Here We Go

September 3, 2024

Tomorrow’s the day: total right mastectomy at 1:30 pm. The next time I blog will be by dictation, hopefully within the next two weeks. I have no idea how soon the urge to write will hit me.

But today was filled with “last times.”  I’ll follow the day’s chronology.

I got in to work at my church at 11:30 am, following a home visit from Elder Care to initiate their weekly housekeeping service, which is funded by a grant. The two and a half hours I spent in the office today were the last ones for a while: I’ll be out of the office for a month or so for recovery from surgery and for an undetermined start and end date once my chemotherapy schedule is determined.

From there I went to pick up Tango, my cat, from the vet (where she boarded for the weekend and got her vaccinations up to date) to take to ARF (Animal Rescue Foundation). That was hard, to say the least. I’m glad that ARF is such a wonderful place. Tango gets her own room for a few days to acclimate before moving into the common space for cats. The side facing into the common space is clear glass; on the other side is a generous window facing out to a lawn with wooded area. The cat tree by the window gives her a clear view outside. Water, food, cat bed, and kitty litter box are all provided. The staff and volunteers clearly love cats, so she will get good attention. I pet her for at least ten minutes, telling her I was sorry to be letting her go. But by the time I left ARF, I was ready to start coughing from all the fur and cat smell.

After returning my neighbor’s cat carrier, it was time to go see the grandkids one last time before surgery. Because there are five of them, all rambunctious and totally in love with me, I will not be seeing them in person until I am well-healed from surgery. I sang songs to Benjamin a few times. What good is a grandma visit without “Wheels on the Bus” and “Patty Cake”? Eleven-year-old Joelle showed me educational videos on the iPad—one on Abraham Lincoln and the other on the Harvey homes of the 1850s (the original motels and restaurants every 100 miles on a westward bound train route). At one point, I had both Josiah (9) and Ava (6) cuddled up with me on the rocker recliner. Two-and-a-half-year-old Elijah proudly carried around one of the construction paper stars that Josiah brought home from school today, and when I gave him one of my business cards, he was over the moon with happiness.

Dana and Shawn prayed for me before I left. I feel both loved and bereft, thinking of the next weeks without my Tuesday and Friday visits. We will do Facetime, and Dana will visit me on the weekends when Shawn is home to care for the troop while she gets a little break.

A little while ago, Joseph and I went over two simple but very important tasks he will do each morning before leaving for college or work: filling big glasses of water from the pitcher water purifier to put in the refrigerator and making a couple glasses of the iced coffee I love. Sounds a little over the top? This falls under the category of not using my right arm and minimizing stretching and lifting of my left arm.

While being away from my part-time pastoring, giving away my cat, and not seeing my grandkids twice a week like I’m used to (yes, I know I’m spoiled) are what I’m grieving right now, I also have the sense that Jesus is preparing some sort of new beginning for me. My guess is that it involves getting closer to him. What I know is that I can trust Jesus for the present and for whatever the future will hold. That’s enough for me.