lucky me

This is my good luck sign, courtesy of a precious friend who shall remain anonymous for now but who had the gracious manners to proclaim me as a wordy genius. Clearly it is a burden to be so gifted in a land where the authorities don't necessarily honor repeat winners of the local Crossword Puzzle contest. Later today this friend and I shall amble into the offices of the Forres Gazette and claim MY (sic) winning voucher. Everyone in the area knows who is the real winner. I think we'll be trying to discern any eye twinkles in the office today - do they know, too? Our £15 meat voucher will go towards a giggling social evening where we'll all sup in luxury while enjoying a double feature DVD with Wall-E as the star billing. 

One of the renewed joys of my BEING here is joining again with beloved friends who have time to open the front door and put on the kettle. Don't get me wrong; we're all busy and we all work, whether for tuppence or for life (such as myself). In my healing path, I've stopped racing around like an adrenaline-crazed looney. 

Today I have less to prove and more to thank God for. 

so far so good, considering we drove 3 hours each way...

..... to get sharp needles plunging into my hip bone once again!

Thank God that Tony came along as moral support. I drove my newly bought red vroom vroom out to Aberdeen, the beautiful rolling hills sometimes shrouded in cloud and rain. Tony was pilot-in-command en route back.

More shall be revealed a week from Thursday when we journey back to speak with the head hematologist. Said head doc didn't perform the procedure today, but the doc who did was able and competent. This is as perky as I can get about someone who can only do their best to wreak some fairly intense pain my way. Ok ok - she was even nice!

The feel good news for today is that the rogue abnormal blast was nowhere to be found two days later, when a follow-up CBC was taken on April 22nd. This is HUGELY good news for now. My counts are still shite (as they say here in Scotland) but stable. The recent plunge has leveled off for now. And to have a friend such as Tony close at hand to share the long drive, ease the squeaky fears and provoke a few chuckles is a blessed gift. Tonight I'm being slow and quiet. 

to Aberdeen

This is from a farm products store in Elgin, where we bought a monstrously large bag of chicken feed for our friend Matchy. Ali and I wandered through the "equine room" where I saw this. 

This is the land of happy horses and all creatures! I will hold that vision as Tony and I and hit the road on our 3-hours each way journey to the Aberdeen Royal Infirmary. I'm trying for humor and needing to breathe. Thank GOD I have the company of my good friend with me. 

And your prayers. Amen.

Quackers

Actually, these are not ducks. My friends and hosts are now deeply embroiled in settling up a new high-tech digital phone, so I'm limiting questions lest it is suggested I actually assist them rather than sit here like a typing lump. 

Aha! I snuck in a question. You birders out there will smirk at the uninitiated, but these are moorhens. The little morhenlings captivated me. The care of their parents did, as well. The RSPB website says that they eat water plants, seeds, fruit, grasses, insects, snails and worms but wholly fails to mention that they also enjoy the odd greasy chip. It's amazing what you'll eat when you're hungry and have little mouths agape for more more more! This is from our picnic lunch the other day in Elgin, sandwiches and wraps courtesy of Marks & Spencer on the High Street.

Early this Tuesday, Tony and I will drop Ali and her classmate Irena off at the Moray School of Art in Elgin, then continue on another 75 miles to the Aberdeen Royal Infirmary for my 11 am appt. with the head heem guy. I will also meet with someone who will discuss with me what I may, might and cannot expect from the British health care system, the NHS. They want to help me and I can feel that. Oh right, almost forgot. I'll also get another bone marrow biopsy! I believe that this will be my 6th since November of 2007. 

I asked Dr. K (yes, another Dr. K) at the local health centre about my blood test results from the other day. He explained that regardless of what they were, the Tuesday appt. in Aberdeen was still on. So whether the rogue blast has committed hari kari or is doing the multiplication tango in my bloodstream, I'm going forward and learning what more intensive medical procedures are available to me here. Ali has her art class all day Tuesdays. Tony is self-employed with more work than time, so bless him for accompanying me. Two other friends here have offered, as well. (Stacey, you thought the drive from  Mill Valley to Berkeley was a lot!). I'd sort of hoped that I could find some oncological support in Inverness, which is 26 miles to the west versus 86 miles to the southeast, but there you have it. 

