uh THEE-uh-uh-THEE-uh-uh That's All, Folks!

I've promised a new blog and here it is: Hope Renewing

I've decided to link from this one rather than smoosh them all together. It's still a work in progress as am I.

Ruthie's good luck horseshoe

My friend Ruthie and I took a lovely 5-mile walk through the Altyre Estate about two weeks ago, my concept of time flying just to write that. Where have the weeks gone? Ah. To be written, shared, uploaded and offered as I continue to wrap my little haid around 'em all. 

On our walk, Ruth spied a horseshoe. "Look!" she said. I looked. "And it's facing the right way!" she added. I furrowed my brow. "When it's open in the direction in which you're walking, that's good luck." She picked it up, carried it all the rest of the way and gave it to me at the end. "But it's your horseshoe!" I protested. "It's yours, honey pie. For good luck." 

That was a week prior to The (3rd) Big Trip to Aberdeen to meet with Dr. Culligan, the head heem guy I'd thought I'd have met up with the prior two visits. And ... well? I continue to incubate and will write when I feel I can take a jumble of thoughts 'n feelings and bear reasonable witness to my life. In the meantime, I offer a significant morsel.... Ruthie's good luck horseshoe. 

A new blog is waiting in the wings, waiting for her turn, at the very least, waiting until I feel like signing off here and pointing you in that direction there. I'm tired of the gauntlet mindset. Hell, life's a gauntlet, period.... and a grace.... and a long walk in the woods finding pine cones for the fire and a horseshoe for my window sill.

On a river stone in the centre is a medallion of St. Cecilia, the patron saint of musicians. My former (gakk! I hate writing the word former!) choir director Michael gave it to us all one final Sunday in May before the summer break. When I asked him how this saint works with us, he said, "She helps you to sing better." God bless you, Michael. I've already ruffled the friendly feathers of my new Church choir by being asked to switch gears and act as a new Crucifer during the 10 am service. "Really, I'm not meaning to abandon you!" One smirked in mock offence, "We're not speaking to you...." I does what I can, including making mistakes and living in spite of them.

Luck and Grace..... my lessons of receiving and discernment continue.

driving for inspiration

I was going to pull a Forrest Gump and write something along the lines of "life is like the weather in Scotland because it changes all the time and you can't predict it." Amazingly, I had thought that a few paragraphs at least would've emerged from that stunning realization, but clearly it's its own succinct dollop of 'duh'. There ya are. Here we is. Sun, cloud, rain, wind, what's next? 

The we in this photo shows a Sunday, May 17th reunion with a dear friend from late 1980's southern California. Rae Gina and I knew one another in a context of group that I cannot elucidate without jarring into my respect for said group's traditions. If ya follow me, ya know. If not, don't worry about it. Twenty years it has been since we followed our respective and interconnected paths of soul solace and wisdom, with life on life's terms slamming into us in various ways over the years. 

She found me several months ago on Facebook, that bastion of one-liner time evaporation with a few twinges of heartfelt ahhhh thrown in. Amidst her excitement about catching up with me I had thrown in my now worn moan of, "I can't really write a lot right now, I've got this health thing going on..." And then it was a moving thing going on. And dammit, the health thing is STILL going on! I waved weakly while catching up with her two decades in occasionally uploaded photo galleries. 

A surprise opening in a very popular golfing workshop run by my friends Joan and JT led me to forward that announcement to Rae Gina without much thought. "I see on FB that she likes to golf. Here, this is a Forward that doesn't involve making a wish and sending it on to 18 other people to hear good news in three days at 11:09 am local time..... there! It's sent." (For those of you sending me well-meaning chain emails, you can stop it right now - thank you!). 

She leapt at the chance to travel to St. Andrews, Scotland, to play at the home of golf. And no matter how tired I felt and still feel, I was not going to miss the opportunity to drive 143 miles each way to rendezvous with her for several hours. I couldn't quite close the gap between Berkeley and Reno, but this.... had to be for me. 

And so it was and so I took away photos, gratitude, remembrances, appreciation - and a sizable armload of her wisdom that is helping me now as I tried to share my own beginner's wisdom 20 years ago. "All we have is today," she said more than once. My pain and my sorrow began to have the merest crack in their hardening armor. "All we have is today," she said. I've heard this before, over and over and over. But I seemed to have needed to have heard it from her. 

When you read this, Rae, you'll see one of the gifts you gave me.

The life/death/uncertainty shit can make me certifiably unserene and insane. I don't have a ready model for coping with this. Trying on my considerable arsenal of coping and healing mechanisms has found me lacking and thirsty. I might die soon and I do NOT (pardon my language) fucking want to. This is one of my ultimate edges in powerlessness and I have not been graceful with it AT ALL. 

