Brief Visit to England

It’s been over a year since I last blogged. It had to do with my crazy job. I was overwhelmed. I remain overwhelmed at the job but my energy is better. I flew in last night, arriving home about 2:30 am. No jet lag. I rode my bicycle around today, cleaned house, felt marvelous.

I just had a vacation thrust upon me. I went to Merry Olde for about five days to visit Carol, who had some health issues. I ran to the rescue while her husband went off on a trip. She was originally slated to go, but simply could not face it due to exhaustion, a state with which I’m all too familiar. He’ll be gone until the 17th, so I wanted to find someone to fill in between the 10th and the 17th so she wouldn’t be alone.

I did what I could while I was there. Carol insisted on a soul retrieval so I flexed my long disused shaman muscles and did one; it seemed to help. She sort of leaped to her feet and seemed a lot more like her old self again.

My friend Dawn lives not terribly far from her, about an hour away by car. Dawn is intrepid. She’s American, yet braves insane British drivers and tiny twisty roads. She and Carol hit it off as I had hoped. She came right over and she and Carol hit it off. Carol wanted to go to Castelrigg, up in the Lake District, so we did a quick trip up there on an absolutely spectacular October day. It was glorious.

Now I’m back home. Dawn will take over my place for the coming week. I’m getting used to being back here. I can’t believe I’ll be back at work on Monday as if nothing ever happened.

Working to get health care is killing me

I haven’t been writing lately due to sheer exhaustion. Working 45+ hours per week is not agreeing with me. I love the job but there’s just way too much of it. I haven’t been able to figure out a balance yet. Anyway, I stagger home each weeknight and collapse. My energy is dwindling, not getting better week by week as I expected it would. I spend all of Saturday sleeping or doing quiet things and then usually by Sunday I feel better, at least enough to cook, shop for food, do laundry, clean my room, do some chores, and get ready for the new week. However, I’m not recuperating enough to have a useful Sunday; at least that has been true these past couple of weeks. Sunday came last week and this and I was too tired to do the self care that I need to regenerate. So I live in a messy room, I don't eat well because I can't get the energy to shop and cook the vegan food I need, and I end up scrounging for clean things to wear. I recently invested in a lot of underwear so that I had three weeks supply. That way, I can just use each piece of the other clothing over and over again. It's more ecological that way.

Last Thursday my clients were waiting for me to come into group therapy. They asked me, “Seiza, are you all right?” I brushed it off, but they persisited. “You look so tired. Really, are you okay?” I realized that I wasn’t really okay at all. I’m completely exhausted all of the time. I’m a piece of burnt toast. I promised them I would get more sleep, but the only way I can figure out to do that is to cut out meditation and yoga in the morning so I can sleep in until 6 am instead of getting up at 5 am.

I need to work to get health care. When I was paying COBRA payments after my last job, it cost $1100 per month to cover Howard and me, which was not something we could afford for long. Howard is no longer working for FKB (which didn't provide health care but did provide money sometimes). He’s going back to graduate school to study for a new career in biology. (He just got accepted to PSU after scoring 1530 out of 1600 on the GRE and a letter of recommendation from Al Gore, no less). Anyway, I’m really working so that we can afford health care, and it’s killing me.

I’m losing ground. I don’t have a solution but that is why I haven’t been writing. I’ve been in survival mode. Anyway, I’m supposed to go out tonight to a seder with friends but I may have to give up that as well. I end up giving up everything that is personally important to me these days, socializing, community organizing, meditation, and yoga.

I don’t have any solutions. I’m trolling the usual websites for job listings, hoping to find something part time with benefits. As was pointed out to me, the United States does not have a Health Care System. It has a health care market. That’s not good enough for any of us. I may be one of the currently insured, but I am not healthy as a result.

I'm told it takes about two years to really get one's energy back after chemo, but my energy is plummeting at this point. I'm one year out from chemo and I'm getting worse, not better.

The Front Porch of Heaven

I've been writing bad poetry. It's one of my new skills. I was actually on the radio last night, on KBOO, reading one of my poems:

The Front Porch of Heaven

Long ago, when I was a little girl,
I was told I would never go to heaven,
Having never been baptized.
No, I was one of those heathen Unitarians,
Practically an atheist in the eyes of my playmates,
And I could never enter heaven’s gates. I was told
I could only hang out on the front porch of heaven
And peek through the windows at the delights
Within the walls that kept me out.

