Calm after the storm

After four months of thinking constantly about the next procedure, the next surgery, the next nerve-wracking news I might receive... I admit I'm not really sure what to do with myself now. Well, I mean I guess it's good that Thanksgiving, Advent, and Christmas are around the corner, because that is certainly something to do with myself. In fact, I've been in overdrive at work these past two weeks, finally making up for lost time, visiting a bunch of folks, planning a bunch of services.... I need to remember that just because I'm not sick anymore doesn't mean I should make myself sick by working myself into the ground. Though I also find I'm even more keenly aware of the importance of self-care, so I think I'm okay.

But really, when you're in the midst emotionally intensity, everything is heightened. You don't need to find interest in the everyday things because there's this big external thing that sucks all your attention and energy. Then suddenly it's all done and you're left with... normal. (Just occurred to me, this must be akin to what empty-nesters feel when their last chick flies the coop. Push push push, then suddenly, nothing.) So what do you do with normal?

Well for one thing, you don't suddenly see it as drabber and less interesting than it is. That is the danger, isn't it? There was a time in my life (college-ish) when if something dramatic wasn't going on, then I quickly lost interest. (Perhaps that was a symptom of having had an eventful high school career, which included playing year-round soccer, choir, band, orchestra, honors classes, youth group... not to mention beating cancer, playing with the New York Philharmonic, and being featured on several major news media.) I'd like to think I'm past that need-drama stage now, able to appreciate the joy in little things, the wonder of everydayness, the delight and excitement of each new experience. Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. But I certainly see great value in simplicity and just enough of the mundane to keep me grounded.

Let me be less vague and more honest. At the end of all this, I admit, I'm not feeling as ecstatic as I am feeling a little let down. Am I happy? Of course! But this a sort of calm following the storm: safer, but less exciting, and less interesting. No, I don't expect this mysteriously boring calm to last - I've got a wedding to plan, after all! I guess I'm just expressing to anyone who wants to "listen" out in cyber space that my next challenge will be to get back to that place of appreciating the mundane, relishing in calmness, and finding joy and delight in everyday stuff. That, and finding things to write about in this blog. :-P

Second opinion

Spoiler alert: I think I might be done for breast cancer. For now. Can it be so??

Michael and I drove to Boston this weekend to get a second opinion on the next steps, if any, of treatment. Since I was getting opposite opinions from my medical oncologist and my surgical oncologist, it seemed prudent to hear from someone else. So off we went to Dana Farber, to Brigham and Women's Center. We left Thursday night after an evening meeting I had, arrived at my friend Tim's house in Pittsfield, MA around 12:30am. After brunch the next morning, we headed off to Boston, and arrived just in time. We stayed with some former church members that night (thanks Frank and Marlea!), grabbed brunch with my friend Kim the next morning, and headed back in time for dinner in Rochester. A whirlwind, to be sure, and we were exhausted by the end of it.

Our experience at Dana Farber was good. Nice people (though not as nice as at Strong, if I may be biased!), and quite an operation. Sheesh. We had to do a lot of waiting - for one consultation, we were there almost 3 hours! Dr. Morgenstern was a nice enough guy, although he said several times that he had lived a year in Rochester (went to U of R) and it had NOT been a good experience. We were like, "Dude, lay off Rochester! We like it there, and actually live there by choice!" Oh well. He was still a good doctor.

So he didn't tell us all that much that we hadn't already heard, at least at first. First thing he did was break down the plan for a run-of-the-mill DCIS patient. First is a lumpectomy (check). With just that, there is a 20% chance that something will return, with 10% chance it would come back as DCIS (pre-cancer) and 10% chance it would come back as a true, invasive cancer. Of the invasive group, 90% of those women were cured. My risk grows 1% per year, plateauing at about 20%. Still with me? Okay. So radiation cuts that risk in half (for the primary cancer). Tamoxifen again cuts it in half. 

