Deja Vu

The Common Thread

admin — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 19:22:03 +0000

The Common Thread

As I sit at the table in journaling class, I am in awe of the brave strong women that surround me. We have all come to this class with varying life experiences; yet have bonded together in a short amount of time. The class and our leader make it so easy to JUST write. Our writing doesn’t have to be correct, complete, or even on subject. We can share what we’ve written or NOT. I have found that I really look forward to hearing THEIR life stories, THEIR thoughts, THEIR hopes, and THEIR dreams. It somehow makes mine seem more “normal”. When it feels that sometimes my tapestry is unraveling, it gives me a common thread for holding on to dear life. This common thread between us that, as cancer survivors, binds us together. So that we have the courage and strength to pick up the loose ends and begin to reweave our lives into a new pattern. Our common thread, at this point, becomes golden.

The Three Doors

admin — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 20:19:42 +0000

I am taking a journaling class coordianated by the Shephard Cancer Center here in Washington. It has been an AWESOME experience. We’re a small group that’s grown very close in a short time. Funny how cancer survivors can do that! We’ve had a bit of a hiatus from each other, with our last meeting in May and our next one this week. Our wonderful teacher, leader, and guide gave us a fascinating assignment. We are to draw three doors and write about them. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks and just now written down my thoughts on paper to share. Although I’m unable to show you the doors I’ve drawn, I hope you’ll get an image from reading about them. I was surprised by what I wrote, some of it comfortable, some of it dark and deep, and some of it enlightening. I hope it will do the same for you as you read it.

A prologue:

I find the assignment of drawing and writing about three doors an intriguing one. Often when I was younger I dreamt of being in a long hall full of doors. I would try to open the doors, but often was just left trapped in the hall, with its glossy wooden floors. On rare occasions in my dreams, I could open a door. It would always lead me inside the kitchen of an unknown, yet familiar house. I would go to the cabinet doors and know exactly where the glasses and dishes were kept. It felt eerie, yet comfortable to be there in my dreams.

The first door

The first door is obviously an old one. It’s massive structure acting as a fortress to protect the character and integrity of the old house that lies beyond its entry. It’s the door to the house where I now live. After years of admiring old houses and longing for one, I finally live in one that brings me serenity and complete comfort. I am simply in love with my old house—everything about it! I love the fact that it’s an Arts and Crafts bungalow that was a Sears kit house. I can just see the kit contents arriving on the railroad right beyond my front door. I can see the worker leaving his Prince Albert can of tobacco behind the cedar siding on the south side and boarding it up for us to find later. I feel as if I know the four generations of the Bowen family that built the house and lived in it for almost a three-quarters of a century. Often when I open the front door I can see Mr. Walter’s coat hanging on the coat knob to the right of the entry. I think about Ms. Hilda standing over the old wood fired stove in the kitchen making a batch of her son Bo’s favorite dish, creamed corn. I love the story of when Bo’s new bride tried to make the corn for Bo and Ms. Hilda would not have it! She made a competing batch and that was the last straw that convinced Bo’s wife that it was time to move out from under his mother’s roof. Sometimes things go missing in my kitchen, and are found in the most unlikely of places. I think it’s Ms Hilda just stirring up a little trouble for me in her own kitchen. I think about the old love letter from Mr. Walter to Ms. Hilda that we found at the bottom of the built in chest of drawers as we made room for a utility closet. How serendipitous that the wooden runners of its drawers were the missing boards from the kitchen floor that we needed. The wood grain and lengths matched exactly. As I sit in our front upstairs office that overlooks Havens Garden and the Pamlico River, I know that this was young Bo’s bedroom. I know that Ms. Hilda wanted to have loads of children, but could only have Bo. I know that the “secret” rooms that are unfinished in the four outside corners of the upstairs were planned to be the children’s bedrooms that never came to pass. I adore the tall baseboards and wide craftsman trim around the doors. I could never part with the wavy old glass in the windows despite their winter and summer inefficiency. I sleep well here despite the moans and groans that an old house sighs at night. When I come home and close the front door behind me, I feel totally and completely at peace.

