Ten Days of Gratitude

I think about this blog every day. I think about what I want to write. What I want to share. I think about the people who read it. I pray for them, for you. You have shared your stories with me. You have shared your lives with me. And you certainly take precious time out of your days and nights to read my wandering thoughts. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

For the next ten days, I plan to write a daily post in which I share with you a few things, people, circumstances, situations, outcomes, moments that I am grateful for. Starting right now...

Today, Monday, September 30th, I am grateful for -

* the clear, warm, gorgeous days we have had here in Charlotte of late
* some excellent discussions I have had with my son while homeschooling

 * a handful of health - this is my daily regimen of supplements, vitamins, Juice Plus, and tamoxifen, all of which had BETTER be bringing goodness and strength into this body of mine
* the freshly pressed juices I make in the morning to wash down the handful of health pictured above
* the simple delight of freshly picked apples

* the fact that the ants that created this rather intricate anthill do not live in my house
* a wonderful little savings tip I picked up someplace recently: save $5 bills. Everytime I get them back in change from a purchase, I put them in an envelope and save them. I saved up more than $200 in less than three months. That money will be put to very good use in about ten days...
* Origins skincare - my daughter and I had facials at the Origins store this past Saturday. Felt great. Smelled great. My skin now looks great.

 * all this doggone hair! I have actually had it cut since I took this photo. Imagine that - enough hair to warrant a haircut.
* (re)discovering clothing that I love... in my closet. With the change of seasons and slightly cooler weather, I can pull out tops, skirts, and dresses I haven't worn in a while. Fun, fun.

 * this precious little boy is one of my buddies. He's turning 1 this coming Saturday. I can't wait to put on a party hat and celebrate his little life.
* my precious little boy who recently turned 17 and his older sister who will turn 20 in a few short weeks. I CANNOT believe that I will soon have a child who is OUT OF HER TEENS!!!

* the Jesuit Church here in Charlotte. I finally had a chance to see it last Friday. Of course, I lit two candles. Whenever I enter a church where I can light candles, I light two. One for myself. And one for love's sake. May the light of love warm and illuminate our homes, our nation, and our world.

Seventeen years ago this morning...

On Sunday, Septemer 22, 1996, I settled into a tub of hot water at the Birth Cottage, and gave birth to my son. Nope, it wasn't a planned water birth, but that's what happened.

 (I remember looking his little face - he had blonde hair and blue eyes until he was about six months old - and wondering if anyone would believe he was really my son. I remember nursing him at the mall once and looking up to see several people staring at us. I had to laugh. I thought: "Nothing to see here, folks. The days of wet nurses are behind us. This little white baby is mine, all mine.")

Anyway, back to the story of his arrival - we got to the birthing center around 4 that morning, and I settled in for what I thought would be a lengthy labor. I sat in the rocking chair for a while. I sat on my exercise ball for a while.

Around 7:30 am, one of the nurses said I looked tense.
I thought: "No sh*t, Sherlock. I'M IN LABOR!" But I didn't say that.
She went on to say: "I'll go run you a bath so you can relax in the tub."

After enduring several more contractions while the water ran,
after walking what felt like a mile and a half into the bathroom - but was actually less than 15 feet,
after moaning through a couple more contracts while standing next to the tub,
after climbing what felt like twelve flights of stairs - but was actually just over the lip of the bathtub,
I maneuvered my swollen, achy, tense self into the warm water -
and immediately felt the urge to push.
That same nurse told me that I shouldn't push because I wasn't fully dilated.
I chose to ignore her.
Somebody else said, "Go ahead and push if you feel the urge that badly."
Maybe I was the one who said it.
So I pushed one time.
And out came Daniel's head. Under the water.

Oh, my Lord God Jesus! There he was.
Knowing I wasn't going to have any more children, recognizing that I needed to experience that miraculous moment to the fullest, I reached down and rubbed his head there underwater. I stared at his hair and ran my fingers through it as gently as I could. I remember that moment like it was three weeks ago. There was the head of my child, my son. The miracle of life - transitioning from the water of my womb to the warm water of the tub.
The midwife came running into the bathroom, looked into the water, and said, "You may as well go ahead and push him out." In that case, I did exactly as instructed.
After his shoulders emerged, I put my fingers into his armpits, and pulled my precious baby boy out of my body and up onto my chest.
I remember thinking: "If all labor and delivery were this easy and I could give the kids away after the first year, I would have lots more kids."

(He used to do this thing where he would frown at me like he was angry 

and then immediately smile and laugh. 

Who wouldn't love that amazing, cute, funny little face?!?)

A couple hours later, my parents arrived with Kristiana. She was one happy big sister. She still is. She loved her brother from the moment she saw his scrunched up little face. She held him close and smiled more happily than she ever had in her two years and eleven months of life up to that point. She still smiles at him that way.

Seventeen years ago this morning, I became the mother of two children.
We became a family of four.
I was grateful for Daniel's safe, watery arrival.
I still am.
I love that boy, that young man, this son of mine, more than he will ever understand.

Happy birthday, Daniel.
I love you, buddy.

Thankful Thursday - these weeks fly by so fast...

It's not that I feel like life is going past quickly.

Well, that's not entirely true - sometimes it seems like life is flying past. Like, I cannot believe I am 47 years old, turning 48 in December. I cannot believe that my son is about to turn 17 and my daughter is about to turn 20! Very soon I will have a child in "her 20s"!!! How is that possible? I still feel like I'm 35 - tops. So, yes, on the one hand, it does seem like life is moving past me.

On the other hand, these weeks seem to be dragging past. Is it only Thursday? I feel like 17 days have passed since last Thursday. I've had to come up with dinner ideas almost every night, and that makes it feel like every day is twice as long as it needs to be. Mercifully, my daughter pitches in and cooks once or twice each week. If she didn't, we would eat cereal or oatmeal for dinner often. Very often.

Anyway, here I am in the middle of another Thankful Thursday. Counting my many blessings. Giving thanks. Living in wonder, love, grace, and gratitude for all that God is doing, all that we are doing as a family, all that I am doing as a wife, mother, daughter, friend, and individual, and also looking foward with anticipation and hope towards all that is yet to come.

What am I grateful for today?

* Last Tuesday, 9 days ago, I had a serious disagreement with my beloved son. No need to share the details here, but our discussion ended with me in tears and him in silence. His silence and anger, my frustration and anger lasted for a week. Then this past Tuesday, I told him that I had looked forward to this year of homeschooling with him too much to allow it to slide away in silence and anger. So we talked, we listened, we cried, and we worked it out. Cleared the air. And now we are back to laughing, talking, and the usual teenage silence and nail-biting. I can live with that. And, Lord, Lord, Lord, am I grateful to be back on speaking terms with my beloved son, in whom I am well-pleased.

