Heading in, Counting blessings, Eating chocolate

BREATHE, BELIEVE, RECEIVE: IT'S ALL HAPPENING.
(Thank you Shari and John!)

Yep, that's for sure.

This morning, the boys have discovered their Lake Champlain and Nirvana Easter chocolates, (mouths are smeared with dark brown caramel sweetness), their March Madness brackets have been updated with the latest scores (no one is faring particularly well this year, but at least they have predicted with more success than the truly-pathetic team at Sports Illustrated), and have retreated to the basement, where they are doing battle with the PS2 (yes, even homeschoolers play video games). I love my boys, have I told you that? My mother has just brought me toast and tea. Thank you, Mom! Outside, the birds are reveling in the new feed Jim has brought them, and it still looks COLD, though the sun looks as if it might, at full force later in the day, actually send some of this snow packing--unless, of course, the wind shows up again, whips about like a wild child, and maintains the brisk chill that has rendered our days decidedly un-spring like lately. At this point, a few days after the arrival of the vernal equinox, winter seems like an obnoxious house guest who has long overstayed its welcome. But it always does in this corner of New England, and blessings abound inside and out, and even for winter's last stand, I am grateful.

Later today, we'll brave the potholes and slow, Sunday traffic along Route 2 for the snowless suburban-scape of Newton, where we'll spend the night at the Marriott (thank you, Mike!) before checking in at the Newton-Wellesley Hospital first thing in the morning. I've spent the last few days trying to prepare--trying to stay grounded in the little rituals that make up my days, but feeling, every so often, my tight grip loosen on the emotions and pressures that have built up, only to be released again, in tears that swell my throat and spill unabashedly in an endless cycle of cleansing and metamorphic rebirth. Exhale. On a more practical level, I'm fairly well packed--soft, comfortable clothes, toothbrush, iPod, drawings from the boys, assorted charms, and my breathing exercise apparatus that will help my body expel the anesthesia drugs more quickly (and reminds me of my Iron Lungs days)--but I don't really know what to bring, aside from my warrior's steely gaze, nerve, and cut-throat bravery. After all, these are things I'll need the most, and since I won't be there for very long, and for the most part, will be zonked out on pain meds, the material in my overnight bag might not hold much allure. But who knows--maybe I'll surprise myself and muster the energy to suck some tube, launch a new company, file a complaint, write a bit, blurb, or morning page, or listen to some new tunes on the pod (thank you, Bbets). It's all possible.

There are many shining lights at the end of this tunnel, but one that is shining particularly bright is my 25th Exeter Reunion on the weekend of April 25. I have told all my docs that I must be there. That they must arrange things so that I can be there. That I will not miss it. I have a real passion, a great love and fondness for my Exeter friends & classmates, that I cannot imagine missing out on an opportunity to see them, to be with them; to talk, laugh, dance, hug; to thank them in person for being there for me throughout all of this; and to simply bathe and revel and bask in their glow (because these are some of the finest people on the planet, and they do, indeed, light up from the inside out). So, no matter where I am in the process of filling up my saline expanders, no matter how lopsided or sore I am, I'm going to be there. It's in the plan, man.

I have been humbled by the amount of Juju that has already reached me, and am grateful to you all for hanging in there with me--for checking in via email and telephone, for stopping by and dispensing much-needed hugs, for sending a wonderful assortment of gifts and charms and cards. Your words--and karuna--have touched me. Thank you. I've been wearing my milagros (thank you dearest Natalie for all my treasures), my ankh (Joy!), lighting my guardian angel candles, listening to the soothing meditation cds, reading the books, turning the charms and crystals over and over in my hands, feeling the weight of their colors and lightness of their magic. I've created a little altar of sorts by my bed, a grouping of cards and precious gifts that provide a beautiful focus for my eye, a portal to the friendships that I hold dear, and a reassuring connection to that world of mysterious workings--hope, grace, trust, faith--and the power and intuition that it brings. When so many of my good friends and family live so far away, this has been the best way I've known how to gather them all together around me in a comforting circle, soothing my anxiety, curing my sleeplessness, and replenishing my strength and determination. Thanks to all of you, I feel ready for what tomorrow brings. It feels like a good place to be.

Speaking of circling up...I must acknowledge the extraordinary group of women known fondly as the Used Bagges, the ex-ruggers from Williams, who have gifted me with the undeniable power of connection, the unbelievable joy of camaraderie, and the undying warmth of friendship. Thank you all, you lovely bagges! Along with my beach-walking in the sun, I'll have the finer days of spring banquet-ing in my head as I am wheeled in tomorrow morning. I'll feel the warmth from the fire, the rising morning sun, the circle of sleepy-eyed ruggers; I'll hear Earth, Wind and Fire on the jam box; and I'll smell the roasting pig, the stale kegs, the landfill's rousing charms. Good tonic, indeed!

I have always been amazed by the healing force of family, and by the strength of the bonds that hold high school and college friends together forever, regardless of years passed, lost contact, or divisions in the road. I have been truly awed, and bowled over and uplifted by the love I've received from my dear family and friends new and old, from people I haven't seen in twenty-five years, but who have remained in my heart, from close and distant cousins, who have kep me going strong with regular cyber-visits and even a lovely surprise visit yesterday (thank you Eddie and Claudia!), from old friends from my more youthful days, who have reminded me just how much laughter and fun really and truly matters. How is that my old friend Kristin knew that my favorite chocolate in the world was Green & Black's Maya Gold? I will add it to my daily stash of antioxidant supplements--thank you, Kristin! And thank you, ALL.


