I am Grateful for the Journey. And Thanks, Dr. G.

I like talking about myself. Sorry if this bores you.

This week, I had my first ever acupuncture session. It was amazing. I felt so good afterwards. I felt like I was doing exactly the right thing for my body. And then my doctor called.

Doctor G. My hematologist. He called me from his cell phone. Not his nurse - she didn't call. Not his receptionist. Not from an office phone. From his cell phone, my hematologist himself called me. No nonsense-like he told me my platelet count is down.

I know what that means. It means do something quick or end up in the hospital as a Fall Risk. Which means I'm not supposed to walk from my bed to the bathroom without accompaniment. Because if I fall, I could hemorrhage. Death could ensue. Or a big mess. Either way, no fun.

I may have mentioned in the past that I have an autoimmune condition. ITP. Idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura. Kind of rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it? It is also known as Immune thrombocytopenic purpura. I like Idiopathic best. It suggests how little doctors know about this condition.  One thing that is a given, it dramatically decreases one's platelet count thus increasing one's risk of internal hemorrhage or bleeding out. Neither of which sounds particularly attractive to me.

Auto immune conditions are complicated. Their symptoms can be triggered by stress or by another illness. Such as a bad cold. If you leave a trace of your snotty nose on a countertop and I am unfortunate enough to make contact with this snot and develop a full-fledged cold, I will undoubtedly experience a drop in my platelet count. So I try really hard not to get sick.

Unfortunately for me, I have been experiencing a severe eczema attack (also an auto immune condition) for the past several months. My body is so tired of working to get rid of the eczema that my platelet count has dropped. And this is the big fat double whammy thank-you very much.

Doctor G is great. I had an annual check-up with him this week and he saw the rash on my hand and on my chest and was greatly concerned. He ordered blood work. He contacted me immediately upon getting the results. He says to me, "you're not gonna like this," because he knows me well. "You're not gonna like this, but I'm gonna put you on steroids. 60 mg. It should clear up the rash and jump start your platelet count. We'll check your blood in a week. But till then, don't climb any ladders or swing from any chandeliers." I said, "Well there goes my fun this weekend." "Yeah, I figured," he says.

Dr. G is going to retire next year on April Fool's Day. That's the kind of doctor he is. He dresses up on Halloween in a hospital gown with a big fake ass poking out the back. He plays banjo. Never misses Merlefest. When I asked him if he celebrated St. Patrick's Day, he said, "Oh yeah. Any ethnic group that likes to party, I celebrate."

So, I'm going to miss Dr. G. Because he is smart, funny, compassionate...all the things a good caregiver should be. But for now, I'm glad I'm still in his care.

My acupuncturist says it would be best to wait till after I stop taking steroids to have another treatment. I respect that. Eastern and Western medicine often don't blend well. And my whole ITP career has been one of walking a tightrope between treatment options and self care. It's been quite the journey. And while in the past I hated my body for it, today, I actually love my body for it. Because through the ITP experience I have learned so many important lessons about loving myself no matter what and respecting my body and its process. No matter what.

I like talking about myself. A lot. But I do so in the hope that it might brighten someone's day somehow. That I might somehow convey a tiny bit of meaning. That I might offer solidarity to another person experiencing bizarre bodily trials.

I am grateful for the journey. And thanks, Dr. G.

Dear Lorenzo

Dear Lorenzo,

I received the gift you sent. Thank-you. And I finally sorted out its meaning. It took me all day to connect the dots. But I finally got it. I am so grateful!

Ever since the day that I saw you at the Cancer Center, my thoughts have been with you. I've been wondering about the state of your body and wondering how you were coping with it. I've been sending you love daily. I'm sure it has been a difficult journey. And now that it is over, I can hear your laughter.

Prior to receiving your gift, I had Christmas with my family. I drove to my mom and dad's house on Christmas Eve, listening to my friend's radio show on the way. You would love my friend. Dr. Roots, we call him. He plays old school rhythm and blues the first hour of his show and reggae the second. Dr. Roots is a holy man. He truly emits Love and Light. Just like you. During a voice break, he wished his listeners a blessed Christ mass and he told us to, "Make a joyful noise!"

Something inside of me clicked into an awareness of a new level of responsibility. I have to step it up in my life. It is not enough to practice gratitude, to feel the grace of abundance. I must celebrate this gratitude by making "a joyful noise." I must speak my gratitude, sing it, yell it, clang it, bang it, ring it, strum it, clap it, tap it. I must sound off: "Present!"