So what he needs to determine, by talking with the tumor board there at Dana Farber, is how my particular history might affect those numbers, so that I can make my decisions with that in mind. But here is one thing he could tell us that has made all the difference: I told him I was concerned about taking Tamoxifen because I don't want it to put me in the high risk pregnancy bracket (because we'd have to wait to start trying to have children until I'm 34). He said, "I think Tamoxifen would be beneficial for you, but there is no question in my mind that it will be just as beneficial for you if you start it after you have children."He has said the same thing to other women in my position, but who have invasive breast cancers. I'll be so closely watched these first few years, and the risk of DCIS returning is so low at first (increasing by the year), that he feels starting it after children would be just fine. Hooray!

He also said that if I want to eliminate my risk entirely, I should have a mastectomy. I knew this. So I guess I need to look at these numbers for risk factor that they're coming up with, and talk again with my doctors here about this. But Michael and I talked, and the way we see it is this: There doesn't seem to be any further treatment at this point that NEEDS to happen right now. So we can get married, start a family, and then think about the next treatment I should do, whether Tamoxifen or a mastectomy. Which means... I THINK I'M DONE.

I mean, obviously I still have some appointments, and tri-monthly check-ups, and bi-annual scans (MRIs and mammos and ultrasounds), but I'm used to that. I can dig it. 

So, good news! Thanks for all your prayers and thoughts and gifts and everything through all this! I have appreciated it so, so much. 

Sermon: Noticing Poverty (Nov. 11, 2012)

Mark 12:38-44

            I wouldn’t normally consider myself to be into politics. But I admit, this election season, I’ve been pretty into it. I listened to the radio all through the primaries. I watched all of the debates and read reviews about them afterward. And along with so many this week, I went to the polls and cast my vote, and waited until the wee hours of the morning to find out who the winners would be.

            There were a lot of exciting things this election season, as well as a lot of dirty or frustrating things. One thing that discouraged me was actually something not talked about. In four debates, countless political rallies, and several months leading up to the election, there was hardly any conversation about the poor in this country or abroad. One candidate used the “p-word,” poverty, but didn’t actually talk about ways to address it, and the other talked about policies that would address it without actually using the word, instead using code like, “those striving to get into the middle class.” Both talked a whole lot about the economy, which is related, but still misses the head of the nail. No one talked directly about how we as a country can help care for the poorest and most vulnerable in our communities.

            Why is that? There was a time, and you in “the greatest generation” will remember, when there was a certain honor to being poor. People worked hard, they gave up what they didn’t need, they stretched what little they had and didn’t take things for granted. But that honor doesn’t exist today. Today, being poor is taboo, something we don’t talk about. When we talk about the poor, it makes most people think about people who don’t work, and bad personal choices, and irresponsibility. This stereotype is so ingrained in us, that even data to the contrary is not convincing.

            The fact is, poverty is a very real thing, often no fault of the people living in it, and not easy to rise above. And we can ignore it or use code words to talk about it all we want, but it doesn’t change the fact that 1 in 4 children in the U.S. don’t have enough food to eat, that 1 in 8 U.S. citizens live below the poverty line, or that half of Americans (half!) will experience living in poverty by the time they are 65. Recently a film came out entitled The Line, about several different households who suddenly found themselves living at or below the poverty line. One was a former banker making six figures, a single dad of three teenagers, but when his bank was bought out, he lost his job and despite going back to school, he couldn’t land another. Another story was a woman born in one of the worst neighborhoods in Chicago. She managed to pull herself out of the poverty she grew up in and get a good job, but one day tripped on her way to the bus, and after suffering severe injuries, had to go on disability and couldn’t work. One man they profiled was a fisherman in Louisiana. After the oil spill and Hurricane Katrina, what used to be a bountiful business now hardly delivered anything. Poverty takes all forms and is caused by all kinds of things. And the truth is, any one of us could be one accident, one illness, one job loss away from finding ourselves in poverty. We can ignore it all we want, but it is still there.

            Poverty, of course, has always been there, and our Gospel lesson today shows us that. The story of the widow’s mite is a well-known and well-loved one, often used during stewardship season to highlight the widow’s extravagant generosity. She gave all she had! No 10% tithe for her, she gave 100%! But viewed in its full context, this story becomes less about a generous woman, and more about the unjust system she is trapped in.