All we have is today, she said. And a hurting part of my soul heard her.

The rain is back. It patters on the skylight window here in our living room. Ali is out at her art course in Elgin; Tony is out there amidst the elements gardening. I'm here at my computer, avidly avoiding the growing stack of my medical bills yelping for their copays while I growl inwardly and think, "I'd be a lot happier paying you if I had SOMEthing that resembled a guarantee, you know." Control and the hunt for satisfaction dog me. "It's my RIGHT, dammit!"

All we have is today. All I have is today.

Thank you, Rae Gina. Thank you.

light reflecting

Here's a view of the River Findhorn from a new walk next to one of the fields of sheep .... photos are all I can do right now. The swirling rapids continue while my energies are lower physically. 

The caring support of my friends Tony and Ali - and others in this area and even farther away - are my signs of Grace. 

seeing

While my words swirl and aren't yet ready for mounting on this page, I can upload the occasional photo as I breathe in and breathe out. I am being serenaded by a morning chorus of birds, the likes of which I cannot name. We - the we of northern Scotland - should be able to bask in a gloriously sunny week. There is water and wind, trail and rocks. And a lot going on behind the scenes which I will share as it becomes more clear and cohesive. 

a tear in the fabric and time to regroup

When I was a little kid in the 1960's, my younger brother David and I watched a TV show featuring Engineer Bill. Somewhere seared in my memory is his "red light - green light" game, a cool con to get munchkins to down their glasses of milk. (Remember drinking glasses of milk?).

Red light - green light!

Sometimes that's how I feel with this AML. On, off, up, down, yes, no! - and then the speed picks up between breaths. All I will write for now, as there is much to let settle into my bones (so to speak) is that today's news was not good. It wasn't gut-wrenchingly horrible, but it wasn't good. Thank GOD for the prayers and support of my friends. Thank God I don't have to figure out next steps all by myself. Tony and Ali and I took all day to get to Aberdeen and back by train, wait a really really long time at the hospital, and spent a great deal of time speaking with the doc.

It's not seamless. And I still need your prayers. 

crossword puzzle winner gets the goods

Yes, Virginia, there really is a Forres Gazette. Aside from Ken Smith, the kindly editor who was pleased to hand me my (sic) £15 Macbeth's Butchers voucher, are two mystery women, both adorable. One was somehow connected to the gent coerced or shall I say asked to take pictures. The other may or may not have had something significant to do with the actual completion of the weekly crossword. You've now been shown - somewhere in this photo opp is a real rocket scientist with eloquence! 

I love living in a wink-wink nudge-nudge kind of community. Nobody's foolin' noone!

In preparation for this coming Thursday's re-visit to the Aberdeen Royal Infirmary, which feels so time warpish to even write, I fell asleep on the couch tonight while the telly blared a rather endless drama. So what? you might sigh. I'm not a nap taker and I'm not necessarily sleep-deprived. Short of awfulizing its significance, it is highly possible that I remain psychically worn out from this past week's bone marrow biopsy. It's that or worry about my blood counts, which is just such a no-win. Incubating in this nap confessional is my awareness of desiring a massive paradigm shift (screw the gauntlet consciousness - somewhere the new name will come!) from fear-based to a profound soul deliverance. Somewhere inside of me is a place beyond holding my breath between medical challenges and feeling like I'm running from the Gestapo. This is not easy (to put it mildly) and I can taste its possibility. Its emergence could be my most valid experience of a leap of faith. I yearn for a spiritual transplant not ravaged by worry and constriction. I get it in blips, in little half-hiccups. 

I want to drink deeply of this richness I've only sensed. I don't want mindless denial, wishing away the implications of this shitty disease. Neither do I want to continue holding my breath in remission, hesitantly reading peoples' eyes and wondering if they wish me well or fear my death. I want wholeness, I want peace, I want to be completely CURED. If I tiptoe between medical incidents until and if I hit the 5-year mark, I'll blow myself to smithereens vibrationally. 

Somewhere in this incubation is sensing that until I fully acknowledge my passionate desire to LIVE with as well a complete acceptance of death's not far away potential, I will jitterbug between the two worlds and blur myself into a land of drivel and false hopes. I'm tired of being tired and afraid. I'm tired of pathologizing a nap. I'm sick and tired of staring at my legs, fearing bruises (from low platelets) or those little pin-prick red bits called petechia. I don't know if I'm being ballsy or foolish, but I'm not going to bow my head to every single thing the medical world barks at me nor bow my head in a big fat givin' up. I will listen, I will pray and I will ask to have this inner load lightened while I affirm that I want to LIVE!

Now!