The second door

The second door is actually a set of doors. They swing both ways with directional signs for in and out. They are brushed stainless steel with small portholes near the top of each one. They are cold, clean, and sterile, completely void of fingerprints as if no human interaction exists between the doors and the people that enter them. Perhaps this is due to the gloved hands that push the doors apart and make way for the gurney. It is here at the doors that we always pause and say our goodbyes to our family who will be waiting for us when we wake up from the surgical sleep that is about to be forced upon us. It is here that we be sure to say our “I love you’s” and squeeze each other’s hands. It is here that uncertainty hangs heavy in the air. Here all moments in the past are clearly defined and the here and now seems fuzzy. The future teeters on the outcome of the procedures that occur behind the doors. And yet somehow I always wake up knowing what has transpired. As if I’ve fooled them all along, and really been wide-awake watching and feeling everything.

The third door

The third door isn’t a door at all. It’s a portal of light that emits understanding and peace. All the mysteries of the universe are answered beyond this door. There is no pain, no suffering, no worry, no hate, no war, no cancer. All things pure and good glow from behind the portal. I’m not sure that I am worthy to enter. It beckons to me—I long to enter and yet I long to stay on this side.

A Year’s Worth of Blog—A Prologue

admin — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 13:01:30 +0000

It’s a terrible thing when a person commits to do something and then just stops it cold turkey. I did that with my blog. The perfectionist in me just went too ballistic as I tried to write the perfect post and do it EVERYday! And it became so consuming in such a short amount of time. So, I just quit doing it—letting myself down and a few of you out there also. I didn’t realize that until I talked with a Washington shop owner one day and she told me what my blog meant to her, and how my struggle in coping with cancer helped her with other, non-cancer related struggles. In addition, I saw the movie, Julie and Julia, and just LOVED it. I am such a foodie, and the blog aspect of the flick was the beginning of the yearning.

Then, I came across a note from one of my mom’s friends, Jackie. She mentioned how my blog made her laugh and cry—sometimes at the same time. I suppose that’s a good thing. She also mentioned her daughter’s blog, www.paperapron.com, which I finally visited. What a beautiful blog! And a food one at that—just the right appetizer for a foodie like me. But, most of all her current post entry was about struggling to blog with the perfect food pictures and creation of the perfect unique recipes. So, it encouraged me to give it a try again.

So, it seems that God is trying to tell me something—that I should continue to reach out to others through my writing. So, I’m resolved to begin anew. And to NOT stress over the perfect post or being on a regular schedule. Hard thing for a schedule-loving perfectionist like me to do, but I’m ready to give it a good old college try. Notice that I said college—I’m thinking of applying to do some college teaching, some adjunct work like I did at Belmont Abbey. And I’m also thinking of taking some courses at East Carolina and Beaufort Community College. I’d love to learn more about archaeology, architecture, North Carolina history, southern culture, pottery, cooking, landscape design, genealogy, tablescapes, interior design, the Arts and Crafts movement, the Edwardian period, the roaring twenties, trees and their leaves, coastal and native plants, Ireland, paper arts, web design, graphic arts, lifesaving stations, and even knitting (yes-Elaine, that one’s for you)! Whew! So much to learn, so much life to live, and so much passion to impart.

Leave a shout out if you’d like. (Bloggers live for comments) Or just stroll by quietly.

Until my next non-scheduled, less than perfect post,

DeJa

An Inconvenience

admin — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 20:05:50 +0000

Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve blogged. I looked back on my last entry and could not believe that my last entry was September. I realized that I really left everyone riding the crazy roller coaster. Not good. I’m sorry about that. I guess that it was just too raw to write that I found out that I have breast cancer, after being a seven year survivor of fallopian tube cancer, and am a BRCA 1 gene mutant. I think that being a Ninja turtle mutant would be better. At least then, I could wear a crazy costume and be a hero. But, I have to deal with the cards (or make that the genes) I was dealt. In a strange, weird way, finding out about the BRCA 1 gene mutation made me feel better. I always wondered what I did to get cancer (now two cancers). I wondered if it was where I lived or how I ate or drank. But, I’ve always had a healthy lifestyle, so that did not make sense. So, a small inside voice kept telling me that it was because I was a perfectionist and always had to do everything 150%. I thought it was because my closet was color coded and all my pantry items labeled. Of course, finding out about my bad genetic code, made me worry more for my son (and sibilings) who now has a 50/50 chance of being BRCA1 positive too and all the implications that it has for him. The counselors tell me that this genetic stuff can be very tricky. Parents feel guilty, siblings without it feel guilty. Insurance companies don’t want to cover you, which is now against the law—but you know how that goes.