I'm sitting in the garden now as Tony & Ali are watching a cooking show and my ADD tendencies can't write and hear about food simultaneously. I hear bird calls, sheep (mums and lambs) and the low wshhhhh of the River Findhorn. It's 8:17 pm and a hazy, long neo-dusk. Today there are over 15 hours of pure daylight here in Forres versus 13-1/2 hours in San Francisco. Twilight in this northern latitude (57º38'58"N) lasts much longer than it does in the Bay Area of California. By the summer solstice, the differences will be far more striking. I won't think that far ahead, though. I'm in radical Be Here Now time. Thank God the Now is so sweet. The hardest thing at times is feeling that I'm trying to arm-wrestle with God to get what I want - which is as much time as I want. I can't control that, even if I follow every last dotted "i" command of the modern medical world. I might get it; I might not. The nots glower. 

Now I can breathe and hear the birds. There is a slight breeze on my cheek....

selfish simplicity

I can't die yet, I'm having too much fun!

While I write in here when I am able, meaning when I have a wifi signal and the inspiration, I don't write personal emails anymore save for the occasional 2-liner. Some of you understand this - thank you! For those who think I'm hopelessly sociopathic or lazy, I realize that's okay to think what you please (my Alanon program tells me I can't control people, places and things and I notice I need regular reminders of that) while I reaffirm that this is one of my principal sharing spaces. This blog  - where I continue to be stuck on the next name -  is my doorway and my open arms. 

My journey to arrive here in the Highlands of Scotland has been considerable. I can sit in front of my laptop screen or be out walking as I was with Ruthie on Wednesday (see photo), well over an hour each way to a tiny loch where we snacked on fruit and nuts while picking up some scattered rubbish left by the thoughtless. I can be in the emerging spring garden with Tony and his gentle instruction, or hopping in the car such as I did yesterday to drive to Elgin with both Tony & Ali for a nice lakeside lunch and shopping. (We left some freshly made chips - fat 'n sassy French fries to you Yankees! - for the birds). I'm here, I'm living it and breathing it as heartfully as I can. I'm not writing long and newsy emails. I will share with you from here. 

Neither am I available for leisurely phone calls, more than 5-10 minutes. That it is their business and personal line is one reason. That I am here to heal is another. I ask that you understand. 

I love receiving your loving prayers, the sweet comments you leave here, heartfelt emails asking for no reply, even a postcard now and then - I feel loved by you. And I am here. I am here. Whatever happens, I am here.

sudden rapids through a narrow gorge

I will not take back my gratitude and delight with BEING here..... however...... the disease that laughs, "You cannot make plans or count on anything in the 3D world," is (in a more G-rated terminology) MESSING with me once again. That's why it's called acute myeloid leukemia. It's not chronic, it's not slow, it's not easy, and it's certainly not predictable.

Perhaps I can simply NOT agree to extra blood tests on principle, such as I suspected not to get in my first breaths here while semi-swooning with extreme fatigue. I thought yesterday's #2 UK blood draw would be a breeze and continued affirmation of my internal myelo-stability (I'm making words up here). 

Wrong. 

Whether blood count roller coaster is part of the game, in just a week the platelets are up slightly and the white counts are down again.... and then the dreaded words from the local doctor: "The hematologist in Aberdeen saw one abnormal myeloblast in your sample." The moment he said that, my brains went south. The continued conversation was a blur, not all of which I will go into now. He phoned again an hour later, bless him. My next steps include being given an "urgent referral" to meet with the head hematologist in Aberdeen to have a face-to-face discussion about options.

You see, not being a British citizen, they don't know what to do with me with the NHS, Britain's socialized medicine. I have American insurance, of course, and yet what is covered in this country in the realms of "acute" versus "urgent" care remain to be deciphered.  I can hear in the physicians' voices that they WANT to offer me care but not send me to the poorhouse in the process since I would pay privately. A juggle is up. I can only uncover each element as I understand it, and proceed with my best wisdom and judgment. "You might need to return Stateside for medical care," said the doctor over the phone today. An oncology rep from my insurance company repeated that sentiment. She also said, "You need another blood test immediately. One circulating blast could be reabsorbed or it could multiply exponentially. A relapse can happen almost overnight. If the blasts are multiplying in your circulating blood, you need another biopsy as soon as possible to see what's happening in your marrow. That's where they're coming from." 