..... In happiness, in sterling health, in faith, in service, in giddy abundance and holy grace.... for a very very very long time.

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.

midway and here now

I am so looking forward to linking to a new blog name and adventure! I'll let this reveal itself once over in bonnie Scotland. I write now from Roswell, Georgia - the home of my dear friends Susan & Klaus (& Kelsey & Fiona & Nova & Skye, their kitties). I am, shall we say, more than a bit knackered from the past few weeks. 

This is a 2003 artist's rendition (in case you were wondering....) of the Fisherman's Bothies with Tony & Ali standing next to the tree on the left! The grounds look sedate compared to their exuberant lushness today. God willing I shall arrive there next Tuesday, April 6th. I'll leave Atlanta early afternoon on Palm Sunday, and fly IAD (Washington Dulles) to LHR (London Heathrow) to EDI (Edinburgh Airport). At 10 am on the 6th, friends I've not seen since 2001 will greet me in Edinburgh, share time and tea with me, and then take me to the Edinburgh Waverley train station where my ticket awaits me in a little kiosk. At 1:35 pm local time I'll hop on the train and then really hope that it stops in rather than chugs past Aviemore as well as Forres to which I had originally booked. I'll sit on the train, drink tea, write, stare out the window. Okay okay, I might buy a few biscuits (cookies to my American friends) from the trolley.... Tony will scoop me up in Aviemore (again, we hope!) around 4:30 pm. 

Getting to the Highlands of Scotland sometimes takes a very long time. 

Today and each day this week I will breathe. I will also be with my friends and their curious felines, walk, jog if I can, weave in necessary admin, sing and reunite with some of my shape note friends from last summer (woo-hoo!), find local 12-Step meetings, and breathe. 

a different flavored healing path

I was last sprung from the hospital on January 2nd, 2-1/2 months ago. It was my 2nd 25-day stint called a Consolidation; the 1st was the rude awakening of Induction chemotherapy last October. While each week I watched myself grow stronger and more vibrant, I was penciled in for a 2nd Consolidation (3rd round so far - keeping track?) in mid-February. "Until we find a bone marrow donor," intoned Dr. K and nurse Rob, "we need to have you in the hospital every 4-6 weeks to make sure you don't relapse." I blanched. I cringed. "....but my numbers keep coming up.... and see how good I feel!" I burbled. My fears saw the white coats morph into the big bad wolf while they seemed to sneer, "... and all the better to pump you full of chemo with, my dear." I felt like the Christmas goose being fattened for the meal. 

It was becoming time to go back and I didn't want to go. So I prayed. I scoured online. I made calls. I kept jogging and taking the simple vitamins I had been forbidden to take. My friend Stacey sent me an email late one night; "Aren't I taking you to the hospital this coming Wednesday?"

"Let's talk," I wrote.

And so we did. We met at Aroma Cafe in San Rafael before my choir practice. I was nervous. I had to tell her first, though, and I did. She looked at me and said, "I get it. Enough is enough already."

Now I'm sharing with you that after not a small amount of prayer, meditation, journal writing, research, medical consultations and more, I have decided to suspend the continuing rounds of high dose IV chemotherapy for my leukemia and instead embrace not only today's continually robust remission but several avenues of alternative healing modalities. I am doing this with the awareness and acknowledgment of my medical team. (Ok, so they didn't throw a party congratulating me). I have looked them all in the eye and shared this from my heart and innermost being. No bridges are being burned with high drama flourishes of "watch me now!" To quote one of my oncology nurses, "I know of people who are alive today who've had one Induction and one Consolidation.... I know people who have said "no" [to the traditional allopathic trajectory]... you can make this decision today and you can redecide a month from now. It's cool to take a hiatus...."

When I first considered even asking this question, it was along the lines of, "... if I stop now, how much time do I have?" I hadn't even given myself permission to contemplate that some working in Western medicine knew of long-term acute leukemia survivors who hadn't exactly played by the books.

I shall take this hiatus in northeast Scotland, staying with close friends of the past nearly 20 years. Tony & Ali live in and rent out restored 19th-Century "bothies" (pronounced bah-theez) and are often booked two years in advance. They text-messaged me from their holiday in Madiera when I was first hospitalized. I've written about them in earlier posts. Click HERE for a Scottish Highlands photo Gallery!

After a nearly 6-year run, I am leaving the Bay Area on March 30th. I will return only to visit, if that opportunity is available to me. 

As of April 6th and for up to 6 months if my health and Her Majesty's Immigration seem to be on the same wavelength, I will be here: Fisherman's Bothies, Mains of Sluie, Dunphail by Forres, Morayshire IV36 2QG, Scotland UK. I will suspend my (415) cell phone for 6 months. As for the (510) number, we'll see if I hook up my traveling Vonage VOIP deal. Email works best while I continue to whine that I gave up long ago trying to be reasonably responsive. I'll be busy healing and living! 