Right then and there
I decided to learn to play the banjo.
I hoped that God, being merciful,
Would provide me with a rocking chair.
No doubt there would be other heathens and Unitarians
And assorted unbelievers
On that wide, long porch.
Perhaps some would have guitars, mandolins,
A bass and a fiddle or two.
Surely there would be a drummer in the crowd,
And maybe a sax, trumpet, and trombone,
All the makings of a decent pick-up band.

Now I play a banjo in anticipation of the day
I cross over and find myself on that cosmic front porch.
I plan to have a right good old time
Playing my banjo for the assembled outcasts.
I want to be buried with an inner tube,
A packed lunch, a pump, and my banjo,
Just in case the Egyptians were right
And I have to take it with me to have it there.
When I land on that other shore, I’ll pump up the inner tube
And float down that eternal river
Strumming my banjo,
Until I float right up to the front porch of heaven,

I think of the singing and the songs we’ll play there.
I think of the dancing and joking and good times to be.
I imagine that my fellow heathens and I
Will make a joyous, raucous sound,
Singing and dancing until that front porch shakes the gates
And rattles the windows of heaven
And all the denizens within, will look out.
Feet tapping, hungry to join the party,
They will surge out the gates,
Pile onto the front porch,
And spill onto the front lawn of heaven.

Dancing and singing and playing,
We’ll be whirling with the angels
Far, far into eternity, through the night sky,
Leaping from star to star.
O heavenly choirs, O joyous dance.
O come, all ye of all faiths and non-faiths,
Come join us on the front porch of heaven.

Waiting for the Light to Return

I just spent a much needed Shabbat, a day of rest. I ended up working a full 40 hours last week, despite my best intentions. I hate getting too far behind in work. Also, I got a new client and I wanted to meet with him on Friday, since he arrived on Wednesday and I hadn’t had much of a chance to connect with him. I have a fascinating client load at the moment. Of course, I can’t go into any sort of detail, but I didn’t expect to be dealing with highly educated clients in a facility that was originally set up to serve the indigent. It has been an eye opener for me.

I get to teach a class in criminality there, one which all clients must attend. I decided that with the holidays looming, the curriculum wasn’t strength-based enough, so I decided to work on a two week long project, having each person there complete a ten minute “intention protocol” consisting of attunement statements, affirmations, appreciation, short and long term goals, and a “listening” section for what they receive in guidance after each session using their intention protocol. It’s something that I used to heal from breast cancer. The idea is to create a six page booklet to read to oneself for ten minutes, once in the morning upon waking and once before going to sleep. Many of them saw the video “The Secret” over Thanksgiving so they are familiar with the Law of Attraction this project is based on that.
Some of the men are puzzled by the exercise, especially the young ones, and they wonder what this has to do with criminality. Others of them are taking it to heart and doing their assignments faithfully in class. The truly brave ones share what they have written and it’s extremely wonderful stuff. I’m also giving them “a chakra a day” and again, many are really enjoying the exercise, learning about power centers in the body and how to spiritually increase their power through meditation. And of course, others are not getting it at all. But it has been an interesting exercise. I only spend about five minutes a day on the chakra information, but at the end of it, I’ll do a Qi gong exercise with them.

The intention protocol that I used last year and continue to use even now has evolved. Right now it looks like this:

Attunement:

I attune myself with my highest power, with God.
I attune myself with my high-self committee.
I ask for your love, your guidance, and your protection.
I attune myself with my own inner wisdom and my ability to receive divine guidance.
I attune myself with the wealth and abundance of the universe, with prosperity, friends, love, learning, health compassion, sharing, meaningful work, opportunity and balance.
I attune myself with all the prayers, love, and healing energy sent my way.
I walk with a loving God.
Winds blow, typhoons roar, worlds collide, yet I remain undisturbed.
As I walk into infinity with wisdom I follow the right path.
I am amply provided for on my journey.