I wanted to shout out a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my friend Paige (Smith) Orloff, who is celebrating tomorrow, the 24th. I figure the fact that my surgery day falls on Paige's birthday is good karma, indeed. Thanks for sharing your day, Paige--and hope you celebrate in style. I'll be drinking my cocktail of general anesthesia gas, anti-nausea meds and painkillers and will toast you!!


Onward ho, to tomorrw. After a LOVELY NIGHT'S SLEEP, I check in at 7 am, head to nuclear medicine for my dye-contrast IV, and they will have NO TROUBLE FINDING A JUICY VEIN. I will then head to pre-op, where I will reacquaint myself with the AWESOME, SUPER SKILLED, EXPERIENCED team (Dr. Michelle Specht, breast surgeon, Dr. Ellie Pitts, plastic surgeon, anesthesiologist, and assorted interns and residents--this is a teaching hospital, after all--and thanks to friends and Drs. Rebecca Liu and Sridhar Ramaswamy for helping me assemble this team); where my left breast will be initialled by the breast surgeon; where I'll think on beach combing, spring-banqueting, and lounging on in the Swazey sun with dear friends; where I'll feel CALM and LOVED and CONFIDENT that every little thing's gonna be alright (thank you, Bob) due to all that good Juju coursing through my veins; and where I'll take my first sips into lala land. In the OR, they'll biopsy the sentinel node, which will BE CANCER-FREE, and with LOVING CARE AND PRECISION, remove my left breast, preserving the skin for breast reconstruction. Dr. Pitts will then carefully insert the expander under muscle and skin, CAREFULLY putting me back together (again, I think Sally in the wonderful Tim Burton's Nightmare before Christmas flick) so I resemble as much of myself as possible. The surgery will begin at 8:20, run about 3 hours, and require about 2-3 hours of recovery. NO COMPLICATIONS, NO SURPRISES. They will get all the cancer out. CLEAR MARGINS ALL AROUND. After this time, I will head to my room, which I am hoping to have all by myself. I won't need the heavy-duty pain meds, because I'll be FEELING PRETTY DARN TOOTIN' GOOD and the pain won't be so bad. A few folks will come to visit, and I'll actually recognize them, and SMILE and tell a joke or two about my girls. The docs will tell me EVERYTHING WENT PERFECTLY and after a GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP (hahaha) in the hospital, they'll check me out the next day, tell me I'm LOOKING GREAT, and send me home for some r & r. I'll post something on my blog as soon as I can--ALL IS GOOD I hope to write, ALL WENT WELL, FEELING FINE. And I'll HEAL UP WELL. I'll BEAT THIS. Things will get BETTER. And I'll be THERE FOR YOU, too. (Just a little visualization)

Herewith, in case you missed it, a copy of the email my friend Becca Martenson composed, a commission of sorts, of focused, collective Juju. Thanks again, kith and kin, for throwing me a line and not letting go. You guys are the BOMB. And I love you XOXO Liz

Dear friends,
As you all know, our dear friend Liz is beginning her journey of recovery from breast cancer. On Monday, March 24 at 8:20 am she will undergo mastectomy surgery with sentinel node biopsy to remove the cancerous cells and all tissue from her left breast. As well, she'll be beginning the first phase of breast reconstruction. Many of us will be supporting Liz and her family during this time by helping with childcare, preparing meals and being a listening friend when one is needed. But there is more we can do together as a community of people who love Liz Gardner.

One thing I have done for friends in the past, all women who were undergoing surgery for breast cancer, was to organize a specific time when a community of friends and family could send their love and prayers to the individual. Incredible research has been done on the power of intention and what is indicated is that the most effective time to support a person undergoing surgery is the 1/2 hour before the procedure begins. The women I have done this for all felt a wave of calmness settle over them during this most stressful and frightening pre-operative time. Together we can help bring this calm to Liz when she most needs it.

On March 24th at 7:50 am I invite you to join me in sending your prayers, blessings and loving energy to Liz in the 1/2 hour that precedes her surgery. I asked Liz to provide us with a comforting image that we can all meditate on when we spend this time thinking of her. Here is what she wrote:

I've thought about an image that has helped me fall asleep these past few nights: I'm walking on a beach, close to the where the waves roll in. It's a beautiful afternoon—warm, slightly breezy, gentle. The sun is a constant but not a bother. I'm walking barefoot and I can feel the sand beneath my toes, and it feels warm, not hot, and every now and then the waves come in and cover my feet. I am looking for shells—and I'm finding all my favorites: beautifully colored and patterned scallops, conches with the shiny insides, tulips, jingle shells, whelks. The picking is good.
This, of course, is from past experiences on Boca Grande, where my grandparents lived in Florida, where the beaches were pristine, free of people, quiet, lovely. There is a hushed quality about them that I remember. I had such great times there—and found the total immersion into the moment of just walking the beach to be enormously relaxing—unlike anything else I've tried

This is such a lovely, full-sensory image we can send to Liz as we also meditate on a successful surgery and quick recovery.

Thank you for joining me in sending this gift of love,
Becca Martenson

PS- It might be helpful to mark your calendars to remind yourself.