(Yes, it's Fisherman's and not Fishermen's. I fought that one for years and lost). 

For a week en route over and - God Willing - after my 6-month "tourist Visa" nudges me back Stateside, I shall stay with my dear friends Susan and Klaus in Georgia. Next steps will be taken as they're encountered. I can dream dreams and have intentions, however with this leukemia I cannot make plans. It's a delicate balance and oftentimes the poise between the worlds becomes weighty. For now exhilaration wins out while I am become just a little teensy bit Krispy Krittered with the Great Undoing.

I don't know whether I have 20 years, 2 months or 2 weeks of good health. No one else does, either. "Only God knows," said an oncology nurse. "We don't." This particular leukemia can return without warning and regardless of the number of Consolidations or whether one has gotten a bone marrow transplant. That procedure alone carries 50/50 odds of survival. Since October 27th, I have spent 50 days in two hospitals for two wrenching rounds of chemotherapy and antibiotics, with a half a million dollars billed to my now far more expensive insurance policy. Did I mention the thousands of dollars in co-pays and being sidelined in my work and spiritual pursuits? Luckily I have had some savings to live on frugally. My frugality continues while my heart is dancing a "shhhhh, don't tell, it's Lent" jig.

I am grateful for this remission and I am going to ride it out as long as I can. I am neither "giving up" nor planning to crawl away and die. Should I fall very ill again, I will have the opportunity to seek Western medical care either overseas or back here in the States. The idea of getting pumped full of chemo at this time to prevent me from relapsing, while I can understand the preventive methodology, lands like a thud in my solar plexus. There is a tipping point where the treatment causes more damage than the efficacy it promotes. Few physicians have a clear handle on that. If my intuition and sense of calling fail me, clearly I will have to accept that. 

Once I am over the seas, I will create a new blog, releasing the thoughtform of the paradigm gauntlet this has been on many levels. I'll link the new name here. I want to close out this theme with this news.

Many of you have prayed for me. Your love and your caring are elixir to my soul. Thank you! I ask that you please keep praying for my increasing wellness and as well that I may continue to attune my ear to God's guidance. Your prayers - whatever is prayer for your spiritual path - matter more to me than even the finest Western medical care. While I thank my Creator for the gifts of most of my medical team, you don't think I'm still kicking around just because of the chemo, do you? 

Onward!

22 years sober today!

I'm flapping out of my hermit henhouse long enough to jump up and down and squawk that I am grateful INDEED to God and the company of (those) fellow path walkers to celebrate 22 years of continuous sobriety today. One of the Traditions of my secret club suggests strongly that I not mention its name, but y'all know whose doors and rooms have welcomed me since early March of 1987.

I am SO darn grateful. 

The cake visual and sumptuous yum was from my 2008 July birthday (the belly button kind) with Susan & Klaus in Georgia. Can you believe I took a 2-month, 8000-mile (nearly) road trip and then 60 days later was hospitalized with leukemia? What timing, eh?

As for "the other disease," I'm still hatching up a Plan and praying my way through it. There is as well not a small amount of physical doingness involved. I should have Something to say in a few weeks. I shall plagiarize Tom Robbins and cackle, 'ha ha, ho ho and hee hee!'. 

hatching up something

I'm sitting and nesting on Something Really Cool right now - blogville will resume after the urge to squawk and flap around overtakes me. To quote Julian of Norwich, All shall be well. All shall be very well. 

Which when ya have a stinky-assed blood cancer even in remission, is really nice!

FAQs and Glossary of questionably useful terms

With the startled realization that not everyone who finds this blog has followed my trudge from the start, I thought I'd intersperse the tales with a bit of a catch-up. Any resemblance to accurate and reasonable terms is completely accidental.

AML: Acute Myelogenous Leukemia, a fast-growing blood cancer that strikes perhaps 13,000 people each year in the U.S. and, depending on which web site you stumble upon, kills roughly three-quarters of 'em in spite of state-of-the-art treatment advances in Western medicine. Its appearance is sudden and rarely correlates to external circumstances. Untreated, it will kill you in 3-4 months. Treated, well.... that's another story entirely......  There are many many types of AML (not to mention the other leukemias). On October 27, 2008, I was practically flung into the hospital for Induction chemotherapy after simply thinking, "Damn I'm tired. I might need more B-vitamins or new jogging shoes or.... wait, whaddaya mean I have a platelet count of 17 and a life-threatening condition? You're scaring me!" Mine emerged out of MDS, or 