More lists will emerge. Trying to assess my options while frightened and upset is too damn hard. I didn't have that luxury when suddenly diagnosed with AML last October. As well I have just heard that one of my shape note singing friends in the South is battling Stage III colon cancer. My friend John P. needs your prayers too, those of you who pray, who send light, who light candles, who chant. My moods can dance more frenetically than the little lambs in the fields here.... from Thank You GOD! to why is it that sometimes life frickin' sucks? 

One thing bears no questioning, and that's having the GIFT of being here at this time. The support of my friends close at hand and those farther away is precious beyond words. I am not alone. I am held. 

Please pray for John  - and please keep praying for me. Bless you for doing so.

a singing soul

Each and every day is a morsel of being and heartfelt doing, so much so that my words clatter around in my head while my insides purr. Granted, the purr has more chainsaw edges when I'm worried about health issues - such as has been my mixed bag o' mental tricks since the 3/24 biopsy. Sometimes I am less than aware of my anxiety levels until they whsssssssh out of me like a pricked balloon. I can invoke Christ's peace over and over, and His Grace will follow me. Some days are better than others, and I am finding more and more of them here in this blessed place.

Today my friend Bruno and I, along with his two elder spaniels "Kima" and "Tashi," drove to the Logie Steading and walked alongside Randolph's Leap, a scenic spot along the rushing River Findhorn. It was memorable as well since the Findhorn Foundation's Experience Weeks always go there. I had last been in 1991. We walked and caught up with one another, watching our feet on the narrow paths with hardened tree roots weaving throughout. When we last visited in the summer of 2007, his wife of nearly 50 years and my friend Paula was alive. By December of that year she was not. 

I tend to live by lists. This is what I'm going to do.... and then, intentions polished and prayers pumping, I go for it. I try to do this one day at a time. I try not to give up but watch resistances and discern whether they're Diane-generated or fall under the auspices of the shit happens portion of our show. One of my intentions was to find a Church choir. Not singing is not an option for me, another of the many reasons that being hospitalized really sucked. 

So I thought, I must find a choir. 

Surprise: They found me. 

After having attended several Holy Week services at St. John the Evangelist in Forres, unceremoniously missing Easter DAY (!) after the late night Easter Vigil, I returned last Sunday. Here in the UK, you have to be a little on the pushy side to get a hymnal which includes music. St. Paul's, I'm not kidding! Most of the hymnals have only the words. Evidently this is a highly evolved society where the congregation is expected to memorize the music. Kick me. I would ask for what I learned was called the "choir version." I could then sing alto or soprano depending on my mood and whether the hymn was even familiar, most of which have not been. Last Sunday, the priest in charge asked if I'd like to join the choir as they were a little low in numbers. Zing! Instant choir member! 

I try not to wear a neon sign moaning, "I know I'm not a genius and I am SO sorry." I try to suit up and show up and do my best. That said, my musical forte lies in practice. I sight-sing cold about as well as I swim (cue visual of fish flopping on dry land). However, birds gotta fly and I did my best. While singing alto for the most part in the Chancel Choir at St. Paul's in San Rafael (I miss you guys!!), my vocal coach and I knew that my range extended to soprano - I just had to get over myself. "What part do you sing?" the St. John's organist/choir director asked. "Alto or soprano - whatever you need." I sang soprano. I didn't do perfectly by a long shot Sunday morning but I was SO happy to be on the right side of the rood screen if they would've had one.

I walk, I sing, I worship, I cook, I revisit dear friends. When I walk I hear the birds and sheep; I watch the little lambs ricochet leap in the fields like fluffball wind-up toys. The bleats and baaaa's ask to be recorded, except it's the beingness that is so enchanting. Ever had one of those CDs with a thunderstorm on it, or ocean waves breaking? Right. Sexy as a door post. 