I’m just glad to now have two needle biopsies, a needle location, and a lumpectomy behind me. We’re still waiting on a clear margin from the lumpectomy biopsy, so we can move forward to radiation and tamoxifen. I was disappointed that I didn’t get my anticipated Dixie cup during the needle location. During needle location, prior to surgery, they insert a long wire into the breast for the surgeon to follow when operating. This wire extends to the outside and is usually covered by a Dixie cup for protection until surgery. My wire was lying against my chest, so I didn’t need the Dixie cup. Gosh, too bad, I was sort of looking forward to the Madonna jokes! All things considered, the surgery was the easiest of the past five that I’ve had in seven years since my first diagnosis in 2001. As usual, I was awake as they rolled me into the operating room. It seems it takes a while for me to succumb to anesthesia. I was chatting with the nurses when the lights went out. I woke up, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, as my father would say, and started cracking jokes about my leg wraps (to prevent blood clots) that looked like the Michelin tire guy. That was it for the nurses. They said it was time to move me to the next level. See where a little sense of humor will get you—right out of the recovery room to the “Step Down” area. That’s where you get to see your family and drink ginger ale. Ah-h eureka!

So, we’re praying for a clear margin so we won’t have to travel another five hours to Charlotte, to do this all over again. I told my surgeon to be sure and get it all because I planned on doing Thanksgiving as usual with my family and to get my house ready for the Christmas tour on December 6^th. She looked at me as if I were crazy. I replied to that by telling her that cancer is just an inconvenience. I like to think that is the case. It makes it easier to cope.

Letting Go of Summer

admin — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 19:05:13 +0000

Letting Go of Summer

Each year, when it first begins to turn chilly and damp, I have the hardest time letting go of summer. I enjoy fall when it finally arrives in all its colorful glory—but during the interim, I am resistant.

While others are talking about how much they love the cool weather, I’m longing for the warm, even hot, sun and gentle breezes. I am unwilling to give up my comfortable sandals to the point of wearing socks with them with no fear of the fashion police. I miss going out into the garden, with an eye for red ripe tomatoes. I pulled up all of my tomato vines last weekend, after picking the last of summer’s bounty. Each time I use one of the last ripe ones in a sandwich or salad, I’m counting the few that are left and mourning the end of the season. As the days become shorter, I’m longing for the light I love. I miss the energy that I feel from the summer sun.

I used to even down right resent the winter—hated it! But, lately I’ve learned that it is God’s way of forcing us to slow down, recuperate from the hard work and play. I’ve learned to channel my energy in new ways—like learning to make homemade soups. Nothing is better on a cool Sunday afternoon than the aroma of soup simmering on the stove. I love researching the soup recipes and deciding on a new one to try every now and then, when I’m not relying on my old favorites.

I suppose that the change of seasons forces us to contemplate, even lament, what is behind us and anticipate what lies ahead. I’m doing that a lot right now. Thinking about my life, what I’ve accomplished, what I haven’t. Searching for a new purpose. Longing for good health. Praying for more time on this earth. Craving comfort and peace of mind. The scripture below gives me guidance and perspective. I hope it does the same for you. Until next time…De Ja Vu

To Every Thing There is a Season - Ecclesiastes 3. 1-8

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Oh What A Beautiful Morning

admin — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 02:30:08 +0000

Oh What A Beautiful Morning

Today was absolutely one of those most beautiful days—one that stays etched in your brain. The first breath of fall was in the morning air as we walked along the river’s edge. The water was as smooth as silk, and you could see the water ripple as the early insects searched for breakfast, and actually became breakfast, instead. I wanted to sing out the familiar chorus from Oklahoma….oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day!