            We normally think of the Temple as a religious place, and to some extent, it was. But it was also the economic center of Jerusalem. It’s where all economic exchanges took place, where taxes were paid, currency exchanged, everything. And what ended up happening was that the few very rich people in the first century – the teachers of the law, the scribes – benefited from the money given to the Temple, but this benefit was on the backs of the poor. Furthermore, they saw themselves as assets to society, where they saw people like widows, who relied on the kindness of others, to be a burden to society. And so, as Jesus points out, the rich “walk around in long robes,” and like “to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets!” All this they do, even though there are widows among them with no livelihood, orphans who cannot fend for themselves, strangers and travelers who have nothing to eat. It is a corrupt system, and our dear, generous widow is a victim of it. Here she comes to give her very last penny, so that the scribes can wear their long robes and go to parties. The scribes do indeed “devour widow’s houses,” as Jesus says.

            Well, they can ignore the poverty among them all they want. So can we. But not with Jesus around. In the first place, the biblical witness is replete with the command to care for the poor, the widow, the orphan, the stranger, the alien. Old and New Testament alike, this is a clear mandate of the life of faith. But in this story about the self-sacrificing widow, the need to notice the poverty among us is brought even more to the forefront. It’s no accident that this beloved story appears directly following Jesus’ condemnation of the corruption of the Temple. First he points out how flauntingly the rich behave. Then he sits back, and he watches. He simply takes in the scene, watching some put in large sums, watching the long robes of the scribes. And then he sees the widow. Probably no one else noticed her – widows were not really the type to be noticed. After all, it was believed she had nothing to offer society, certainly nothing like the scribes had. But Jesus notices her. He watches her offer her two coins. And he points her out to the disciples. Notice he doesn’t commend her for her generosity. He doesn’t go up, shake her hand, and congratulate her for being a model of faith. That’s something we have added to the text after years of interpretation. No, all he does is point her out and say, “Do you see her? Do you see how she already has so little, and this corrupt system is taking even that? Do you see the poor and vulnerable right here in your midst? Did you even notice?”

            You know, the Gospel is so often a comfort to the afflicted. But sometimes, and today is one of those times, it also serves to afflict the comfortable. And we are comfortable. Some of us more comfortable than others. But especially as many of my friends in NY and NJ have been without power or water this week, I have been grateful for how comfortable I am. When I get a call for help from a young man who, through no fault of his own, cannot work and has to take care of a baby by himself, and is two months behind on his rent, I realize how comfortable I am. In the midst of such realization, texts like this do hold a mirror and show me that there is more to the Christian life than achieving and recognizing my comfort.

Jesus points us beyond that. But he doesn’t point us toward the poor and vulnerable to accuse us. He does it because he loves us, loves us enough to not want us to keep our blinders on, and instead to point us toward change. He doesn’t want us to continue participating in a system that does not care for the proverbial widow and other vulnerable members of society.

We have many means by which to change such a system. One of them many of us exercised this past week, and that is to vote people into office who will care for the well-being even of the poor, who will see each and every person, regardless of socioeconomic status, race, gender… not as a burden, but as someone who has something to offer this world. Now that the election is over, another way we can prevent corruption is to talk to those people we elected, tell them that poor people matter to us. Another way to avoid participation in a system like the one described in our Gospel today is to build relationships. Before making an assumption about a person, or applying a stereotype to them, have a conversation with them. Hear their story. Learn about their gifts and dreams. All of us are beloved children of God.

There’s no part of the gospel that says, “Earn your keep, then sit back and enjoy.” And so Jesus won’t let us stay there, comfortable as it may be. Immediately following this encounter with the poor widow, Jesus also gives all he has, his whole life, for the sake of the corrupt world. He goes to the cross so that we might have life. And now the question becomes, how do we use that life? In gratitude for what Christ has done for us, how can we use this life to care for those around us, both friends and strangers alike? How will we be good stewards of the comfort God has graced us with?

