Will you take me to see the Wizard?

It's Sunday night in my little Berkeley "hobbit house." It's little because it clocks in at less than 400 square feet (as do some Manhattan lofts)! "Hobbit" because while I'm not about to get out my tape measure, the ceilings are less than standard height. The living room skylight adds some height and eases an edgy I live in a box feeling.  "House" because it is not an apartment, duplex, room in a Real House, yurt, English Country cottage or something quaintly similar. It was advertised as a cottage. I have called it various things, from shack to cabin to bike shed. After a distant sociological experiment in a very spacious apartment surrounded by every imaginable n'er-do-well (don't get me going on the nutcase with the shrieking parrots right underneath me), I decided to trade size for privacy. I have neighbors in the front Victorian duplex I really LIKE. Here I'm surrounded by yard. It's quiet. It's funky. It works today.

And it beats the hell out of a hospital room!

I feel tremendous gratitude to be here. This is an opportunity for more than a few of my good friends to snicker, since I have indulged in whining and wailing about it ("I want a real house! I want to move away!") for at least 2 years. But you know, while it has not gone through a startling transformation in and of itself, I am very GLAD to be here. 

I am not hooked up to an IV pole, with things dripping into my veins I hadn't specifically decided were a fun idea. But that's the deal when one signs and sighs on for medical care. "I agree to let you treat me.... and here's my arm." I don't have to ask to have some smuggled health foods carted out of the fridge in a pantry I cannot step into on my own. I can sleep in my own bed, although doing so through the night eludes me. I've put my work on hold right now, so I'm not shattered by that seeming inconvenience. I'd rather awaken here than there.

I went to my Church this morning for the first time in a month. I tried on outfits the day before to make sure I had something glamorous enough to match my jet black cap snugly covering my now hairless head. What was dodgy, though, was the 18-mile drive over the I-580 bridge to San Rafael. Normal (pre-chemo) faculties would find me chattering on my cell phone - earpiece, only! - while sipping coffee, messing with the CD player, rusting through my purse with one hand and just being rather zippy for the most part. This morning it took all my concentration just to drive. I was humbled and not a small amount nervous. 

I started getting teary-eyed 2 blocks from Church. These are the people with and for whom I've sung for 5 years nearly every Sunday save for my summer adventures when the choir takes off. This is where I've donned a starched white alb with cincture (when not singing) and served on the altar as an acolyte - Eucharistic Minister is the official term. These are some of the people who have prayed for me, some multiple times a day, since I was hospitalized on October 27th. These are people who know I'm a bit odd and love me anyways. I was so welcomed back. I had tears during the service. I took Communion for the first time in a month. At the Passing of the Peace, where people scurry around hugging one another or shaking hands while mumbling, "The peace of the Lord be always with you," "... and also with you!" Hug hug hug. "It's YOU!!" I wasn't expected to be there. I was welcomed with cheer in their smiling faces. 

I'm moving at half-speed. An hour's fun errands and shopping with Stacey yesterday wiped me out but scored four more colorful scarves from local Tibetan shops on University Avenue. I'm home for now. I can stretch, walk, do my own laundry, shop for yummy food. I can think about Thanksgiving and, if I have the oomph, a Recovery Retreat with "Sister B." beginning the next day and lasting the weekend. I will carpool with two friends if I feel I can go, an admittedly lame confession (well enough to go on retreat? ahem...). I meet with my oncologist tomorrow at 10 am to talk about Next Steps. And this weekend I have not been on one single medication. Freedom!

I find that freedom is relative. I have coping mechanisms for institutional settings. They're designed to help me cope and their cost is my autonomy. I do have some good muscles for being the now-revered pain-in-the-ass patient. If something is off, which thankfully is rarely, I badger for information or outright refuse it. I also try and connect with the medical staff as people, which is how I expect them to treat me. I'm not just "the leukemic" - I'm Diane. Damn, I hate that term "leukemic"! Not that noun; the other one - I may have leukemia (presently in remission!) but my selfhood is not encapsulated by it. 

There will be more treatments. I don't know exactly what or when or why. I will in due time. 

And then there is God's Grace. For that and for God's presence I am thankful.