When I walked into the house from my brisk journey home down Main Street, I just could not bear to stay inside. Even though there were baskets of clean clothes to fold, I poured my cup of coffee and settled on the front porch. Again, the beauty of the river just drew me there, and I left the comfort of the wicker chair and walked down to Havens Garden. The river in the morning has an indescribable smell—like the heaviness of the previous night slowly evaporating into the sunlight. As I peered into the water’s edge, I spied blue crabs feeding on the algae of the rocks. As my shadow crossed over them, they scattered like scared chickens, shuffling sideways in the sand.

I thought of the many times we’d look out and see people crabbing, and say we were going to do that sometime, but hadn’t. So, why not? I’m retired, right? Back to the house I go to gather all the necessary equipment– drop nets, string, chicken from the freezer, and dip nets. Down to the river’s edge I plant my chair and begin the greasy, smelling baiting of the nets and string. I watched as the crabs approached cautiously and “took the bait”. I also watched as they escaped the reach of my net. I was able to catch ONE crab—he was a keeper, a big one. But, he looked too lonely in that bucket of mine. So I released him to freedom.

But, my real joy was not in the catching of the crabs, but the total experience—soaking in the blue sky, feeling the slight breeze in my hair, and waving to the train engineer as he passed within a few feet of my perch. I felt so free to be able to curtail all tasks and just do something for the pure fun of doing it.

One phrase stayed in my mind all day…this is the day the Lord has made, rejoice and be glad in it. What a glorious day it was! Such simple joy!

Until later,

De Ja Vu

Full Circle

admin — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 21:24:56 +0000

It seems that God reminds us all the time that our life is a full circle that is constantly intersecting with the circles of others lives. It makes me think about how important it is to reach out to others, connect with their lives, and make a difference in even small, seemingly insignificant ways. Several things yesterday hit that home for me.

As I was walking my first daily mile with my hubby last morning, my dear friend, Lady Elaine, which is our nickname for this elegant woman, waved to us from her car as she drove off to work. She is my friend that started her entire life over by moving here to Washington alone where she knew no one and started a new career after being a devoted wife and mother for many years. Ray & I introduced her to the love of her life that she married this summer after a whirlwind romance. That larger than life smile on her face as she waved, made me think of the full circle that her life had navigated. I think of how her circle has intertwined with mine, as she has been a support and true ally whenever I needed her. I think about how different our lives would be if we had never become friends. I know that God’s divine intervention brought us together.

A second reminder yesterday came in the form of a phone call. My friend, Ed, who has the Midgett ancestral powder horn (mentioned in a previous blog), called with a serendipitous discovery. While cleaning out his mother’s home, he found a letter to her from my hubby. He had written her in 1990 requesting any family information she might have. My hubby, Ray, found her name in the Dare County history archives. This discovery comes within a few days of Ray seeing and holding the powder horn artifact that his great, great, great, great, great, great, great (yes that’s six greats) grandfather had worn by his side. Ed’s mother’s life circle had crossed Ray’s many years before, just as the circles of Ed and I had crossed at WHS.

Lastly, my son has been heavily on my mind lately. He lost his job about a month ago. He and I have been talking daily since he is not so busy working and I am now retired. Although, I want him to find a new job as soon as possible, it has been really good for me (and I think for him also) to talk everyday. It seems like when you feel the most vulnerable in life (both of us not working for different reasons), that through some daily miracle you find someone, like yourself to lean upon. My son probably doesn’t realize how much our conversations are helping me during my transition. Another full circle, he’s helping me while I’m helping him.

Now, by now, you are all probably thinking that I’ve become a little obsessed with this circle of life idea, and that I probably want us to all join hands and sing Kum Bah Yah! But, actually I just want you to think about how many lives you touch everyday—and to not be afraid to reach out, give a nod, a smile, a hello…just connect.

Until tomorrow or later,

De Ja Vu

P.S. My friend, Millie, said to give myself permission to not write everyday..so that’s why the tomorrow or later.

Hills and Valleys and Shadows

admin — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 22:21:42 +0000

Well, I left you hanging last week with no blogs while I was riding the roller coaster of life—all of the ups and downs associated with being a cancer survivor. A lot has happened since then. Here are just a few of the hills and the valleys—amazing what can transpire in a short period of time that impacts your life.