Being here is a gift. 

a day of good news

This is fun news: After 11 days in Scotland with extreme rest, lovely walks and getting rides into Forres for Church, grocery shopping, being around the Findhorn Foundation and seeing dear friends locally, several days as well of used car searching landed me a cute gem: This 2001 Hyundai Amica S1, a 5-door hatchback with a mere 39K miles and as clean as can be for around £1,800 (roughly USD$2,660)! Tony and I had combed the local used car outlets with that price range showing little more than funky beaters. Now I wouldn't try and play taxi to basketball players in this, but it's a sweet and highly affordable ticket to roaming independence while savoring being in the peace and quiet of this countryside home. Insurance is being sorted and should find me with these merry wheels by Tuesday at the latest. Of course it's not a Porsche or BMW. Hyundai isn't a superstar in any country, but it's highly economical, reliable and very cute. I will be able to sell it at my departure in roughly 6 months time with not too much depreciation of value.

Wheels! Wheeeee! 

The 2nd bit of very GOOD news is hearing today that my blood test shows stable numbers. This is brilliant. One of the bummers of even in-remission AML is the lurking paranoia.... is my fatigue due to all that's been happening for weeks and months or something more dastardly? While my late February to late March numbers went down alarmingly (hence the bone marrow biopsy on 3/24), the last 3+ weeks show the counts holding. They're not particularly strong numbers but they're holding. And as well I've become a part of the system at the Forres Health Centre. Three different doctors were in touch with me today! I feel very looked after while continuing the needed work of exploring Plans B, C, D and onward in case things Don't Look Good. 

There will be a ceilidh at the Altyre Estate tomorrow night. I haven't been to one in years. Unlike the olden days, YouTube now has various ceilidh dances for instruction or amusement - The Dashing White Sergeant and Strip the Willow are two favorites. You may come unprepared, however. The local people are gregariously open-hearted about showing foreign visitors how it goes. It tends to include being flung around the room with hoots 'n hollers. You bring your own to these - tea, cakes, single malt, sodas. The classic ceilidh band consists of one snare drum and two accordionists. It's by invitation only and I am thrilled to be going, even if two rounds of dances leave me panting. 

There's a program on the telly about garden gnomes. An old clock chimes the hour and half-hour. It's after 9 pm and an elongated dusk settles over the land. 

Slowly I am reemerging and gratitude returns with every other in-breath.

the light illumines

The otherworldly luminosity of the late afternoon light here catapults past my ability to describe it. I gaze out and my heart skips several beats. This view is out in Rafford, a tiny hamlet past Forres, neither of which is exactly what you'd call a thriving metropolis. This manner of expansiveness would drive any greed-driven developer to spasms. As an urban escapee, I drink in nature's breath.

So much evolves and occurs on a given day that I find it difficult to write about. The "much" isn't my normal anxiety-addled doingness as much as allowing myself to be present with others and with my desire to show up for my life in real time. I could write 10 pages alone on my 1st returned walk through the Forres High Street. I don't. I haven't. Not just yet. The enormity of the past months sometimes seems to need its own unpeeled allowance, perhaps like a young seedling. I might also be simply incapable of writing in the midst of a busy living room. The signal doesn't reach to the end of the hall where I might sequester myself in solitude. It might be ADD, it might not. It might be hyper-vigilance, it might not. 

Finally I got the blood draw yesterday. Trying to connect medical procedures between California and rural northeast Scotland isn't the easiest. Trying to trust God while I take the most logical next step comes and goes in difficulty. 

I write one-liners in Facebook and then think about what I might share here. And the unfolding continues......

a snapshot

From my bedroom, I can see the field where sheep graze and bring new little lambs into the world. At the end of a long hallway, the living room opens up to more life, more vistas.

If I sit back in my wicker chair and look to the left, the bright sun and waving daffodils greet me. There are a few scattered clouds and a light breeze with sheets whipping on the clothesline. This is a household with now three adults (yours truly the recent addition) and three separate holiday cottages, most of which need their linens turned over weekly. There is no clothes dryer in sight. None. Zilch. Drying anything is a Skip to ma Lou process that begins on the clothesline, transitions to indoor racks in front of electric heaters, then to towel radiators and finally to an airing cupboard, which is, well, a cupboard with slatted shelves next to a hot water heater. Want it dried now? Fageddaboutit. Have enough clothes and sheets and be patient. Buy a dryer? Probably won't happen. Dryers are rare around here. 