Myelodysplastic Syndrome: No wonder no one wanted to talk about it when I was first vaguely diagnosed in November 2007. The cartoon balloons of "huh??" over most folks' heads dissuaded me from even attempting to unpack it. Funky bone marrow is what I called it. It is not cancerous itself although 30% of the time it will flip into AML. It gave a rather glowering name to my several years of low blood counts (WBC & RBC & neutrophils). I'd only been aware of these counts since perhaps 2006 as for decades I'd shunned most of conventional Western medicine in favor of chiropractors, acupuncturists, nutritionists and a wide assortment of healers, some Godly and some, well, not. A CBC? What was that? Maybe it's my adrenals or something... Ably I attended to other issues for most of my adult life. By my late forties however it occurred to me that real grownups had a GP and got a yearly physical.

Chemotherapy: I have serious issues with this, which according to most of Western medicine is the only way to treat as aggressive and mean-assed a cancer as AML. I have had two brutal rounds of it, the "7 & 3" for Induction and "FLAG" for 1st Consolidation (for those of you au fait with chemo code). It's poison. It makes your hair fall out, fungi threaten to ravage your body and sometimes neurological damage. It kills most of the cancer cells and whatever else lies in its path. The game as I understand it with AML is to kill as many cancer cells as possible without killing you in the process. If you're lucky enough to be considered for a bone marrow transplant (BMT), that's the procedure that completely obliterates your immune system (myeloablative) before they transplant a kind-hearted donor's into you. The survival rate for this procedure is roughly 50%. One-third die from the procedure and another 20% die in the several months following it. Look up graft-versus-host-disease (GVHD) if you're interested.

Hospital:  A prison-like environment where the probability of dying increases exponentially with the intensity and complexity of your treatment. That said, it is also where certain angels (disguised as nurses) are known to work. 

Remission: A reprieve from the ravages of a disease. Cancer cells (aka leukemic blasts) are nowhere to be found. But they'll be back. There are two or more hiding in your big toe and they're waiting. Rather than celebrate a permanent cure, which this is not, it's a waiting game to see how much chemotherapy (see above) can be pumped into you before you fall helplessly and suddenly into a...

Relapse: It's back and you're screwed. Go back to square one, repeat Induction chemo (the most brutal of them all), repeat others, have worse odds. Rather than risk relapse, many to most oncologists prefer to slam you back into the hospital every 4-6 weeks until a bone marrow donor is found. Some leukemias CAN respond to chemotherapy alone. I am told that mine is not one of them. For MDS-AML (my not favorable 'subtype'), consolidations alone give me a 10-20% chance of long-term survival; a BMT bumps it up another 30%. 

A Miracle: '...is a coincidence where God chooses to remain anonymous'... and an attitudinal shift whereby gratitude outshines fear. We know that death happens. Normally when we don't necessarily expect it, although living in hale and hearty vigor until one's eighties, say, and then passing peacefully in the night seems to be a Universal ideal. I once said that I wanted to die with my boots on. If pure choice had been that powerful a manifested option to me, I might've been wise to have visualized a few more decades of sterling health to my present challenges. 

Prayer: The love, intentionality, spiritual and religious supplications, candles, chants, breaths, cards, chocolates, letters to God, fist-pounding, walking, meditating and beingness from blessed ones. From myself, gurgles and sighs to a Power greater than myself.

Attunement: The opportunity to allow all of the aspects of myself to have a voice, to be validated, heard and held. Seeking wisdom in the presence of a respected Other, such as with my Spiritual Director and a few trusted friends. Contemplating options that may fall outside of the box. Risking that my inner wisdom may have a valid message for me and that hearkening to it may involve breathing through others' disapproval (Alanon moment here). 

Acceptance: The Serenity Prayer. 

Remission

The last of the cytogenetic tests came in and I remain in remission. A big exhale for now.

I am enjoying each day of feeling stronger and more present. I welcome an increasing return of my life force. This is precious.

I would like that anyone posting an Anonymous comment to leave their initials, at the very least. I prefer not to publish them if I don't have a sense of a someone connected with the comment. Thanks for that. 

This candle is from my church. It says that the Holy Spirit is present, specifically in the reserve Sacrament. It is always lit except from Maundy Thursday through Easter, when Christ's resurrection is celebrated. This is my theme for tonight. 

Just when you thought I might actually be grateful....

My elation lasted a few hours on Friday. My good friend, childhood pal and occasional medical advocate Stacey had come along to hear Dr. K almost but not quite sort of kind of tell us that it looked as though I could still be in remission. Perhaps. We thought. For the most part. As the hours and days have melded, the inability of many in the medical profession to give utterly clear information more than 10% of the time has grown on me.... kind of like too-strong coffee does when you've attempted to ease up on such pungent lusciousness. (Raise your hands if you can tell I love coffee). The mug is empty but your tummy is still scowling. Wait, I've savored a delicious cup, I should be really happy, what's wrong with me?