Let us pray. God of the weak and vulnerable, you have provided us with many comforts, but you also point us toward the poorest among us. Help us to see those around us who are in need. Help us to see them as unique and wonderful gifts, and as your children, that together we might grow closer to you. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

A taste of normalcy

I just feel this urge to write something today, even though nothing is new in the world of fighting breast cancer. Or rather, I feel an urge to write BECAUSE nothing is new in the world of fighting breast cancer! It has been nice to feel mostly like a normal (only more easily tired) person for a while.

The whole recovery from surgery thing has been going fine. I'm a little more sore than last time, probably because I wasn't completely healed when they cut me open, plus they came all the way out to the skin. Hence, bruising. So even though I didn't dress up for Halloween this year, my boob put back on her Frankenboob costume. Post-op is tomorrow, and Michael and I will be going to Boston (Dana Farber) on Friday to get a second opinion from the folks in the women's center there. On the way I'll even get to see a couple of dear friends, so I'm feeling pretty happy about that!

All this to say that today is my last day in week-long respite-from-cancer-ness. And to be fair, it hasn't even been a respite (been busy trying to forward records to Boston, and all the stress that goes with that when you've lived in three different states in as many years), but it has FELT like one. I attribute this to a few things:

1) My little pup, Klaus. It has not been an easy transition for the little guy, I must admit. It's hard to lose your humans. So we've had some accidents, but he looks genuinely apologetic when it happens, and hangs his head (I think - but he's already so close to the ground, it's hard to tell). But he is SO DANG CUTE. He scurries around the house not wanting to miss anything, including, as it turns out, the moment I get out of the shower. I've decided this is cute, not creepy, and also that it's sweet, not annoying, when he completes the cleaning process by licking my bare ankles as I get ready. He's got more lovin' packed into that little body of his than one might think possible, and when he wiggles and squeaks when I come home, it is pure delight. Today he successfully spent almost the whole day alone (!), and could hardly contain himself when I came home and took him for a walk. For all the frustrating (and smelly/messy) parts of new dog ownership, he has at the very least provided me with a distraction. This week has been about him, not my boobs. And for this, I am thankful! I'd rather pick up poop than be poked and prodded at the doctor any day! (You may quote me on that.)

2) I'm ridiculously excited that today is election day. What a great feeling it was to walk to my polling site this morning (I felt this deep conviction that I needed to walk instead of drive), to fill in my bubbles, to see the screen say, "Your ballot is cast!" and to walk away proudly with my "I voted today!" sticker affixed to my clergy shirt. I don't know what it is about that sticker... and I felt extra thrilled to put it on a clergy shirt.

One of my churches is also a polling site, and I was there today, and just loved seeing the cross section of people coming in the doors. Today is one day when everyone matters just as much as everyone else (with the exception of Ohio-ans, who obviously matter the most), when everyone can rally around something that is common among us. Everyone was in good spirits (especially at St. Martin, where we were selling baked goods and used books!), there was a bustling atmosphere... it just felt so GOOD! I love election day!

3) I overall feel more energetic. I don't know why this should be, and as I said above, I do still tire easily from the anesthetic still in my system, but I feel a drive and motivation I haven't felt in months. I happily worked away on my computer yesterday until after 7pm! This weekend I finally had the energy again to visit someone in the hospital, and someone in their home today. JOHANNA IS BACK!! Or at least on her way back.

So, today I am thankful for feeling like a normal person - a person who walks her dog, who goes to vote, who is happy to be at work, who participates in polls when they call, who cleans her house and does her dishes... It's good to feel like Johanna again.

Sermon: Come Out as Saints on Earth (Nov. 4, 2012, All Saints' Day)

All Saints’ Day B

John 11:32-44

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

            For our Gospel reading on All Saints’ Day this year, we hear about one of the most dramatic miracles that Jesus performs. This miracle, or “sign,” as John’s Gospel calls it, appears only in John, and is the last sign Jesus performs before his own resurrection. In fact, that is part of its purpose – to point Jesus’ disciples, and us by extension, toward the even more impressive defeat over death that is yet to come. It is a story wrought with human emotion, a story many of us can put ourselves into as we see the characters – even Jesus – experience everything from sadness and sympathy, to anger and betrayal, to bewilderment and doubt.