* I am grateful for the therapy of journal writing. I can carry my journal with me almost all the time so that I can whip it out, along with my favorite pen and pull the cork on my heart and let the wine/whine of life flow onto the pages. I attribute much of my mental health, the strength of my faith, and the stability of most of my relationships to journaling - I pour out most of what confounds and irritates me onto those ever-available pages so that when I am dealing with people face-to-face, I've already processed most of the tough stuff. I also list dozens of things and people I am grateful for. I write down stories and jokes I hear. I make lists of things I want to do, places I want to go, and people I want to meet in person. I jot down details from daytime dreams and nighttime dreams as well. I keep track of questions I have for my many doctors and other caretakers. I outline detailed plans of what I will do if (when?) I will the Powerball lottery. Plus, as Oscar Wilde wrote: "I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train."

* Last weekend, I had the chance to spend a day and a night with a dear friend who lives in Durham, North Carolina. She took me for a long walk in the Duke Gardens. What a beautiful place!

What beautiful people we saw there - a quinceañera with her birthday court, the girls in hot pink and grey dresses and the boys in grey suits. I wished her a happy birthday as we walked past the photo shoot. (I couldn't resist taking photos of them. That impressive looking group was more than twice the size of my wedding party.) And this precious little girl wearing her gold and black ball gown.

* This little fella didn't want to leave the geese behind. His father had already walked away, but he stood and watched his feathery friends for a few more minutes. His father eventually returned, and although I couldn't understand what they were saying, I imagine that Daddy was trying to convince the young zoologist-ornithologist that the geese would be there on their next visit as well.

* I am enormously grateful for the dear, dear friend who led me on my tour, regaling me with stories of the gardens, the donors who support the gardens, and the lovely city of Durham.

* Earlier this week, I went to a nearby gas station to vacuum my car and go through the car wash. That in itself is something to be grateful for - although on the way home, I was annoyed with myself that I had spent $10 on two things I could easily do myself... Anyway, before I vacuumed the car, I checked the floors to make sure there wasn't anything there that I would hate to lose into that high-powered dust buster. I found a small piece of a dreadloc. Immediately, I was reminded that I used to have a lot more hair. I was reminded of how much I liked the color of my locs. Within seconds, tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about how much kanswer truly sucks. Almost as quickly, though, joy welled up as I thought about how far I've come in the past ten months. Yes, folks, I was diagnosed more than ten months ago, on November 6th, 2012. These have been the longest ten months of my life - but also the most enlightening and empowering. I had no idea how strong, how determined, how hopeful, how angry, how disgusted, how frightened, how courageous, how resilient, and how healthy I could be until this terrible thing happened to me. And all of that raced through my mind while holding a little chunk of red hair.

* I am grateful that I rediscovered the two books Gibbs lent me: Silence and Solitude and Attention/Intention. They are published by The Contemplative Outreach folks, and each one provides 40 days of readings on how to live a life centered on prayer and meditation on God's Word. (Sorry I've had them so long, Gibbs. I promise to return them when I'm done with them...)

* This morning's reading reminded me of a simple, profound, and often uncomfortable truth - "Everything is a grace."  --> "In Jesus' teaching, sacred places (and sacred people) are not essential for someone to be able to enter the Kingdom of God. The sacred place is where you are. It is ordinary life. This is what transformation is about. It is not going on pilgrimage or entering a special state of life. It is how we live where we are. What Therese (of Lisieux) called the 'Little Way' is quite simple the circumstances of everyday life and what we do with them. 'Everything is a grace' was one of her favorite sayings - a saying that while right to the point, is still terribly hard to grasp. How, we may ask, can everything be a grace?" 

I read tomorrow's reading as well. It adds: "She (Therese) gave her daily actions to God, working without hurry to stay in the present moment. She refused nothing given to her. She learned to prefer whatever happened." 

*** This is one of the things I am most grateful for in my life, not only on Thankful Thursdays - I am grateful for the increasing desire and ability to accept all that my life entails, to consent to the life that is mine, and to be transformed by what I experience and learn. Instead of immediately resisting the difficulties I encounter, I am learning to sit in them, to marinate in them, and to listen to the lessons they are teaching me. It's not always easy; heck, it's not ever easy. But I am determined to learn my lessons well, to share what I'm learning, and to deepen my love for and life with God in, through, and because of the little, ordinary circumstances of my life.

Underneath all this clothing...

I'm naked, scarred and wounded.

Underneath my maxi dresses and long skirts, my legs shake sometimes.

Underneath my smile, I am sad sometimes. Angry too.

Beneath the courage is fear, doubt, and shame sometimes.

Behind the quick response is a stream of questions.

Between my tongue and my teeth are muffled curses and screams and pleas for a "do-over."

Beneath the surface of the skin on my chest is the port where healing chemicals are introduced to my body.

Underneath all this clothing, I am also whole, complete, beautiful.

Underneath my maxi dresses and long skirts, my legs also stand firm and tall, unbowed before most of what life has brought my way.

Behind my smile is also love, happiness, and the sheer joy of being alive.

Beneath the courage is also strength, resolve, and boundless hope.

Behind the quick response is also the longing to listen to everyone else's stories.

Between my tongue and my teeth are also a million stories of grace, peace, mercy, forgiveness, and God's remarkable love for me and presence with me.

Beneath the surface of my skin my heart, mind, soul, and spirit also overflow with gratefulness and joyfullness.


2 Corinthians 4:7-9 - We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed."

The power I have, the joy I have, the peace, the courage - this is not of me. I turn to God in prayer on a daily basis, on an hourly basis, because I often feel hard pressed on every side, crushed, perplexed, persecuted, and struck down. In prayer, in silence, in journaling, in meditation, I am refilled, renewed, reinforced, and am able to return to the fray, the challenges of parenting, marriage, homeschooling, and taking care of our home - as well as taking care of myself.

Underneath all of this clothing, I am naked, hungry, shivering,
and I am also loved, satisfied, and held close.
Thanks be to God.

Thankful Thursday

Tonight I am thankful for:

* the wonder of butterflies. Today, I went with my son and a dear friend to Discovery Place where we watched Flight of the Butterflies. If you've ever seen The March of the Penguins, then you can imagine the beauty of this film. How on earth do those animals know where to go, generation after generation? Flying south of the border as cool weather begins, eating, laying their eggs, resting and mating all along the way and then when winter ends up north, they make their way back. How? Why? I am grateful for the scientists and film makers who brought their story to us.