That's only part of the reason for the jolts of distress. The "good news" is frankly that I am given an opportunity to continue on a path with huge challenges and absolutely no guarantees. Sometimes I feel like I'm at a carnival, with bright-eyed shysters hawking their wares while I just wish I could get a straight answer without trying to beat it out of them. Is the merry-go-round a quarter or not? Won't you just tell me straight out? They chirp that I'm "young enough" for a bone marrow transplant, meaning I'm 52 rather than say 72. "This is your best chance!" they smile. What they don't add and would be a lot more honest is, "... if you live through it." Fully half of the patients who go through an allogeneic bone marrow transplant from an unrelated donor die from the treatment. Let's see: Will I wait and have the leukemia kill me or sign up for this? 

Yes, I'm basically (I won't repeat the word game again, you can relax) in remission. I'm not cured. Cured is 5 years of survival. If you make it that long, you are SO a winner. "Early Christian, you have been released from the lion's jaws!" But I'm still in the arena and I want to get OUT of it. No lions, no den, no cheering Romans. Can't I just leave now?

If I were a movie - and I am not -  this is where the close up shows my tortured face slowly transformed into boundless faith, fervent conviction and passionate determination. Cue the soaring music; "I'll beat this thing, you betcha!" I know I watched films like this from my childhood. It's a classic and universal theme. "When the going gets rough....." and bla-dee-bla. If I really wanted to be impressive, I wouldn't even post such doubts. But that's not why I created this online world called a blog. If I wanted 24/7 applause, I'd have a friend Photoshop me as a foxy 22-year-old and post it around the Internet. This is a space to share my honest and sometimes messy path and, when I can, moments of vulnerability, even when they aren't MGM inspiring. 

I don't want to go back into the hospital for a 2nd Consolidation. Some folks have four of 'em, and this is after Induction, that thing wot kills 25% of the folks who try it. My hair is growing back, for gosh sakes! I have peach fuzz on the top of my head! My 15-25 minute jogs around the neighborhood are growing in strength and pleasure, a far cry from the puzzled exhaustion last October when I was becoming leukemic and didn't know it. When I don't jog, I make sure I'm out walking briskly for at least 45 minutes. I FEEL stronger. I'm poking around with my work/investment research, although actual income production continues to elude me - for now. My life force is asserting itself. It is so beyond counterintuitive to know that the medical profession has my ass tagged for another round of poison to keep me in this "first remission." I guess waiting until I'm skating on the edge of relapse isn't a terribly bright idea. Until the bone marrow transplant dance happens, which could take 2-6 months, I am told that there's a bed in the oncology ward with my name on it every 4-6 weeks. Today is Week 4 and I'm crouching in resistance. 

This leukemia is such a pain in the ass. 

In rebellion and affirming that I have CHOICE, I made a big ole batch of Essiac tea. Folk tales allege of its cancer cures (it's very Google-able). I take an ounce at bedtime with 2-3 ounces of boiled water. I'd also asked Dr. K about taking vitamin supplements, nothing more outlandish than a multi, Vitamin C and Omega-3 fish oil. "No," he said firmly. "Medical journals do not report that they have any particular efficacy." I bowed my head and sulked for 2 days. I then thought, "NO ONE is telling me that I cannot take vitamins." When I'm in the clink, I am compliant. When I'm getting inundated with chemo and then antibiotics, my sense is to let 'em do what they're supposed to do. I'm home, I'm free, I'll take my vitamins. Sometimes I'll even make fresh organic juice (carrot-apple-beet-ginger). 

And for today, strong organic coffee in the mornings. I struggle with gratitude but I am not devoid of some pleasure.....

Good news!!

While there await 1-2 more tests whose results will nudge this guesstimated 92% to fully positive totality, I remain for the most part in remission. This is really GOOD news!

My counts continue to rise, a clear sign that my soul essence and body continue to choose wellness over stagnation. My platelets alone were over 100 today! (They were 17 when I landed in the 1st oncologist's office last October with leg bruises and gum bleeds - normal counts are between 150-450; all of these are x 1000). 

I'll meet with Dr. K. again a week from today, Friday the 6th of February. While the search for a bone marrow donor has finally begun, it could take several months. I am told that until that time, I should receive Consolidation chemotherapy every 4-6 weeks to keep me in remission. It is probably quite clear that I will push for as much time between hospital stays as I can wrangle. As well I will seek a next Consolidation at UCSF rather than Alta Bates, since it feels wiser to spend time where I'll actually be receiving the bone marrow or stem cell transplant. Today I'm poised between the two medical facilities, which is already demonstrating some communication blips. I need to reign in as much confusion and sloppiness as I can. This AML is already enough of a pain.