             It is in the midst of all this emotion that Jesus performs this most dramatic sign: he raises Lazarus from the dead. But on this All Saints Day, it is not so much the fact that Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead that impresses me; it is the way in which he does it. There are two phrases, there at the end, that make this so interesting. He first calls out to Lazarus, “Come out!” and then he says to the rest of the community gathered, “Unbind him!”

            Why is this so compelling? Because here, in Jesus’ most dramatic miracle, he is actually asking for the people’s participation in it with him. Those gathered – they are the ones who complete the miracle for him. Don’t get me wrong – Jesus certainly has the power to heal, comfort, feed, bring to life… he has done it before. But here, toward the end of his ministry, he asks us to participate in that project with him. Because being a part of the Christian community means that even in the midst of the variety of emotions we experience, we care for each other, we live the life of Christ for each other, we complete God’s work alongside each other.

            As I was recovering this week from my surgery on Monday, I spent a good chunk of time watching the first season of the TV show, LOST. For those unfamiliar with the show, it is about a group of 40-some survivors of a plane crash, who have ended up on a strange island in the middle nowhere. Of course in the first few episodes they are mostly just trying to survive, each man and woman for him or herself, until someone comes to save them. But as time goes on it becomes clear that no one is coming. It becomes clear to them that every man for himself is not going to allow them to survive. The only way they will be able to survive is if they pool their resources, draw on each other’s unique gifts, and care for each other. Although the show so far has very few explicit religious themes, this overarching theme that becomes so essential to their survival is exactly what Jesus in this story, and indeed the Christian witness as a whole, has to say: we are a community that must take care of each other.

            Today is All Saints’ Day. On this day each year, we remember those who have died in the past year, those saints who have blessed our lives and have gone on to the Church Triumphant. But I think this story about raising Lazarus from the dead urges us to think about those saints still here on earth – you and me.

            That word, saint, is I think often misunderstood. Maybe we associate “saint” with Catholicism, and say, “We Lutherans don’t believe in saints.” Or maybe we think that saints are only those who have died. But what Luther actually advocated was that all of us here on earth are already saints, even as we are still sinners. That is one of Luther’s buzz phrases: “we are simultaneously saint and sinner.” We cannot keep ourselves from sinning. That is our human nature, and we will always fall short. But even as we are sinners, we have also been declared holy – and that is what a saint is. Not self-declared holy, of course. Nothing we do makes us holy – that’s why Luther stresses that we are also always sinners, even as we are saints. Rather, we are holy because of God’s work in our baptism, because God makes us holy, God declares us holy.

            So, since we are all saints, and this is All Saints’ Day, let’s talk a bit about what it means to be a saint, what it means to be holy. In our Gospel, Jesus shows us that living a holy life means participating in the miraculous work of God. We find many ways to do this in the church. Just last week Bethlehem and St. Martin came together for a workday at Maggie’s Kids. Over the course of a few hours, we washed and organized their tables and chairs for their annual Thanksgiving dinner. We cleaned out some other areas and got their stoves ready for cooking. We also cleaned outside, repairing their chain link fence, removing litter, trimming bushes from around the fence, and raking and sweeping the parking lot. We also completed some repairs to the foundation and parking lot area and the side door threshold, with the help of one of the kids and a neighbor. Maggie’s Kids serves the children in one of the roughest neighborhoods in Rochester, providing them after-school care, tutoring, snacks, and clothing. To be a part of that in such a hands-on way truly felt like we were participating in God’s miraculous work, and living into our identity as saints on earth. 