* the bounty of the supermarket
* the ability to buy what we want and need freely
* the opportunity to serve those who are not able to shop freely at the supermarket. Today, after seeing the movie, we went to our church's Loaves and Fishes food pantry to help distribute food to folks who needed help. One of the women we worked with took a bag of dog food, explaining that her dog hadn't had anything to eat today because they didn't have any food for her. My first thought was: "You could give her some of your food." Then I remembered, if she had enough food to spare, she wouldn't have been there at Loaves and Fishes. It saddens me to think of all the cats and dogs who are loved dearly by their human companions, but aren't getting enough to eat. To think of all the hungry children is truly heart-breaking. I am honored and grateful to be able to help fill some empty tummies through L&F as well as the Second Harvest Food Bank.
* the gratitude that the men and women expressed at being given the food they received
* how happy my son was to be there helping

* cool mornings for long walks
* US Open tennis
* meeting a friend at Michael's Craft store today - to wander and talk there and then in Target
* an invitation to lunch at a local country club tomorrow
* a freshly baked peanut butter cookie from The Great Harvest bakery
* red seedless grapes for 99 cents a pound
* discovering great dresses at Good Will and the Salvation Army store, not having to pay more than $5 to look fantastic
* escaping with Project Runway, Chopped, and House Hunters International

* a book I picked up at the library called Writing as a Way of Healing. So much wisdom and encouragement in this book. Here is one of my favorite sections:

"For illness (in Ethiopia) is viewed as a mystery to try to fathom (thought it might not yield its secrets) rather than as a puzzle to be solved (as it tends to be viewed in North America.) 
"I wouldn't be alone in dealing with my illness. The cleric and I would form a healing partnership. This is because my illness is understood in communal, mind-body, and interactive terms rather than in individual, physiological, and singular terms...
"I wouldn't be left along to comtemplate my illness, nor would I be told of its meaning by someone surer than I of what my body was experiencing. My healing journey, then, would constitute a collaboration. I would tell my story; the cleric would listen. Together, we would ponder the conundrum of what I was experiencing. Together we would try to understand its meaning. After hearing my story and assessing my circumstances, the cleric would devise a scroll for my personal use, drawing upon his knowledge about efficacious signs and symbols. 
"Reviewing my life in the context of my illness would constitute the single most significant part of my healing journey. For it would invite me to impose a kind of narrative order on what had happened, on the seeming chaos and destabilizing effect of my illness. It would invite me to think of possible cause and plausible effect. It would invite me to link my present with my past; to ponder how I might have come to harm; to imagine what my future might now hold. It would give me something to do now - a present-day task that I could effectively fulfill. Most important, it would involve me as an active participant in my journey to well ness. Being involved would make me feel less victimized, more efficacious. And thinkinkg of myself as capable would require restoration of belief in myself, a belief that had been seriously undermined by my illness." AMEN!!! I would LOVE to have a doctor who listened to me more than he/she talked, who asked more questions and didn't just offer answers. I would LOVE to have "a healing partnership" with my doctor. My chiropractor comes pretty close, but there are emotional and spiritual aspects to dis-ease, to kanswer, and to surgery that he and I haven't talked about. The good news is that I have dear friends who are willing to do some of the tough work, the weepy work, the soul work with me. Speaking of which...

* I am grateful for your support of me as a writer, as a woman, as a friend, as a fellow life traveler dealing with this crappy kanswer thing. Right after I was diagnosed, a friend from church said, "You've got to live life on life's terms." She was so right. And that's what I feel like I'm doing these days - living life on its own terms. With laughter, tears, numb toes, and all. I'm learning to tell my story more openly and honestly. I'm also learning that some people can't handle me telling my story. That's fine. I won't tell them any more of my story. Which brings me back to you - thank you, friends, for your presence here. Thank you for your comments. Thank you for the emails you send me behind the scenes. Thank you for the love, the thoughts, the prayers, the visits, the cards - thank you for being you. Thank you for encouraging me to be me.

The temptation

The temptation is to just write about happy endings.
to remain upbeat,
to tell stories of victory, only victory.

The temptation is to say that I'm back to normal,
that life is back to normal,
that everything is the way it used to be, even better.

The temptation is to smile,
to laugh, to tell jokes.

The temptation is to talk about recovery,
good health, doing the best I can to keep kanswer at bay forever.

The reality is that not all endings are happy,
not even my own.

The reality is that I'm not always upbeat;
I wasn't always upbeat before kanswer,
and I'm not always upbeat now.

The reality is that I am still really pissed off about kanswer.
I hate this dreadful disease.
I am angry that it invaded my body, my family, my life.

The reality is that, in my case, the term "remission" doesn't apply.
There is no test that can prove that there are no kanswer cells in my body.
All we can say is that the places where we saw kanswer cells at the time of my diagnosis are gone: surgery took those body parts away.
My body has been permanently altered because of this awful disease.

I still have to go for treatment every three weeks.
Herceptin.
It enters my body thru a port in my upper right chest.
It goes directly to my heart.
I have had two ekgs to make sure it isn't doing damage to my heart.
Yes, I can develop heart problems as a result of kanswer treatment.
When I sit there in the treatment room, I am reminded of the horrors of chemotherapy.
I am saddened for and about the many people who will suffer so terribly in the days and weeks that follow treatment.

My fingernails still aren't normal, nor are my toenails. They are still loose at the tips, like they want to separate from my fingertips.
My left big toe still feels numb much of the time and swells after I walk.
The scars on my chest need to be stretched out regularly.
I have to lie on the floor and do exercises to stretch them.
I have to use elastic exercise bands.
Every day. Twice a day.
I stopped for a couple of weeks - thinking "It has been almost five months since surgery. Surely, I'm doing okay now."
Nope. The tightness returned. Back to stretching.
Looks like I'll be doing the stretches for a few months. Perhaps forever.

I take tamoxifen now - a daily pill - and will do so for at least five years.
A daily reminder of long-term possibilities of this terrible disease.
Deciding to take the medication involved a lot of reading, research, thinking, praying, and journaling.
I didn't want to take it. I really didn't want to take it. But I'm taking it.
Hoping, believing, expecting that it will kill of any kanswer cells that may have survived chemotherapy and surgery.
And the reality is that I can take these pills for five or ten years - and kanswer could still come back.
Kanswer sucks, folks. SUCKS!

The temptation is to not share these details.
The temptation is to not talk about how much I think about kanswer.
The temptation is to smooth the edges of my ragged emotions and make everybody else feel comfortable with me.
The temptation is to lose hope, to stay stuck in self-pity, and downplay how difficult it is to live with the reality of being a kanswer survivor.
The temptation is to hide in a bubble of belief:
"I believe that kanswer is behind me.
I believe that it won't come back.
I believe that if I eat well, avoid bad food, exercise, and pray hard enough, then I will be okay.
I believe that if I stop talking about all of this, then the tears won't flow so freely."