Tonight I smile. To all of you who pray, send goodness and send words of wisdom after these posts or in emails or etherically - oh thank you ever so much! 

run, Toto, run!

We'll see what the doc has to say - I'll know important things within 2 hours. I may write about it over the weekend. 

For all of you dear ones sending good thoughts and prayers, I can feel your presences - thank you.

I am dancing with both a quiet peace and short-breath fears. I have heard that in nightmares, especially lucid ones, it is best to turn and face the monsters. We'll see how well I do.

I don't think this one bites

For you balanced souls out there, never ever tormented by the irrationalities of life.... for you "normies" and Type B folk upon whom many a skitterish Type A obsessive-compulsive nervous person might lean.... you can skip this part. It'll probably be boring. You probably aren't even twisted enough to be intrigued now that I've written that. 

Since I stumbled out of 25 days of Induction chemotherapy in late November, the pile of bills which awaited me had me in a full-scale panic. I was stuck, deer-in-headlights terrified, heart-palpitating whacked. Of course my insurance policy was in force. Of course those mean and disreputable sorts should have known that I was being kept behind metaphoric bars in the hospital. Regardless, I had a visceral and irrational avoidant reaction to the bills. In the past two months, I managed to re-arrange the pile and even start some file folders. All I could think was, "Some of these are wrong and I don't have the psychic energy to make them right. And I'll be damned if I'll let those bastards mis-bill me!" I'd already sic'd my Claims Rep. on one lab for trying to bully me out of $190.00 when Blue Shield had paid that in full in May of last year. I was 5 years old and some big mean kids were heading down the street right at me.

This may be considered an interesting (or perhaps pathetic) distraction from matters of life and death. 

Today something shifted. The bills were just pieces of paper with information on them, all entitled to some measure of response that would simply not suck too much out of my life force energy. In fact, I managed to access a spiritual plateau not before encountered. The twisted solar plexus had eased, the mental machinations had seemingly evaporated. 

I looked at the papers and with a calm detachment thought, "YOU can kiss my ass." 

Damn but that felt good! I do have a minor wad of papers ready for a break in the phone tag with my Claims rep., all under the auspices of '...and WHO do you think you're kidding?' 

One monster down. 

Waiting, breathing, being

It was my 5th bone marrow biopsy since the one in November 2007 declared "...findings of early or emerging myelodysplastic syndrome...," the funky bone marrow designation that at the time was not cancerous and held a purportedly mere 30% chance of becoming so. I vacillated about taking an oxycodone and am happy I decided against it. Bone marrow biopsies hurt, period, although I will escort Dr. K. to the front of the line - his procedure hurt the least of everyone else's to date. I have learned that the woo-woo drugs (e.g. variations on morphine derivatives) simply make me loaded and in pain.... after which I'm staggering around for hours. I took 500 mg. of Tylenol last night. The abundance of local Lidocaine and - dammit, I'll hand it to him - a more expert hand made it tolerable.

It is still a psychic invasion, however, and I spent the evening at home rather than scurrying to my cherished Sacred Harp singing up the hill in the Episcopal seminary chapel. I gave myself permission to recover, a handy growth spurt for a sometimes hapless Type A who seems hell bent on pushing herself into caverns of idiocy. Staying home also gave me the gift of connecting by phone with a bone marrow transplant survivor whose name and number were given to me by a friend from 12-Step program. This is my 2nd experience of connecting with a fellow leukemia warrior and feeling as though I encountered a long-lost friend. It's an odd, odd sensation. I wonder if this is akin to finding a battlefield survivor in a foxhole.... leaping past pretenses and breathing in a desperate connection. We spent 90 minutes on the phone sharing our tales until my late night brain began to signal its weariness. 

I made it clear to both doctor and nurse that whatever the results, I insisted on being told face-to-face and not over the phone. "Well, what if it's good news?" said the nurse. "Nice try, buddy," I said, "then if I don't hear from you I'll know otherwise." 

"Oh, right," he said. 

I do know that Dr. K. knows something right now, and the reason we're waiting until Friday afternoon to bring me back in is to have all of the information available such as cytogenetic results which take a few more days in the pathology lab. Dr. K has already looked under a microscope and knows something. So whatever remnants of Zen-like presence and 12-Step One Day at a Time wisdom exist inside of me get to awaken and show up. How un-obsessed might I be? How PRESENT may I be? Yes, I have a 16"x8" sticky bandage across my lower back but I can still walk. 