I was so overcome by the Love issuing forth from the radio on Christmas Eve that I called Dr. Roots to thank him. In his gracious manner he told me that he can only give what others reflect back to him. So he thanked me for receiving and reflecting the Light.

I slept under the Christmas tree at my parent's house. The 50 Christmases of my life swirled in my mind as I watched the twinkling lights reflect off the ceiling and walls. They all - even those that occurred during the most turbulent of times - contain the commonality of gratitude, peace and supreme Love. No matter what, I always seem to be able to find these qualities.

Christmas morning was charming. My mother and I exchanged gifts before anyone else awoke. My sister cooked breakfast for my mother and me. My father had a terrible chest cold and sequestered himself off from the rest of us. I crept in to see him when I knew he was awake and gave him my love. I took Toby the dog for a walk through the woods. We came back covered with beggar's lice.

The day progressed. My great aunt arrived with her date. She is a youthful 86 and is another Being of Light. I am certain the two of you will meet one day. My brother, my nephew, my other sister and my brother-in-law arrived and we sat down to our Christmas feast. Afterwards, we exchanged gifts: material goods that symbolize our love for each other. My gift to everyone was the random chaos of a dirty Santa game. I had procured lots of items for cheap or free from various sources, wrapped them in Christmas packaging and placed them in a pile. Each member of my family proceeded to pick from the pile or take the gift of someone else that had already been opened.

The results were unexpected. A temporary fight broke out between my two sisters over an article of clothing. My nephew sulked over receiving no toys. My brother ended up with the toy-like gifts that I had hoped my nephew would somehow receive - as well as a relatively tacky beach shirt, which seemed to make him exceedingly happy. This is the same brother with whom I have a long and tumultuous history. I think I completely unintentionally managed to make him the happiest of anyone.

I can hear you laughing as I write this.

After the gift-giving extravaganza, people began to leave. My father joined me and my sisters in the living room and all three of them proceeded to fall asleep. It was at this point that I began to feel the inexplicable heaviness setting in. I arose and began to gather all my things. Before I left, I showed my father a couple of videos of arias from Rigoletto sung by Renato Bruson. I am overcome with emotion when I see these videos. And I attributed my approaching sorrow to having watched them.

I left my parent's house and drove back to Greensboro. On the way, I called my daughter to see how her Christmas had been. We chatted briefly and upon hanging up I felt the sorrow becoming more pronounced. I miss her. And my son. He lives in New York now as well. I don't think you met him. He's an impressive entity. At any rate, I attributed the welling sorrow to the fact that I missed seeing my children on Christmas.

Once home, my boyfriend came over. We laid in bed together reading. I turned to him at one point and said, "I don't know why I feel so sad." He asked me if anything had happened. "No," I said. "There is no reason for me to be sad. It was a good day. Nothing bad happened." He held me as tears rolled down my cheek. I breathed deeply and returned to my book. I read until the heaviness set in and pulled me under the waves of consciousness.

And then I received your gift. It took the form of an elaborate dream. I was at a university. I was marginally involved in theater projects as well as discussions on film and film-making. I belonged to a writing group. I felt completely vital. Everything was of quintessential importance in my mind - each passing conversation, each spirited discussion, each performance, every creation. I was in my element. And radiantly happy. A man took an interest in me. And I welcomed his interest happily, not as an indicator of an impending romance but as an indicator of the creative life ahead of me.

I awoke this morning wanting to linger in my dreamland. But I arose and proceeded to check in on my facebook world. It was in this way that I learned you died last night. I was immediately relieved to understand the source of the sadness I had experienced. On some level, I sensed and responded to your passage without knowledge of it. I did not feel the impact of loss upon receiving this news. But I felt more and more confused as the day wore on.

At work, when Pam learned of your death, she said, "Now we can talk to him whenever we want."

Doug reminded me that "we have to stay strong."

Cindy's eyes welled up with tears when she learned.

I found myself becoming irritable at work. I spoke words of veiled anger. I grew weary and depressed.

After work, I spoke with Mekare about your passage. She informed me that it is possible to receive teachings from you during this time if I remain open.

My boyfriend came over to my apartment and I immediately had to lie down. He approached my bed to check on me. Tears slid down my cheek as I told him that you had sent me a dream but I did not understand its meaning. He asked me what the dream was about and as I spoke of the events in it, I realized what you needed to tell me.