I'm glad that I don't easily give it to too many temptations.

********
Remember the critical voice I mentioned in this post? Well, it's back.
Saying insidiously creepy things like:
"Don't write such a negative piece. People want to read good news."
"Where is your faith? Don't you believe you are healed? You have to believe."
"Just let the kanswer thing go, Gail. Be thankful. Stop thinking about the bad stuff."
"How can you be sad and thankful at the same time? Ditch the former; choose the latter once and for all."
"Don't worry; be happy."

Thankful Thursday

Caution tape indicating a cautionary tale of water leakage, a faulty pipe, 

and an unsuccessful attempt to discover said leak.

Today the plumbers came to replace the water pipe for our house. They laid copper pipes from the intake valve at the curb to the uptake valve inside our house (terminology mine). First they fired up a ground-cutting machine and dug a trench about 12 inches deep across the lawn. Then they added a piece that came into our house through the crawl space. After that, they cut our water supply completely, disconnected the old plastic pipe,  connected the new copper one, and then reconnected us to the supply pipe coming in from the street.

The gentleman who was running the operation rang the doorbell about 10:00 this morning to inform us that they were about to begin. He also told us that he had found and killed a baby copperhead snake in the hole where the intake valve is located. He told us that copperheads "come out at this time of year." Really? Now I have to worry about stepping on a copperhead when I go out to walk Maya on the front lawn? Really??? I apologize to all the Buddhists, vegans, and other animal lovers out there - but I'm glad they killed it. I do not like snakes - at all.

Anyway, the leak has been repaired. The snake is gone. The trench has been filled. Tomorrow the inspector will come to make sure it has been properly repaired, and the plumbers will fill the hole and leave with a significant chunk of our savings account.

I am grateful for the home in which we live, the lawn out front, the trees, the people who are able to fix this type of problem, and the money to pay for repairs.

Three weeks ago, I made the decision to move Daniel's bed to another spot in his bedroom. He had been asking for a change for a while. He had also been complaining that he thought he was allergic to his bedroom. What? I attributed his odd assessment to normal teenage complaining - who is allergic to their bedroom? Apparently, he was. When I moved the bed, there was a horrible stain on the carpet. When I vacuumed along the baseboard, the front end of the vacuum cleaner disappeared under the baseboard. What the what???

Those are my fingers pulling back the carpet in Daniel's bedroom to reveal significant woodrot.

Two friends of ours, a married couple that does excellent home repair work, came over, 

ripped up part of the carpet, broke into the wall, and this is what they discovered.

Sorry the image is so blurry...

So I took a few deep breaths, apologized to Daniel for ignoring his pleas for relief from THE MOLD AND MILDEW THAT WERE TAKING OVER HIS BEDROOM, and invited our two friends to do whatever it took to fix the problem.

This is what that same spot in Daniel's room looks like today - fresh drywall, fresh paint, new carpet, and new furniture. After all, he was still sleeping in the single bed we bought for him when he was two. He outgrew it years ago, poor kid, plus we felt really guilty about the allergy thing.

I am grateful that we were able to find the problem and fix it before his bed fell through the floor and landed on the kitchen counter below. I am grateful that we know people who could fix the problem. I am grateful that we had the money to fix the problem. I am grateful for this house - leaks, holes, mold, old carpet, cracked countertops, and all. And most of all, I am grateful for my son, in whom I am well- pleased.


On Tuesday afternoon, I drove to Unique Boutique, a shop that specializes in post-surgical bras, silicone breast forms, wigs, and other items for women who have been diagnosed with breast kanswer. Since my surgery in April, I have been living the short-haired and flat-chested life. And I LOVE IT! No bras. No locs. No problem. I can walk, jog, jump up and down on the rebounder, do my jumping jacks, downward facing dog, and everything else I want to do without any painful jiggling. Yay!

But I decided to go get fitted for the breast prostheses just in case some day down the line I might want a bra and some falsies. The woman who fitted me was wonderful - funny, knowledgeable, patient, and kind. She said she had fitted a woman the day before whose pre-kanswer bra size was 50M. I didn't even know "M" existed as a bra size. I would imagine that a single one of her breasts was bigger than my head! What an image!!! When I walked out of the shop, I was wearing a bra with a full B cup. My falsies were bigger than my "realsies" had been.

I came home, made dinner, hung out with Kristiana and Steve for a while, and did a few errands around the house in the early evening hours. Before I changed into my pajamas, I called a brief family meeting at which time I introduced the family to my new friends... No one had noticed! NO ONE HAD NOTICED!

I am grateful because their lack of noticing confirmed my decision to not have reconstruction and not wear the prostheses. I am grateful that I am so comfortable in this new body of mine. I am grateful that my family loves me and doesn't pay much attention to the changes I have gone through physically. I am grateful for medical insurance that covers these things. I am grateful to be alive and doing so well these days.

(Don't get me wrong - I most certainly wish I were more noticeable around here. After we laughed at the size of my fake breasts that night, Kristiana commented, "This happens to you a lot, doesn't it?" She was right - in years gone by, I've had my eyebrows threaded, colored my hair, cut my hair, had facial makeovers, and otherwise made significant changes to my appearance - and most of the time, those changes go unnoticed. What does a girl have to do to be seen around here???)

What else am I grateful for on this Thankful Thursday?

I am grateful for the freedom I have to be sad, to be worried, to be upset sometimes - coupled with the freedom to feel better, to be grateful, and to have a renewed sense of joy.

I am grateful for the friends who call and write and pour out their hearts to me. I am grateful to be counted trustworthy and dependable enough to be asked to walk alongside them in their times of sorrow and distress. I am grateful for the friends I can call on who will listen to me, laugh with me, cry with me, and walk this life journey with me.

I am grateful for the hard-working, insightful, supportive chiropractor who is doing all he can to keep me from having a recurrence of kanswer and to restore Daniel's spine to top working order.

I am grateful for the bountiful peppery arugula, crisp romaine, red seedless grapes, organic apples, kombucha, green tea, blue corn chips and salsa, guacamole, whole grain bread, ripe bananas, and pesto vegannaise I have enjoyed in the past week or so.

I am grateful for the ability and opportunity to go for quiet walks on the cool mornings we've had this week.

I am grateful for my daughter's smooth entrance into her final semester of community college. It has been nearly five years since she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and at that time, we had a hard time imagining that she would even complete high school. She not only finished high school with distinction, but she has also proven herself to be an excellent college student with an average of more than 3.8. She is applying to one of the state schools here in North Carolina and plans to start in January. 