We’ll have many more opportunities to participate in God’s work as the holidays approach – by collecting items for Christmas stockings, food for pantries, gifts for the Angel Tree, coats for Open Door Mission. Also through Bible study, as we learn more about God’s work throughout history, and prayer, as we hold up many people in need. One important way we participate in God’s miraculous work and live into our identity as saints is one we also lift up today, and that is in our financial giving. This church has a lot to offer, and a lot to give thanks for, and giving of our treasures is one essential way for us to participate in the work Bethlehem/St. Martin does. We will have an opportunity toward the end of today’s service to offer this participation and give thanks for it.

But I also want to stress that being saints, and participating in God’s holy work, do not only happen on Sunday morning, or at special events. Anything that has been set aside for God’s work, anything that is done in faith and with godly intentions, is holy. This certainly includes the things we do here – from Communion and Baptism and hearing the Word to service projects – but it is also things that you do every day. You are saints, you people of God, and whether you are lending an ear to a distressed colleague, or helping lead a Scout troop, or buying lunch for a stranger who doesn’t have enough money, or carefully deliberating over what candidates will best serve those in need in this country as you make your way to the polls this week… If God is at work in your actions to heal, comfort, and restore, then you are participating in the miraculous, saving work of Christ.

Today, like every day of the Christian life, is a day of thanksgiving. We give thanks for the witness of the saints, for all those people who have touched our lives. We give thanks for the saving work of Jesus. We give thanks that Jesus asks us to participate in that work, telling us to “come out” from our fears and sin and to “unbind” those who find themselves still captive to fear and death. We give thanks for the many blessings and gifts in our lives – our selves, our time, and our possessions. And we pray that God would show us ever new ways to live in thankfulness, to lead holy lives, to be the saints that Christ calls us out to be.

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Klaus das Hund

Klaus the Dog has arrived! (Or as I like to call him, Klaus das Hundmeister!)

His old mommy told me he used to have his own blog, where she would tell stories about him, so I thought he deserved at least one blog post dedicated only to him. So this post, my dear pooch, is for you.

Things with Klaus are, well, about as good as could be expected, I suppose. It is heart-breaking to see how sad he is about losing his humans. Poor guy. They got him when he was four from a shelter. They've had him for four years. And everything was going swimmingly, everyone was happy... and then one day they drove him to my house and left him and didn't come back. His mom was playing with him, and threw the toy down the hall, and then slipped out the door without him seeing. When he came back with the toy, there was this horrible moment when he just looked down the stairs, still. He ran down and started whining and scratching at the door. I wanted to cry. Poor little guy!

So I was extra nice to him, took him for a little walk, scratched his ears, tried to play, invited him on the couch. He was unamused at first, but came around. He is quite the explorer, and the first thing he does in a new place is check out every room of the house, so that's what he started to do. Finally, he joined me on the couch, and I got this handsome picture:

After a few more hours, he started to warm up to me. He would crawl into my lap, up my chest, into my face, and lick uncontrollably. At first I thought it might be because I had some soup on my face, but he kept going! He does seem to love his new mama, even though he is still very sad.

So Day 1 went okay. When Michael came over that evening, he and Klaus got along fine, too. He especially loved the belly rubs. (But I still think he prefers his mama!) He is such a love. That night, however...

Klaus's old family told me that they let him sleep in bed with them. I love dogs, but I'm sorry, no dogs in my bed. That is my place. Klaus did not understand this. So he stood at the side of bed looking confused and whining for a good long while. "Don't acknowledge him," I thought. "It'll only encourage him." But he was breaking my heart! So then, even though I had JUST taken him out, he went and pooped in the guest bedroom. That was my surprise to find in the morning.

Day 2 was a little better - a little less pathetic, but still sad. He still just whimpers sometimes. I gave him a little bath, which was fun... after which he peed in the guest bedroom. (Could he not have gone in the tub?? Note to self: take the dog out first next time, before showering him with warm water.) I planned to take him with me to my couple of meetings, but right before we left, he pooped in the guest bedroom. Seriously?? I had JUST taken him out! So he got a lot of "bad dogs" and he got crated for a few hours. He was not amused. Neither was I.