To experience awe and wonder is to be in my right station in Life. To be aware of the tiniest, most seemingly insignificant details and marvel at their existence. This and nothing more is my purpose: to exist in joyous wonder.

When this became clear, I saw your beaming face as you exclaimed with exuberance, "You got it!" And then I heard your hearty laugh.

Your generosity of spirit carried me through many troubling times. You gave me so much during your sojourn on earth. And now that you are traveling on your next adventure, I anticipate periodic messages from you. We will continue our journey together, despite the fact that I will no longer see your physical body. I can feel you as strongly as ever.

I love you. Be happy and free. All is as it should be. All is well.

The Mensch

Twisted, knotted stomach-ache tension. Repressed anger. Grief on hold.

This morning I awoke with a very strong feeling that I needed to call out of work. A mounting stress which has become unbearable has pushed me to the point of breakage. I considered all the ways in which stress disrupts the body's balance. I considered the delicate state my body is in on any given day due to cancer recovery and ongoing fights with an auto-immune condition no one seems to know anything about.

But today is Thursday - a typically busy day due to Planet Care's campaign to fight childhood obesity. From 4:00 to 8:00 p.m. children eat for free. And many people take advantage of this opportunity to score free vittles. I considered calling out for the first four hours of my shift and working the second four hours during peak traffic. But a bizarre sense of obligation often overrides my inner knowing. I proceeded to work despite my tenuous mental health.

I cried on my way to work. I tried calling my boyfriend for moral support, but my phone's service had been suspended due to non payment. I sighed as I realized that this was yet another manifestation of my inability to function on a material world level.

I proceeded to work, sniffling, thinking about how I would call my mobile phone service during my lunch break to make a payment and have service restored. This thought distracted me from the dread thoughts: the imagined conflicts and customer traffic jams I would need to face during the day, the inevitable sighting of and potential interaction with The Bully, the confinement to a small cubby in which I must stand for eight hours. I managed to allow the logistical planning of telephone restoration to supercede all fear and trembling, at least long enough to get me to work.

What is this intangible sorrow?

I arrived at Planet Care and felt very much like I was walking on shaky ground. I recognized there was no way to combat the overwhelming emotion I felt. I must simply allow it to exist and try to get through the day to the best of my ability.

Evelyn's death? I was not that close to her. But it seems like such a tragic undefinable loss. The anniversary of Hurricane Katrina and a collective sorrow re-lived? The flooding in Pakistan creating ripples of loss and tragedy? My inability to heed my body's inner knowing? My blind allegiance to the timeclock?

I found myself less tolerant of customers on their cell phones who refused to make eye contact or verbally acknowledge the person who is selling them their goods.

I collapsed with relief and regained a sense of hope and well-being when a Friend happened through my line.

I daydreamed about all the possible ways I could make money in this world so that I could leave Planet Care and all the stress it creates in my universe.

The customers piled up. Lines stretched out to the drink cooler and beyond. Where are the other cashiers? I decided to work at a deliberate pace, to avoid feeling pressured to speed up, to allow the line to lengthen if it must.

An elderly woman began to unload her cart onto the conveyor belt as I finished a transaction with another customer. When I shifted my attention from the completed transaction to the transaction-in-waiting, I was surprised to see not an elderly woman, but a man - a regular - with a bag of nuts. He made some comment to the elderly woman indicating he had a hot cup of coffee waiting. A bag of nuts and a hot cup of coffee compelled this man to ask this elderly woman - with breathing tubes in her nose and portable oxygen and cane - to allow him in front of her.

He acted as if this was ok. I decided to let it go.

I maintained composure despite challenges which come in the form of products that won't ring up, products that ring up at prices other than those indicated on their signs, the constantly ringing phone which cashiers are expected to answer. I continued being helpful and polite though not exceedingly enthusiastic about it.

The Thursday night mayhem began as parents brought in their children, tired and hungry from a day at school, dance classes, tai kwon do, piano lessons. With the rise in anxiousness to get food and eat food comes a general impatience.

I was ringing out a woman when another woman approached the conveyor belt from my right. Typically, traffic moves from my right to my left. Sometimes people come in "backwards" - that is to say from my left, which is fine as long as I am not helping another customer to my right.