I am grateful for grace, mercy, peace, joy, prayer, laughter, handmade journals, friendship, pets, babies, watercolor paint, rubber stamps, ink pads, emery boards, dried cranberries, slivered almonds, and loose change.

I am grateful that there is so much more for which I can give thanks. 

Thanks be to God. 

One of "those days" when life sucks...

Is it just me or is there a lot of bad stuff happening in the world right now?

Fires out west threatening to water supply and power grid of northern California.
Chemical warfare in Syria.
Ongoing wars elsewhere.
Our nation considering getting involved in yet another war.
Human trafficking.
Measles outbreaks.
Rampant unemployment.
Young people killing out of boredom.
Repealing of voting rights here in the South.
Food poisoning for a friend's mother.
Complications after another friend's breast surgery.

Kanswer.

Loneliness.

Depression.

Death.

A friend of mine fell down a flight of stairs over a week ago and has been hospitalized ever since.
Another friend of mine has been out of work since January.
And another for more than eighteen months.
Someone I love is watching her beloved dog, a family member for more than a decade, come to the end of his days on earth.

The pipe that supplies water to our house is leaking in our front yard, creating standing puddles of muddy water. We discovered that leak just a few days after discovering a leak behind the wall of my son's bedroom - a leak that has been happening since the house was built in 1988. We had to replace drywall, floorboards, carpeting, and pieces of a pipe that had been pierced by two nails.

My son's back is bothering him. Again. 

The list of woes, ailments, pain, fears, and other forms of anguish is long and could be longer still.

I have spent too much time in the past few days trying to pump myself up:
all is well.
it's gonna be alright.
this too shall pass.
don't worry; be happy.

I have told myself to journal about it.
pray about it.
read the Bible; find comforting verses.
count my many blessings.
read other people's accounts of joy and peace.
do something kind for somebody else.
all of those things have helped... some.

And just when I start to feel a little better, I start to feel guilty for not being willing to feel bad. I tell myself things like: "You get to read and journal and watch television to temporarily escape your bad feelings. You get to talk to friends and pour your heart out in prayer and that helps too. Think about all the people who don't have the resources you have. Think about all the people who don't have friends or a partner or the inclination to journal or even a home in which to watch television. How dare you immediately seek a reprieve from your discomfort?"

I'm glad these difficult days are few and far between. Even as I type that, I hear that critical voice say: "See how blessed you are that this doesn't happen a lot?" That voice speaks the truth. But today is one of those emotionally volatile, fear-inducing, sorrow-producing days.  I'm constantly on the verge of tears, so I'm gonna let them flow. I'm gonna let the emotions surge. I'm gonna make myself another cup of tea and sip it while I journal and pray. I'm gonna let somebody else worry about dinner tonight.

Is anybody else having one of "those days" today? One of those weeks? Months? Years?
I'll pray for you while I'm praying for myself and the rest of the world.
I like the way someone whose writing I love (Jena or Karen, I can't remember which) put it -
"Prayer is someone saying your name with reverence."
Or something even more beautiful and profound than that.

Today I will say names with reverence.
I will imagine the faces of people I love and offer up reverential prayers.
I will say my own name and look at my own face with reverence.
Cuz there is a lot of bad stuff happening in the world right now.
And I'm having a tough time holding it together today.
Plus we all could use some reverence, prayer, and gentleness when our names are spoken.

I hope to meet you back here tomorrow with a list of things I'm grateful for.
After all, it will be Thankful Thursday.

* Please send me an email (gailnhb@yahoo.com) if you want me to pray for something specific.
Or if you want to share something you are grateful for.

Back in the high (school) life again...

Anybody remember that Steve Winwood song? Here are some of the lyrics.
*****

We'll have ourselves a time
And we'll dance till the morning sun
And we'll let the good times come in
And we won't stop till we're done

We'll be back in the high life again
All the doors I closed one time
Will open up again
We'll be back in the high life again
All the eyes that watched us once
Will smile and take us in

And we'll drink and dance with one hand free
And have the world so easily
And oh we'll be a sight to see
Back in the high life again

High life
High life
In the high life again

We'll be back in the high life again
All the doors I closed one time
Will open up again
We'll be back in the high life again
All the eyes that watched us once
Will smile and take us in

And we'll drink and dance with one hand free
And have the world so easily
And oh we'll be a sight to seeBack in the high life again

Read more: Steve Winwood - Back In The High Life Again Lyrics | MetroLyrics
*****

This morning, Daniel and I are beginning another year of homeschooling. He's a junior in high school this year. In fact, as I write this post, I am sitting next to him at our homeschooling desk. He's watching the first class video of the year. (No, friends, I do not make up every lesson for him. I do the Spanish and some of the writing lessons. I still read to him often. But most of the actual lessons are online.)

When I think about the fact that he chooses to stay at home every year instead of heading off to traditional school, I am amazed. That he chooses me. That he chooses our home. That he chooses our family dynamics. I am enormously grateful. 

And I'm also terrified! Junior year??? Starting to make college decisions. Reaching out to college tennis coaches. Getting ready for college, for living in a dorm, for playing on a college tennis team, studying, writing, reading, speaking Spanish, journaling, preparing for the PSAT and SAT... there's a lot of work to do this year. 

But there is also a lot to enjoy and celebrate.  He's a junior in high school; he made it this far with grace, sarcasm, faith, boredom, courage, humor, impatience, avoidance, questions, and laughter. In other words, he's a extraordinary, ordinary kid. He's a tender-hearted young man. He's a loyal friend. He's a loving, attentive son and brother. He's a generous and funny kid. He's mine. He's ours. Most important of all, he is God's. 

I hope and pray that on many a morning, we will "drink (tea!) and dance with one hand free, and have the world so easily." When we are wandering through museums, international markets, and the zoo, we will probably be quite a sight to see - one tall, handsome young man with his doting, goofy mom. When this year is over and I look back towards this cool August morning, I want to recall the lyrics I've posted here and the many ways in which we "have ourselves a time, let the goods times come in and won't stop until we're done."

Here we go, buddy. We're back in the high (school) life again.

Sitting where they sat...

Yesterday, two friends of mine underwent surgery. Neither of them had to stay in the hospital overnight. In fact, one of them underwent back surgery in a special surgery center that wasn't even part of a hospital. Both of them are doing fine today. Thanks be to God.

Yesterday morning, I drove to the hospital, found the surgical waiting room, and sat for less than an hour before being ushered into the recovery room of a dear girlfriend of mine. I sat and chatted with her for a few minutes before the nurse helped her get dressed, and I drove her home. Easy peasy. All is well.