And when I remind myself, I can still pray.

staring over the abyss

This afternoon is a bone marrow biopsy with Alta Bates' Dr. K. This is the procedure whose results later this week will tell me whether I remain in remission (zero blasts) or have relapsed. 

If the leukemic blasts have returned after 50 days in two different hospitals since October 27th, two brutal rounds of chemotherapy and a half million dollars' worth of bills sent to my insurance company, then I will make my next steps with as much spiritual fortitude and soul honesty as I can. 

If you read this before 2:30 pm California time, I would love to receive some healing thoughts for peace and presence. These procedures are not known for being particularly pleasant. Thank you and bless you! 

Round and round the mulberry bush

It's been a challenging week.

Saturday morning is the Memorial Service for my friend Marilyn. Many in our small parish have rallied around her grieving partner Cindy. Our choir will sing for her and I will chant Psalm 46. 

Two very dear friends are suffering with cancers of their own, one with a recent breast cancer diagnosis, the other with a very rare T-cell lymphoma for whom the medications have debilitating side effects. My new friend Rob, a long-time (almost 5 years) leukemia survivor, has been in and out of the hospital for months. As for me, my chipper white counts of a week ago have plummeted from 3.5 or so to today's .8. That's point-eight. Not even one. Is this a "post-remission cytopenia" or a relapse? Monday's bone marrow biopsy will tell. Today I cannot fathom the idea of a relapse and a repeat of Induction chemotherapy.

It's been a shitty week.

I have not been an angelic devotee of the Triune God. I scowl. I bark. "Whatcha doin', picking us off one by one?" I've sneered. I have not worked a single Step of surrender nor counted my blessings. I've been a snotty, angry kid. From this space I have endeavored to give with parched lips and cracked heart.

A bright spot was wigging out with a dear friend from church. Literally. When the last of my hair went bye-bye in late November, I rushed around buying knitted caps and bright scarves. I do not go out in public bald. Julie had promised to go wig shopping with me, which at first had very little appeal. Time has passed and so yesterday we did after she had gone out of her way to research proper wig shops. The first wig I tried on brought up a globule of grief with the disconnect between putting on what used to simply be there. I wanted bangs (fringe to my British friends), devoid of the 'oh no!' repercussions of doing it with real hair including revisiting the 2 years it took to grow out my last flourish of those. Aside from the guffaws pointing out the $15 pink or platinum party wigs, we went through the high-end synthetics and on the fourth try found the keeper. Julie teared up; "That's you!" I cocked my head and played with its bouncy bob. I tried on a few more before we drove to a 2nd choice wig shop. They were closed and lost the $253 I then spent at this one in San Rafael. 

I wore it to choir practice that night to hums and smiles. It felt slightly odd and I smiled catching myself in mirrors. At the Cancer Center this afternoon, acquiescing to a blood transfusion due to low hemoglobin counts as well, I wore a cap. I don't want to be there and I'm not about to dress up for them. Aside from the low-counts fatigue, I don't think of The Illness if I can help it. It's spitting in my face when the nurses are trying to find a vein and hook me up for a 2-hour sit next to someone else's blood dripping in. Psychologically it feels worse than having been forced to swallow cod liver oil as a kid. 

I'm poised between two hospitals: Alta Bates in Berkeley with Dr. K. and his staff, and UCSF Medical Center in San Francisco where I met the head of their bone marrow transplant program on Wednesday. Dr. D.'s demeanor was gently welcoming, his brilliance not compromised when he explained things in a manner I could understand. I am moving ahead with the decision to seek a bone marrow transplant even while I feel fear and doubt. My chances of survival are crap with chemo alone. They are doubled but still marginal with a transplant. My head spins, my anger rises. My work and income generation are on hold while I've made a few attempts to step back into bits of its markets research here and there. 

Another friend is returning this week to her native Switzerland, this 14-year California chapter in her life closing with love and goodness as well as sadness. 

Aeons ago I would try to construct Reasons for everything, from death to illness to grievous errors. I'd get my sticky note cosmic rationale collection poised and ready for slapping on. I needed Reasons for everything with no exceptions. Today I have let that go when it is clear that I haven't a freaking clue what in the hell is happening. I don't know WHY Marilyn died last Saturday morning or why I have acute leukemia. Last week, leaving a Camaldolese Eucharist service with two new acquaintances, one of them told a story and then said, "Everything happens for a reason." I paused, took a breath and then disagreed, not with that vibrationally barbaric "I'm going to run over your belief system" fire breath but taking the opportunity to have a voice and then let it be. 

I feel oddly naked and unarmed to confess this. 

I wonder if strength and unarmed vulnerability, even weakness, can coexist.