A wood fire is burning behind me. It's perhaps 58 degrees out now in mid-afternoon, which feels delightful. I half-assed helped with the cottage cleaning this morning, which is a Saturday morning staple with the three vacation rentals (visit their link again HERE!). If you stepped into one, you might want to stay there forever. Tony told me once that a German man came huffing up to him after their week here and blustered, "This is listed as a Three Star accommodation! This is not a Three Star accommodation! It's a Five Star accommodation!" How my friends could take ancient fisherman's bothies and bring them back to life with soul and yet a few mod cons (modern conveniences) is beyond me. You walk in the door and want to sink into the life here. 

Yesterday was Good Friday. I attended the 2 pm service at St. John's, then wandered through the Forres High Street until I walked up to Cluny Hill College to meet my friend Will. Of course I didn't just see Will - I saw others I have known and cared for over the past 16 years..... Wolf, Niels, Sue, Stewart. It felt normal to be there, which isn't too surprising as I have come and gone there since 1991 when I did Experience Week. I was a "Living in Community Guest" for the fall of 1993. But this is Scotland, and I am an American. The longest I've stayed in this country is 13 months, aching to stay longer and never able to. If I were a member of the European Union (EU), I wouldn't be given a 2nd glance. I'm not. Getting through Immigration at London Heathrow reminded me that if I want to come again, I am strongly advised to bring an Entry Clearance. There are just too many stamps evidently in my Passport for this country's border patrol. "But I haven't been here for two years," I said with a lackluster tone indicative of my travel exhaustion. It didn't matter. I got my 6-month stamp but it took 30 minutes and 2 visits with the Guard's manager. Clearly I look dangerous. 

I even jogged yesterday, which I haven't done since Berkeley days about 2 weeks ago. It was a long day and my immune system sighed, "I see that we're all very happy and that our soul body is ecstatic, however I do have some blood count issues and I think you're pushing me just a tad much." I'm still glad I'm here. I jogged through forest trails.

What I hadn't blogged was that on March 23rd, the week prior to my departure, my monthly blood draw found my platelets having dropped by 50% from the previous month. My white counts were down as well although not as precipitously. My oncologist looked at me while I said nothing. I had thought I'd breeze in and breeze out, vowing to send a postcard from Scotland. I felt fine, wonderful even. It was supposed to be another innocuous blood test. I breathed. I didn't like the news. "Well?" I said.

"I'm worried," he said.

I still said nothing. "I think we should have another bone marrow biopsy to rule out a relapse," he said. I nodded. "Tomorrow," he said. I nodded.

And so it was. 

I was upset, I was frightened, and I was not going to stop preparing to leave my ramshackle shoebox in Berkeley. The what if's? nipped at my heels and I kept moving. Results dribbled in, declaring piecemeal that whatever the reason for my drop in counts, the return of the leukemia was NOT evident. YES that's FANTASTIC... but.... why did the counts drop? More shall be revealed. After doing the international two-step to get a CBC authorization sent from California to the Forres Health Centre here, I will be tested again this week. After Holy Week, after Easter. I'll let you know what transpires. 

Today there is peace and slow joy. It's bright like today's mesmerizing sunlight. It's my gift.

Arrived in Scotland

Here is photographic proof that after nearly 24 hours of constant travel and layover, with perhaps a 2-hour nap for neo-glory, I arrived at the Aviemore train station on Monday, April 6th at 4:26 pm local time. It can be considered a miracle that I stayed up and semi-lucid until bedtime at 11 pm. I slept in heavenly bliss and will write more in the coming days. My week with Susan & Klaus outside of Atlanta was a safe haven collapse of love and rest following the nonstop working miracle of getting out of Dodge. My arrival here, while a bit tattered around the edges, is joyous. Tony Brown met me at the station and took this photo.