But while I sat in the surgical waiting room, I looked around at the other people also waiting. I wondered how many of them would receive bad news from a surgeon - kanswer, an amputation, an organ failure. I wondered how many of them would leave the hospital with the worst news of all - that a loved one had died in surgery. I wondered how many of them didn't have health insurance and were wondering how they would pay for the procedures being carried out on their loved ones. Most of all, I prayed for every family represented, every patient in every OR, and every doctor working to restore health to the sick and dignity to the dying.

My mind rolled back four months and one day - when my husband, Kristiana, my mother, Karen, and Gibbs sat in that same room waiting for news about the two surgeries I was undergoing on the morning of April 19th. I wondered about what they must have been thinking as the hours rolled by, as the family members and friends of other patients came and went, as they held onto hope for my full recovery.

I don't remember much of that day. I don't remember being wheeled from the surgical preparation room into the operating room. I don't remember being wheeled from the OR to the recovery room or to the room where I stayed overnight following the operation.

There are vague memories of friends visiting, nurses checking my vital statistics, and even the food I ate. There are blurred images of bandages being changed, drains being emptied, ice packs on my chest, and leg compression garments inflating and deflating for 24 hours.

Yesterday morning, while sitting in the waiting room where my dearly beloved ones sat, I was reminded of how blessed I am to have so many friends and family members who sat vigil with me and for me during my battle with kanswer. Many of them, many of you continue to pray for me, to check in with me, and send me reminders of just how loved I am.

Sitting where they sat, I was reminded of how skilled my doctors are, how compassionate, how hard-working and how dedicated they are to the health and well-being of their patients.

Sitting where they sat, I was reminded of the rich blessing of having access to medical facilities, medical personnel, medical insurance, and medications that have been effective against this dreadful disease.

Sitting where they sat, I was reminded of how far I have come, how strong and flexible I am again, how much I am able to do that I couldn't do in the early days following surgery - including sipping a green tea latte at the airport in Tampa.

Sitting where they sat, I gave thanks to God for the inestimable gifts of life, love, joy, hope, health, and health care.

I don't often ask you to go spend money...

But tonight I will make an exception.

Please spend the $10 (or whatever it costs in your hometown) to see the movie, "The Butler." I saw it today with my mother and my daughter. It is one of the best movies I've seen in a long time. It is the story of an African-American man who serves as a butler in the White House under seven presidents.

I am grateful for his service, for his life, and for his story.
His service, his life, his story make me appreciate my own life and story more.

Don't wait until it hits Netflix or Blockbuster. This is a movie that should be seen in the company of other people. People who know you and people who don't know you. People who look like you and people who don't look like you. People who live like you do, and people who don't live like you.

This is a movie that may change your perspective on 20th century history in this country and deepen your understanding of just how amazing it is that there is currently an African-American man in the White House - and he is not a butler. No matter what your political persuasion, this movie will cause you to rethink the Presidency, the White House, and the people who live and work there.

It's a good movie. Please go see it. Please.
So good. So very good.

Traveling Mercies

Over the past three weeks, we have done a fair amount of traveling as a family. Two weeks ago yesterday, Steve and Daniel left for a tennis tournament in Kalamazoo, Michigan. They were gone for a week. On the same day, Kristiana and I went to Asheville, North Carolina, for two days. Last weekend, I went to Florida to spend two days with my brother and his wife. In between and following those trips, we have gone to the supermarket, the mall, the barber shop, church, parties, tennis practice, driver's education, community college, the vet's office, the homes of friends - among other places - and come back home.

Steve and Daniel arrived in Kalamazoo at 1:30 am two weeks ago this morning, several hours later than they expected. (Who can possibly be surprised that their flight out of Chicago was delayed? Given the option to do otherwise, you should avoid O'Hare Airport whenever possible.) The traveling mercy they experienced that night/wee hour of the morning was that the car rental agent in Kalamazoo had remained at the airport two and a half hours beyond closing time awaiting the arrival of their flight.

There were several traveling mercies experienced during our time in Asheville. Kristiana and I stayed at a hotel that provided shuttle service into downtown Asheville. The young man who drove us back and forth into the city center provided us with wonderful insights on restaurants we should frequent. He talked to us about the merits of vegetarian food. He was a delightful and kind-hearted young man. On the morning of our visit to the University of North Carolina Asheville campus, one of the hotel guests shared an elevator ride with us. She asked what we were going to be doing that day. We told her that Kristiana was going to have an interview at the college. The following morning, she asked how the interview had gone and whether or not Kristiana had been accepted. We were deeply moved by her thoughtfulness in remembering what we had told her. The admissions officer Kristiana spoke to said wonderful things about her chances to be accepted based on her grade point average. We discovered the darling little downtown area of Hendersonville, North Carolina, and sipped soda out of old fashioned glass bottles before making our way back to Charlotte.

On my return trip from Florida, the flight from Tampa to Jacksonville was delayed by more than an hour. That meant that my connection in Jacksonville would be less than twenty minutes. The USAirways ticket agent changed my seat on the outgoing flight so that I would be in the front row of the airplane, allowing for a quick exit. There were two other passengers hoping to catch the same flight back to Charlotte, so all three of us were in the front of the tiny aircraft. But just in case we missed the connection, the agent also issued each of us vouchers that would allow us to board the next flight back to Charlotte.

Upon arriving in JAX, I deplaned and began to run towards the connecting flight. Suddenly - Ouch! I injured my left achilles. I slowed to an unsteady wimpy, lopsided jog. When I arrived at the gate, they were boarding my group number. Huffing and puffing, I scooted down the jetway and collapsed into my seat. A minute or two later, the other two Tampa passengers walked past me towards their seats. We all made it. (The other two CLT-bound passengers were men. Yes, I'm proud that I beat them to the plane, even though I was limping. To be fair, they had to wait for their gate-checked roll behind bags to be returned. I had only a school sized backpack and cloth shoulder bag, so I didn't have to wait for any luggage.)

While in the car with Kristiana two weeks ago, in airport terminals in Charlotte, Jacksonville, and Tampa, on the runways, in the air, and in the car, one phrase kept coming back to mind: "traveling mercies."

I thought about a few of the many trips I have taken in my lifetime.
The big ones - Spain, Italy, San Francisco, Puerto Rico, Costa Rica, and other distant ports of call.
Smaller ones - like Asheville, New York City, Charleston, Savannah, Hilton Head, and the supermarket.
Car rides. Flights. Train trips. And many long walks through our beautiful neighborhood.
There were the happy trips. Back and forth to the hospital and birthing center where my children were born. Back and forth to the hospital where Karen, Moneesha, and Heather's children were born.
There were the sad trips too. The hospital where my father died. To Portland to visit Leza before she died of complications from colon kanswer. The hospital, surgeon's office, and oncologist's office where I underwent kanswer treatment.

