in giant letters but it puts the requirements for redemption in teeny tiny fine print. Some say you must spend $50 or some other fixed amount in the store before becoming eligible and didn't you know that that $50 can't be liquor, cigarettes, or heaven forbid, fluid milk? The sale price is in large letters but in fine print it says must buy four for the sale price, all people with no storage space must pay regular price. The consumer knows none of until they come to the cash register. When the coupon doesn't work who gets grumped at? Why it's me, the cashier. I suppose it's somewhat justified since I wear the logo of my company on my apron. After all, I'm the most convenient. As a consumer myself I hate clipping coupons because I often forget to use them or they are on something I never use. I feel your pain.

A holy moment with a cat

I took our cat Hazzard to the vet today. He is 15 years-old and has been due for his rabies shot since he likes to go outside and sit in the sun from time to time. He also had his fully dilated swollen eye looked at. I usually don't take him to the vet because we have a deal. He doesn't pee in my car or run away from home and I don't take him to the vet.

The doctor was running late so while we were waiting we sat on the exam-room floor. I wanted to be as nervous as Hazzard but that would only upset him more. I've found that the way to have a calm pet is to be calm myself. I knew that he was blind in his eye so that it must be something bad. So, there we were on the floor and I prayed my centering prayer word, Jesus, over and over again. While Hazzard and I waited we sat with God together, breathing slowly.

Hazzard has to have his eye removed. He either has glaucoma or cancer. The surgery is scheduled next week. He is already avoiding me. I'm not letting him outside until he feels safe with me again. Next week I will be in real trouble with him. He's really mad at my but I know that I did the right thing. Doing nothing was not an option. I just wish that he knew that.