Let’s begin with the high notes

A “54 kid turns 54—Not a Kid Anymore

Last Wednesday, I turned 54 years of age. I’ve been kidding about being born in ’54 and turning 54—seems an oddity, doesn’t it? Of course I’d rather be that than born in ’21 and turning 21—means it would be 1942 and we’d be in the midst of World War II without knowing the outcome. My son asked if I thought he’d make it to 83 years of age, since he was born in 1983. My reply was…not if you keep smoking you won’t. There I go into Mom Mode again!

Celebrating Retirement—Again??

My dear friends, Ed Hodges, who retired at the end of last school year, and Anna Sizemore, my media center cohort, hosted a wonderful retirement party for me on Friday. It was good to see my WHS family and friends. My most treasured gift was a folk art still life painted by Miss Lucretia Hughes of Washington. I understand she was quite the Renaissance woman who did many things well—genealogy, gardening, and painting, just to name a few. Mr. Hodges ( I apologize—hard to get out of teacher mode) acquired the painting through the long standing close relationship between his family and Miss Lucretia. His gift was so special because it was a meaningful token of our mutual respect and love of this town, its people and history. My hubby also was thrilled to see a family artifact of Mr. Hodges’. My hubby and he are descendents of Matthew Midgett, and Mr. Hodges has an old powder horn that belonged to Matthews’s son, Thomas Midgett. The horn is dated 1747 and has personal carvings, somewhat like scrimshaw, decorating the rim and edge. It was a true thrill of my husband to be able to touch and hold something that belonged to his family so long ago.

I always wondered if I’d ever stay anywhere long enough professionally to have a retirement party. So, this meant a lot to me. I quantified my career in my head this week—you do that when you retire and actually have time to think. Here’s what I figured out:

Elementary classroom teacher: six years in two states, 3 school districts, and taught six different grade levels or combinations: kindergarten-first, third, third-fourth, fourth, fourth-fifth, fifth grades. Central and Hardeeville Elementary Schools in South Carolina, Newland Elementary in North Carolina

Media specialist—best known as librarian: twelve years in four different schools, three different school districts, and two levels, elementary and high school. Chapel Grove Elementary & New Hope Elementary in Gaston County, Hornets Nest in Charlotte-Mecklenburg, and Washington High School in Washington.

Teacher Resource Center Director for Gaston County: 3.5 years

Instructional Technology Specialist for Gaston County: 3.5 years

Instructional Technology Director for Rowan-Salisbury Schools: 3 years

Professional Development Specialist for Charlotte-Mecklenburg Schools: 2 years

Curriculum Development Director for ENTech (now known as QTL) developing a statewide technology-training program for teachers: 2 years

Whew—it makes me tired just thinking about it—think of all those teachers and young’uns!!!— as they called them in Newland, when I taught there. Not to mention, overhead projector bulbs, Vis-a-Vis pens, flip charts, Power Point presentations, floppy disks and flash drives, and DOS commands—yes, I even go back that far! C:> dir (just a little encryption for those of you that can go back there with me). And the C:> is not some new kind of smiley face either—although it could be…think of a big bubble hair do C with a pointed noise >–oops sounds like Tammy Faye! Man, am I ever getting off track because I don’t want to talk about the valleys!

Okay, if we have to go there, we must… to the valleys. Although, did you know that my minister told me that the quote about the valley of the shadow of death in Psalm 23 is probably a mistranslation. In the heat of the Middle East in Biblical times and now, to be in a shadow is where there is life. In the scorching sun is where one would most likely die. Interesting way to look at it, isn’t it?

One Big Valley

I found out last Monday, that not only am I a fallopian tube cancer survivor of seven years, but, now I’m a breast cancer survivor, also. My needle biopsy came back positive for DCIS (Ductal Carcinoma In Situ), meaning cancer of the breast milk ducts in place (in situ) meaning contained within the ducts. They say that is the BEST breast cancer to have—of course, I beg to differ, that NO breast cancer is the best kind. But, I’ll take it over the more aggressive ones like HER2, which my dear sweet friend, more like adopted daughter, Tiffany is fighting (and winning, I might add).

So, I have an appointment with my oncologist next week to discuss treatment—probably a lumpectomy and/or radiation and/or chemo.