The great news is that at this moment, I can happily, proudly, gratefully say that on each journey, whether I laughed or cried, checked a bag or carried only a backpack,
whether I drove or flew, walked or was carried in the cars or in the arms of others,
on every trip, traveling mercies have been abundant.
Delicious food. Healthy food. Hot coffee. Ice water.
Friendly co-travelers. Well-written guidebooks. Photos taken.
Hotel rooms. Guest rooms. Launa's garden level apartment.
Frequent flights paid for with frequent flier miles.
And a free business class upgrade on a flight to Madrid once.
Comfortable shoes. Warm sweaters. Travel vest. Money belt.
Hands to hold. Shoulders to lean on.
Stories told. Stories heard. Journal entries written.
I have traveled much. I have traveled well.
I have suffered. I have conquered.
I have been blessed. I have been loved.
And I have indeed lived to tell about it all.

On this Thursday night as every night of every week, I am thankful.

Celebrating life and health

I spent this past weekend down in Largo, Florida, with my brother, Darryl, his wife, Noemi, and their family and friends. We danced. We ate. We drank. We danced some more. We laughed. We yelled. We told stories. We stayed up late. We got up early.

Noemi just turned 60 - which you could never tell by looking at her. To honor her 60 years of life and health, she celebrated by throwing a party/fundraiser in preparation for the 60 Mile Walk for the Susan G. Komen Fund for Breast Cancer Research. The DJ was awesome. The food was delicious. The company spectacular.

We celebrated life, health, friendship, love, family, and Noemi herself.
An awesome time was had by all.

 Did I mention that we danced? We did "the bump."

 (Thanks, Robin and Noemi for posting these photos on Facebook.)

Don't they have a fantastic backyard? 

 Yes, I sat above the wing on a propeller-powered airplane. 

Yes, I remain absolutely enamored with and fascinated by airplane travel. 

Photos of photos my brother had up in his house... 

hence, the blurry shots.

That's me in the front row, all the way to the right.

Family reunion from sometime back in the early 1970s. 

And these aren't even all my cousins!

Either Mount Olive, North Carolina or Chester, Pennsylvania.

That's me - in my dad's lap - and Darryl. 

The four of us outside of Sixth Avenue Baptist Church, Brooklyn, NY.

Circa 1970.

The Valley of Transfiguration

According to the liturgical calendar, today is the Feast of the Transfiguration. If you aren't familiar with that story, it is the Gospel account of Jesus taking Peter, James, and John up to a mountain where he was transfigured before their eyes. "His face shone like the sun, and his clothes became as white as the light." Moses and Elijah appeared with him, and spoke to him. The three men who were with Jesus were understandably terrified by what they saw. Peter offered to build three shelters, one for each of the three men who were glowing in the dark. In the end, Moses and Elijah disappeared and Jesus descended the mountain with the three men after making them promise not to tell anyone what they had seen until after his death.

I've read that story many times before. I've tried to imagine what it must have been like to stand there and see Jesus in that glorious light. He who named himself "the way, the truth, and the life" showed himself to also be the light of the world. What an honor. What a fright. What a revelation. I can understand Peter's desire to pitch a tent and stay there a while.

Often on my life journey, I have heard sermons and talks about "mountaintop experiences." During my childhood, I went to Sunshine Acres, a Christian camp located in the Catskill Mountains in New York. Even though I didn't like going to camp - spiders, dust bunnies, and mosquitoes kept me anxious almost all the time - I loved chapel services, buying candy at "The Dugout," campfires, and swimming. Every summer (yes, my parents sent me there every summer for years!) on the final night of camp, there would be some variation on the "mountaintop experience" talk. We were told that we needed to get ready to go back down the mountain into real, regular life. Jesus would be with us every step of the way. And we could always stay in touch with each other and our counselors.

When I got older, I worked there for three summers - as a junior counselor, then a counselor, and finally as the camp laundress. (Yes, I later subjected myself to the spiders, mosquitoes, and dust bunnies! It was better than staying in the sweltering heat of Brooklyn, New York.) I gave a version of that talk myself at the end of every session: "Listen, girls, I know it's tough to go home after such a great time here. But you will be fine. You will continue to learn from all that has happened up here. Christ will go with you and before you on the way. And I will pray for you too." I would make sure to send each of the girls a postcard two or three days before the end of the session so that it would be waiting for them when they got home. I wanted them to have physical proof that I was thinking about them and praying for them as they made their way back down the mountain from the joy of camp into the valley of life in New York City and out on Long Island.

Mountaintop moments, transfiguration moments are wonderful, aren't they?

But here's the thing. There are also valleys of transfiguration. There are moments when it feels like Christ asks us, asks me to descend into a valley with him, and in those valleys, he becomes light in the darkness and I am comforted by Christ's presence through prayer, through the love of family and friends, and through letters and postcards sent from others to light my way. I am grateful for those times when Christ's light of love, mercy, grace, and peace disperses the darkness.

Sometimes, though, it feels more like Christ is seated with me in the darkness and silence without lighting the way out of the valley. Sometimes fear overwhelms me. Sometimes doubts arise. Sometimes I curse the darkness and scream out, "Why me? Why me?" Sometimes I feel motivated to do what Peter suggested - built a shelter in the dark and just stay there. It feels like the darkness was going to persist, so we may as well set up camp and get ready for a long-term stay in the valley.

I certainly had moments like that during my kanswer treatments. Chemo sucked. I felt like I had been knocked onto the train tracks by a cross-town bus and then run over by the oncoming express train. My husband and chidren sat with me, talked to me, rubbed my head and my legs, and told me they loved me. Family and friends dropped by with flowers, hats, balloons, invitations to lunch, hot meals and cake, and gifts. My mailbox was filled to overflowing at times with cards and gifts. Christ was close by, I knew that, but there were many days when I still felt all alone, deep in the darkest place on earth on the night of the new moon. Utter and outer darkness. I felt certain that I would never emerge from the dungeon of sickness into health again.

Little by little, transfiguration began to happen.
Chemo ended. Surgery happened. Healing continued.
Laughter bubbled more regularly.
My hair started to grow.
The light of life shone through the darkness of illness.
My spirits rose.
And I began to emerge from the valley.


Today I received the final phone call from Camillia, the Aetna case manager, who has walked with me through my kanswer treatment. I'm doing well enough for her to sign off and set me free to continue the healing journey on my own. What a gift she has been to me over the past nine months. I will miss her. I wish her nothing but the very best in her life and work.

