"And I'm Hovering Like a Fly, Waiting For The Windshield On the Freeway"

That's from FLY ON A WINDSHIELD on the album THE LAMB LIES DOWN ON BROADWAY by Genesis, another record I wore the grooves out of and then bought the cd. I always thought it aptly described those moments when you're hit by something completely out of the blue.


As you have probably heard from Olivia's missives, (aren't they gems?) this last weekend at the retreat did not go as planned. It was my first attempt to be productive for an extended period of time outside the house since May. We have been part of the Family retreat at Christ the King for the last two years and were looking forward to this year's retreat with enthusiasm. After my diagnosis we included down times for me so that I could gather strength for the sessions I would be involved in. Friday evening went well and I even left the bonfire early as planned to gather strength for the morrow. There I was, hovering, blithely unaware of the windshield approaching.


Around 12:30 am I awoke with a fever and unable to use my left leg due to a sever reaction to an injection I had taken on Friday morning. This induced near panic (I only say near because I wasn't able to run around the room, flailing my arms in a full blown panic). The oncologist had been insistent that if I experienced a fever THIS WAS VERY SERIOUS AND I NEEDED TO CONTACT HER IMMEDIATELY!


 (editor's note: I actually had the next few paragraphs carefully crafted and typed out, but due to a computer fumble, they somehow disappeared. They were written yesterday when I was in a better mood and more awake [I was only able to get about three hours of dozing in last night]. So if you notice a change of tone in the writing, well, there you are.)


Unfortunately, all of my contact numbers were on my iPod that I had given it to Fr. D. to recharge. So we sat and fretted; who do we call first: the anthroposophical doctor that had proscribed the injection as a support for chemo? The oncologist who had said "CALL ME IMMEDIATELY!"? We quickly realized we could call no one until we called Fr. D., who not only came over to deliver the ipod, but graciously sat with us through calls to and from message services, offices and cell phones. In the end, we determined I wasn't going to die (that night), that the anthro doctor had expected something of this sort, but not so strong, that the oncologist wanted to put me on antibiotics starting the next day in case it was an infection (which is still her opinion after seeing the spot yesterday) and that I should rest and drink lots of fluids.


And that was the end of my involvement in the retreat. The rest of the weekend I had the song "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole running through my head, except with the lyrics "Unreliable, that's what you are, unreliable, though near or far..." We were staying in a room at the retreat house which was fortunate because I had an angel (who doesn't always see how far her wings do spread) taking care of me, bringing me food, keeping me hydrated, all the while carrying BOTH of our parts of the sessions. Saturday, Sunday and Monday were three "Even a Seal in Your Bathtub" days for me (see previous post).


So by Tuesday I had started hobbling around with a cane and by Wednesday was feeling much better, which led us right into "Waiting for the Windshield" part two. But that's for the next post.


Blessings on you all.

I Have Some of Those

Blessings on you all.