Hunkered down until . . .

That's some of what I have been - hunkered down, until yesterday. Feeling in the dark and wanting info from the kidney cancer specialist, I called to make an appt instead of just waiting some more. His office got me in same day, yesterday. He was quite up to speed and called the pathology office at UofA while I was in his office to get the latest. Seems that pathologists need actual tissue sample rather than the already stained and analyzed slides of someone else' work. Mayo Clinic had showed him 3 slides of their stains; we want the rocket science pathologist to do his own stains and analysis work. Results Friday or Monday.

A little bit of good news about treating the more difficult of the two likely types of cells the experts are considering as the culprit: the latest chemical to be tried is showing a 10 - 20% remission rate, and a much greater percentage of stopping growth of new cancer cells. I could give you all the technical jargon, but get it wrong, so I just gave you the English version.

Driving home was tough; tears rolled for the first time in 10 days or so. The sadness of loss and fear of the unknown washed over me like a big ocean wave. No tsunami, just washing crap off the deck. The crap seems to have been denial, lethargy, stuffing and wanting to blame someone (like the doctor). I did a little praying while driving and got the thought, "Ride my bike!" Hadn't pedaled yet this year.

Rode through the neighborhoods so familiar from past rides, but aimlessly until I remembered the little courtyard by the music building at ASU. It has a fountain. It's almost an automatic meditation, hidden away place. That's where I went and sat for 15 - 20 minutes, listening to god's little gift of built in meditation, my breathing. Slow, slow, deep deep, swelling my belly first then my chest. Long, slow, easy, breathing in God with healthy healing oxygen and exhaling cancer, swirling a blue (this time) healing light around my torso, head and then whole self.

I don't do meditation perfectly, but this time took me to that place of serenity and peace. It lasted half way back home, and I will accept that short term gift. I have not been able to get to that meditative state in months. Came home and planted flowers - something I enjoy but have done too little of this year. This morning they already are opening to the sun giving me a little miracle to watch.

"There are only two ways to live your life: one as though nothing is a miracle; the other is as though everything is a miracle." So said Albert Einstein. I am a miracle. You are a miracle. And so is "Whuppin'" this cancer. Please help me.
Bill