Today I spent four hours in prayer and planning for homeschooling my son through his junior year in high school. It is quite sobering to think that two years from now, my baby boy will be heading off to college and my nest will be blissfully empty. It is also sobering and gratifying to think that I am ready to get back into this work of being a homeschooling mother after emerging from the valley of the shadow of death.

Today I also spent some time caressing the scars on my chest. I rubbed the hysterectomy scars on my abdomen. And I played with the continuously amazing baby-soft hair growing on my head. No matter how great I feel these days, no matter how strong, no matter how "normal," these scars and this short hair will serve as yet another daily reminder of the road I have traversed since last October 31st.

The valley of shadows, of fears, and of endless questions.
The valley of transfiguraton, reconfiguration, and transformation.


My favorite part in the Gospel account of the transfiguration happens after Peter makes the suggestion to pitch three tents: "While he was still speaking, a bright cloud enveloped them, and a voice from the cloud said, "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!" When the disciples heard this, they fell facedown to the ground, terrified. But Jesus came and touched them. "Get up," he said. "Don't be afraid." When they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus.

I can relate to their terror. When I heard my bad news, the news about me entering into the canyon of kanswer, I fell on my face terrified. I did that every day between October 31st and ... I still do that sometimes, in all honesty. Sure enough, Christ has been faithful to remind me: "Get up, Gail. Don't be afraid. I'm right here with you. I will sit next to you during chemo. I will stand at your bedside during surgery. I will strengthen you for physical therapy. I will sit vigil while you sleep and walk before you every step of the way out of the darkness into the light of all that is yet to come." And every single time that I wipe my tears and look up, after the light fades and friends head home, when the phone is silent and the mailbox is empty, I see no one except Jesus.

Thanks be to God.

Thank God - I passed the test...

Kanswer sucks.
So do car accidents.
So does illness of every kind.
So do financial challenges.
And being without a job.
And divorce.
And pain and suffering.
And train accidents, plane crashes, war, and injustice.
The list of things that break our hearts and our spirits is long.

But we are strong people, all of us.
We work hard at jobs we don't always love.
We look for ways to save money and be responsible.
We do our best to love our family members and friends.
We ask for forgiveness when we mess up.
We pray for those we love and those we don't even know.
We sit in silence and place one another in our circles of meditation and peace.
We take the medication and do the exercise.
We use our oxygen, our crutches, our braces, and our glassses.
We follow the proper protocols.
We cry when we need to and then we get back out into the fray and fight hard to thrive. Survival isn't enough; we want to live with gusto.
We ask for help when we can muster up the courage.
We accept it when it is offered.
We try hard, as hard as we can, most of the time.

And then when the opportunity comes to assess our progress, to check our blood levels, to see what is working and what isn't working, we take a deep breath, and take the test.

Allow me to make this a bit more personal.

I repeat: Kanswer sucks!

As soon as I was diagnosed last November, I started doing lots of reading and research on what I could do to fight this dreadful disease and come out victorious on the other side. There is way too much information on the internet, most of which is frightening, overwhelming, and ultimately depressing. I had to take breaks from reading it. And I needed to find someone outside of the traditional medical establishment to walk alongside me on this arduous and horrifying journey.

I know I have mentioned him before, but I must mention him again: my chiropractor/internist is amazing. (If you live in the Charlotte area and need a chiropractor who knows about internal medicine, homeopathy, and general good health, check out Dr. Philip Arnone at The Balanced Body Center in Matthews, North Carolina. He rocks!) He got me started on supplements, pills, drops, and a new way of eating that got me through chemotherapy and surgery with far fewer side effects than anyone I know who has gone through this process. The presence of kanswer meant that my body had lost its ability to fight off and kill invasive disease cells, so the goal was and continues to be to increase the ph of my body, reduce the acidity, support my immune function, and strengthen all my organ systems in order to return my body to balance and health.

The other day, a friend commented to my son that I look really good considering the fact that I've only recently emerged from this kanswer ordeal. Daniel said, "She should look good. All she does is drink healthy drinks and eat garden food." Indeed, my son, that is certainly my goal these days.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, Dr. Arnone said that I should do a blood test to check my body's immune function, its ability to absorb nutrients from my food, and assess which nutrients are deficient. Two vials of blood and $430 later, I got the results two days ago. My immune system rating is higher than normal for a healthy woman my age - someone who has not had kanswer! My body craves vitamin D3 and selenium. Only two nutrients out of dozens tested. I am thrilled. Grateful. Awed. Shocked. Did I mention that I am enormously grateful? I passed the test!

An hour later, I went to the local hospital to have a third echo done of my heart. One of the treatments for my breast kanswer sometimes affects the heart, so the oncologist orders ECGs (or is it EKGs?) every three months or so. I lay there on the table while the woman moved her handy-dandy little device around on my chest. At one point, she asked me, "Do you exercise a lot?" I said yes. She said, "Your heart likes it." Deep sigh of gratitude. Once again, I passed the test. Yay!!!!!

But being the fearmonger that I can be sometimes, that excitement was soon tempered by the "what ifs?" What if this test is flawed? What if they missed something? What if it was just a fluke that day? What if the echo machine didn't assess my heart properly? What if the machine itself harms my heart? What if kanswer comes back anyway? What if...?

I had to stop myself from following that line of questions as soon as possible. I have had to stop the flow of those doubts, fears, and concerns several times since Monday.

I return repeatedly to the place of gratitude: thank you, Lord, that I am on the mend.
Thank you that the garden food, the healthy drinks, the vitamins, the regular exercise, the good sleep are all working together for good and for good health.
Thank you for the abundance of organic fruit and vegetables available.
Thank you for supermarkets and farmer's markets.
Thank you for the vehicles that transport it all.
Thank you for fuel, for electricity, and for the infrastructure that makes it all accessible.
Thank you for the person who invented and patented juicers.
Thank you for Steve's job that continues to support us and this life we live.
Thank you for health insurance, hospitals, and medical knowledge.
Thank you for the doctors - Arnone, Lassiter, Turk, Belle - who have overseen my care.
Thank you for the nurses too - Erica, Morgan, Susan, Kacie, and the many others whose names I never learned, especially the nurses in the hospital.

Thank you all for the prayers and love and support you send on a daily basis.
Thank you for the cards, emails, text messages, and care packages.

I am doing well, feeling well, and I passed the test!
Thanks be to God!

When the opportunity comes to see how you are doing, to look back and see how far you've come, to look around you and give thanks to your support team, go ahead and do it. Here's the truth of the matter: no matter what the test says or doesn't say, no matter how many vitamin or nutrient deficiencies show up, no matter if you have to stay on the medications for the rest of your life, you are here. You are a survivor. You are fighting the good fight. You are winning the race. Simply by showing up and doing the best you can as often as you can, you are victorious. You have passed the test!