The woman to my right began to unload her groceries onto the conveyor belt. A man approached from my left, passed the woman I was currently serving and got in front of the woman unloading her groceries. The words escaped my mouth before I stopped to consider the possible ramifications for uttering them:

"Did you just break in front of this lady?"

The man puffed up and said, "Well I don't know if you could call it breaking in front of her! She was coming from that direction, I was coming from this direction. I got here first."

Yeah, motherfucker, you got here first because you jumped in front of the other lady.

Fortunately for me, the cashier behind me beckoned the man to her lane. There were no customers competing for service there. He immediately jumped at this opportunity. "This works out better for me!" he said.

The woman whose transaction I was finishing said, "He was here first." I became confused. Her words did not match my experience of the moment. After she left, I spoke to the woman - who I perceived had been wronged. I told her that I had witnessed two men breaking in front of women today and it pissed me off. "They think they run the world! They think they're always right!" It was an overly dramatic response to some inner turmoil I could not yet define.

This woman simply nodded wearily, looked at me in solidarity and said, "Thank-you for being a mensch."

"A what?" I asked.

"Mensch is Hebrew for Human Being. It's a good thing."

I thanked her for this high compliment. I told her that was the best thing anybody could say to me.

A mensch.

This word energized me. There was an hour and a half left in my shift. I felt like I could last until that time. I felt like I had something positive to hold onto.

The word "mensch." Given to me by a mensch. A sign of Humanity in a world where Humanity seems harder and harder to detect.

Joe

B.B. Russell shot himself in the heart. His wife found him in the back yard before he'd fully died. Joe received a call and went straight over. He arrived to a circus of emergency vehicles, police officers and Laurie standing in the middle of it, in shock.

Another of Joe's friends slit his wrists this week. He was found lying in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor. He survived his attempt to end his suffering. If you can call that survival.

Joe's Dad is in the hospital. Whatever he's got, it's serious. Joe's family is waiting. Waiting for test results. Waiting for a diagnosis. Waiting for a prognosis. Waiting for some certainty.

Certainty never comes.

In the midst all this, Joe was abandoned by the woman he loves.

Joe is my friend. I love him beyond measure. He writes songs that pierce your heart and sings like it's his last day on earth.

Joe and I have a lot in common. We constantly fuck up. And then we spend a lot of time and money trying to recover from our bad choices and depression-induced avoidance of material world obligations. We are both too sensitive for our own good. We perpetually try to make sense of senseless matter and drive ourselves mad doing so.

The first night Joe and I hung out together was the sort of all-night excursion that takes on epic proportions. I worked at The Garage back then and usually wrapped up my evening around 4 a.m. Joe tended bar across the street at a joint that happened to have a pretty nice coffee machine. I would often stop in to grab a cup of coffee to help see me home. One night, Joe needed a ride home and so I offered my services.

That night I learned that something as simple as a trip from point A to point B turns into a labyrinthine adventure with Joe. We wound our way through the countryside surrounding Walkertown, dropping by this place, checking on that, talking til dawn.

A silvery mist rose in the predawn light as I navigated curvy country roads. The asphalt's mundane aspect took on a mystical sheen. And suddenly, we came upon a magnificent hawk standing motionless in the middle of the road. I slowed my car nearly to a halt and inched ever closer to this creature. It stayed fixed atop its fresh kill - a large rodent. I finally stopped my car completely. Joe and I stared in silence at this tremendous bird, standing so close we could see its eyes, its talons, the texture of its feathers.

Joe finally broke the silence.

"It's a hawk!"

I corrected him. "It's a magical hawk!"

Joe agreed. "It is a magical hawk! I wonder if it'll let me pet it!"

"I don't know, Joe. He might think you're after his food."

"I want to touch him!"

Joe reached for the door handle. And as soon as he did, the hawk flew away, carrying his kill in his talons. Joe and I sat in stupid silence for several minutes. There. In the middle of the road. At the break of day. We had just seen a magical hawk.

I reminded Joe of this story tonight as I tried to comfort him. I told him that in the Native American tradition, Hawk carries our messages to Great Spirit and Great Spirit's messages to us.

Joe feels abandoned by God. I told Joe that he doesn't have to believe in God. But the magical Hawk is real. He can hear Joe. And he can carry his messages on his wings as he soars through the sky.

I don't know how to help my friends when they've reached their limit. I know how it feels to reach that point. And still, I don't know how to help others once they've reached it. All I know to do is hold them, either in my arms or in my heart. Just hold them.