Later that evening I took him to Michael's house, where he met Daisy the Collie again, this time on her own turf. It was okay! They tolerated each other just fine, and Klaus curled up with us on the couch while we watched TV. Like a little family. We have plans tomorrow to go for a family walk in the park, if the weather is okay. 

So how am I feeling about the whole dog ownership thing? So far, it definitely has its ups and downs. He has already delighted and infuriated me. He likes to follow me from room to room (even the bathroom), so I guess my alone time is no more, and I have to be careful not to trip on him. It is definitely a responsibility I will have to get used to, but it's a good step toward preparing for children, right? (Although I've heard crating babies is not an accepted method for dealing with babies who poop when and where you don't want them to...) I have definitely thought, "This was a mistake," but I have also been delighted, and I believe once everyone gets settled it won't feel like that anymore. So... so far so good, I guess?

Cancer is a part time job.

Even when there's not a ton going on, it feels like having cancer is a part time job - and my treatments aren't even that extensive! It just takes so much time and energy, even when I don't realize it. To this end, I had another breakdown yesterday.

But back up. I had surgery on Monday, and that went really well. The people we encountered during the process were all really nice. My uncle was able to be there with Michael this time, which both really appreciated. Both Michael and I felt much less anxious this time around, I guess because we knew the outcome. The cancer was already out, this was just making it... outer? The only bad part was the sort of rocky recovery from the anesthetic, which was made worse by my wanting to rush out of the hospital to get home before Hurricane Sandy made it impossible to drive safely. But once I was home, everything was fine. Didn't lose power or anything.

This was my last anticipated treatment for a while, so although I still have several appointments in the next weeks, I guess you could say I'm really cancer free, at least for now. On the other hand, I've been at this since mid-July, and it's sort of become a new normal. Since July 9, there has always been a next procedure on the schedule, but now, nothing. Well, not nothing. I have two appointments next week and two the next. But nothing that will mess with my system. So there will be a certain amount of redefinition that will go with that, and that's affecting me emotionally more than I realized.

Other things about this week: We were happy that on Tuesday, Sandy canceled almost everything, so we thought Michael would get to stay with me all day. But he still had to go to work. (What's that about? School was closed!) So I ended up spending the whole day alone, except for one visitor. Although I had the first season of LOST to keep me company, it was a pretty boring day.

Wednesday, Klaus came! I will write a separate post on him. But in short, sweet as he is, he is really sad to have lost his humans. He spent the first part of Wednesday standing at the top of the stairs looking down at the door. Wednesday night he pooped on the floor. Thursday morning I found it. Then he pooped and peed on the floor again on Thursday. This will be a process.

Thursday, I spent a good chunk of time on the phone calling various doctors and insurance. Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston called Tuesday to set up an appointment for a second opinion on Friday, Nov. 9 - next week! So now I need to get all my records over there, not to mention reschedule the appointments I previously had on Friday. Since I need three years of records, I had to call three different facilities (thanks to my itinerant seminarian life). In the midst of all this, my GYN called. I was supposed to have an appointment with her next week, but she was calling because she had just been sent all the information about what's going on with me. So we talked about some of the fertility things that have come up, and some other very emotional things... and before I knew it, I was crying. I haven't cried in quite a while, and I thought I was doing okay. But now it seems two weeks of stuff was all coming out.

At least I had a sweet sleeping Klaus on my lap... but then he pooped in the bedroom. And then I had to go to a couple meetings (Klaus was going to come, but he was bad, so he had to stay crated at home). I was eager to get out, as I was getting restless. I got in my car, and... battery dead. Just like last time I had surgery, it went dead after sitting there for four days undriven. Except last time I got a new battery out of it, so why again?? So I called AAA, and then sat in the car and wept for about 10 minutes. It was a good cry. It felt good. I don't know where it came from, but it needed to get out.

The AAA guy came, I got to my two meetings, and then Michael's neighbor charged my battery up. Klaus and Daisy got along just fine, and we all curled up together and watched TV. Like a little family. Definitely the best part of the week.