Massage Received

In addition to getting some work stuff in line just in case I'm unable to make it Sunday, I've had a good day of prep work. Of course there's the hospital logistics and medical records side of things but there's also the personal readiness.

I got a massage by a specialist who treats Lymphedemia, one of the side effects of having lymph nodes removed. A friend of mine suffers from this side-effect, so it seemed prudent to try to prevent rather than treat. I got the Easter banners set up so that my clergy friend can come and paint them in my absence. (I'll really miss my painting lesson.) And I grabbed a speciality coffee on the way to Bliss Park. I've always wondered why, when you order a Caramel Lite (the fewer calorie version) drink they ask you, "Would you like whipped cream on that?" It's always seemed an odd question--like what's the point of ordering a low-calorie drink if you add whipped cream? But now I know that question is for pre-surgery days when you feel the need to treat yourself to something nice. So when they ask about whipped cream, you ignore the irony and incongruity of the request and say, "YES!"

Latte in hand, I visited a park I'd never seen before, looking for adventure. I felt the fuzzy new buds on the Japanese magnolia trees, contemplated the symmetrical pear shape of the Bradford Pear tree, watched mothers with children, made my own way through the forest (a practice forbidden at national parks where signs warn, "Stay on trails," but apparently isn't an issue for heavily trampled urban parks), crossed a creek on a log that was too narrow to cross going forward so I side-stepped across it, and watched a couple of squirrels scurry around. I was getting back in my car to return to the world when something said, "Listen some more."

So I headed back into the park, found a bench, watched five robins search for their evening meal, noticed several Dark-eyed Juncos play in the lengthening shadows amd observed crows big enough to take out a small dog. The traffic sounds at my back disappeared and the rhythms of nature took over. Mother Theresa said that on especially busy days she would spend two hours in prayer rather than one. Busy people cannot continue long-term at a brisk pace without periods of deep listening.

This is the season leaning toward re-birth. Easter. The wisdom of the natural cycles as well as the liturgical calendar seems very real with its periods of waiting, returning, new life--the spirited passion of Pentecost and the low period of "ordinary time." Life--in cycles--in community--listening.

There is a community of folks affected by breast cancer: survivors, caretakers, widowers. You hear the stories quickly when you announce your diagnosis. The woman in Minnesota at the speciality cancer center who went there for a second opinion after seeing specialists in Boston because while they thought they got it all the first time, it has re-occurred within five years. The stage-four survivor 10-years out from her illness. The man whose wife died and has formed a support group for caregivers. The California surfer who had a double radical mascetomy and chose instead of breast reconstruction (which might have thrown her balance off), a coloful, water scene tatoo across her chest complete with sea turtle and a wave. It seems everyone knows someone who has been affected and most can be connected within a day through email. Bill Moyers, in Healing and the Mind, says a support group increases your chances of survival.

I'm listening.