So, there it is…I’ve written it in my blog for all to see. It’s out there. I’m exposed and vulnerable to all who read it. It has taken me a week to allow myself to think about it long enough to write about it. I think that just finally getting it out and exposed is very therapeutic. I’ve always been open and talkative about my cancer—even the grocery store clerk knows I’m a survivor. But, this one was a tough one. I’m hoping that just putting this out there into the scorching sun of the desert will kill any stigma that is attached to it. I’m hoping that everyone will continue to treat me the same—like someone who can beat this terrible disease. Like someone who still has a lot of living to live, giving to give, and loving to love.

Until tomorrow

De Ja Vu

Hanna Pics

admin — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 19:32:18 +0000

View from Our Front PorchJack's Creek Behind Our House at 5 Ft over Normal Stewart Parkway During Hanna

Hanna is History

admin — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 18:54:51 +0000

Well, I didn’t make it to blogging this weekend—too much adrenaline flowing on Saturday because of Tropical Storm Hanna, and then too much exhaustion on Sunday from all the adrenaline rush on Saturday.

Well, now Hanna is history. Hubby woke up around 4 am on Saturday morning to go into work at city hall. His techno cohort had already spent the night at the Emergency Command Center, aka Fire Station #2. I went back to sleep and awoke around 6:30—peeking out the upstairs bedroom window to get a glimpse at the river. I could tell there was water in the street by the refection off of the street lamp. Hannah did about the same amount of harm that Ophelia did here in 2005. She breached the banks of the Pamlico at Havens Garden and down on Stewart Parkway. She crossed the railroad track at Havens, covered East Main Street, and proceeded slowly but surely up Simmons Street where we live. She only made it to our bottom steps before the wind turned and she receded. I entertained myself by taking pictures and video and sending them to Skip, the weather guy, at Channel 12. Channel 12 was reporting from the waterfront, though, and was pretty busy reporting on boats that were dragging anchor. I don’t think my pics or video made the cut—oh well.

Saturday afternoon, we went for a walk along the train track just to see what the tide drug in. Found two nice pieces of driftwood to add to the front porch collection. I was reaching for a third large piece when I stepped into a bed of ants. With the neuropathy that I have in my feet from so much Taxol (chemo) it took awhile for me to realize that they were feasting on both my feet. I’m sure it looked like I was dancing some wild dance to the hurricane gods on the train track! I nursed my wounds with Epsom salt, rubbing alcohol, and Sting-Eze. Hubby suggested I take two Benadryl, just in case. I think he just wanted some peace and quiet for the ECU game, which was so exciting that I stayed awake until the fourth quarter. Go Pirates!

Sunday was a quiet day, starting out with early church, brunch at the Meeting Place (yum!), and reading the Sunday paper. Then, I became painfully bored and asked to get out of the house. So, we drove to Terra Ceia. We’d read about the Dutch settlers there growing bulbs around the turn of the century. There is sure a lot of open space out there. Seems you can see from horizon to horizon. Saw some flower fields and lots of Dutch style barns. Picked up the boat from Hal and Garlene—we’d stashed it there during the storm. Then back to Simmons Street to watch the Panthers game. Which turned out to be a great ending! Looks like Jake is back!

Today we’re faced with yard cleanup (which I refused to do on Sunday), and moving all the furniture back which includes 8 chairs, 4 tables, 1 chandelier, 1 crab,1 citronella candle, 2 watering cans, 3 flower pots w/flowers, various pillows and cushions, and 1 piece—make that 3 pieces of driftwood.. And that’s just the front porch. I’ve decided I might as well give the front porch a good scrubbing before moving everything back. Seems like déjà vu back to my childhood when my job was to scrub the carport (yes, the carport) about once a month with a Stanley scrub brush on a handle and Tide detergent. At least, it isn’t January!

Called about my needle biopsy today and found out that the report was still not complete. Should be by noon today, but the doctor, who did the biopsy, is out all week. I told them there was no way that I could wait another week to find out about this. I asked them to just fax the results to Amy at WFM—I’d rather hear the news from her, anyway, whether good or bad, than some doctor I don’t know. So, here I am, still in limbo. Riding in the front car of the roller coaster that is stopped at the top of a steep hill, holding my breath, and hanging on for dear life. Literally and figuratively. Ready to move forward and trying not to look back.

Until tomorrow,

De Ja Vu