Affirmations:

I am wealthy.
I appreciate my wealth and abundance.
I deserve my wealth and abundance.
I have many friends and family members who love and support me.
Money flows to me as I need it in abundant quantities.
I find meaningful and interesting and fun work for which I am well compensated and well appreciated with excellent benefits.
I am beautiful and funny and charming, disarmingly so.
I am healthy, completely free of cancer, and will live a long, happy, and prosperous life.
I have great clarity, coherence, and power.
I take excellent care of myself.
I have a wonderful job that I love, a permanent position with full benefits, a job that found me at just the right time, with wonderful people with which to work for supervisors and colleagues, and great clients.
My mind works perfectly well, my memory is excellent and I can retrieve any information I need. I am creative. I express myself artistically and verbally with great skill and insight.

Short Term Goals:
(These are too quirky and personal to list here)

Long Term Goals:
(These are too quirky and personal to list here)

Appreciation:

I am grateful for:
My two wonderful husbands who take excellent care of me.
My two wonderful sons, who are kind, intelligent, sane, and talented.
I’m grateful to Andrine for the kindnesses that she showed me and the massages she gave me that were so helpful in my in my darkest days of treatment.
I am grateful for my beautiful home and the delightful people who live in it.
I am grateful for my work situation at UCLA when I had cancer, good benefits, medical leave, hospital bills paid for, disability insurance, a job I loved with great people to work with.
I am grateful for the support of my friends and family and Havurah Shalom.
I am grateful for my excellent surgeons, Dr. Pommier and Dr. Hansen.
I am grateful that the cancer was caught early, that I survived chemo and neutropenia, that I’m cancer-free now, healthy and thriving.
I’m grateful that I done with chemo and with surgery!
I’m grateful from my support group, the Mind and Body group, and the Eat to Beat group at Project Quest.
I’m grateful for my own room, for my computer, my camera, and my blog.
I’m grateful for my education, my MSW degree, and my CADC I.
I’m grateful for my intelligence and my courage and my perseverance.
I’m grateful that I had such wonderful parents who gave me great love and guidance.
I’m grateful to Lysanji, Barbara MacDonald, Lori, Andrine, Lusijah, Jo, Carla, Wendy, Andrine, Louise, Susan Hedlund, Paddy, and Kathleen for their help in healing from cancer.
I’m grateful for the return of my energy and my ability to think and write.
I’m grateful for the Write Around Portland workshop and the opportunity to write in community.
I’m so very grateful for my new job and the wonderful people there.
I’m grateful to be able to ride my bicycle.
I’m grateful to be able to do yoga and other forms of exercise.
I’m grateful for a regular meditation practice.

Listening:

I have survived this “healing opportunity.”
I have healed, I am continuing to heal, and I will live a long and happy life.
My job is not about saving the world “out there.”
It’s about saving the world inside, building my core, becoming strong in a new way, in a way I’ve never tried before, in a way I’m learning to imagine. It’s a journey to be
experienced one day at a time, a journey with great rewards and discoveries.
I am strong again, energetic and calm.
I have learned balance, how to attend to my needs for nurturance, how to be aware of my needs, how to ask for help, and how to share to load.

I am calm and energetic.
I radiate competence, love and compassion for myself and others.
I am infused with love and gratitude. I express love and gratitude every day.
I leave behind old patterns that do not serve me. I remember to use my new tools and resources every day.
I exercise every day.
I sing and/or play music every day.
I eat foods that nourish me.
I meditate every day, morning and night.
I take frequent breaks to recharge emotionally, physically, and spiritually,
I give from ever renewing resources that I tap into easily.
I tap into the universal fountain of love and compassion.
I tap into the boundless source of energy.
Prayers:

May I be at peace.
May my heart remain open.
May I know my true nature.
May I be healed.
May I be a source of healing for others.
May I dwell in the breath of God.

-St. Theresa of Avila


Because I am at peace, my heart is open.
Because my heart is open, my true nature is revealed.
Because I know my true nature, I am healing.
Because I am healing, I am a source of healing for others.
And as ever and always, I dwell in the breath of God.

Thank you for bringing me to peace.
Thank you for opening my heart.
Thank you for revealing to me my true nature.
Thank you for healing me.
Thank you for allowing me to be a source of healing for others.
For as ever and always, I dwell in the breath of God.




God has no body on earth but ours
No hands but ours, no feet but ours.
Ours are the eyes with which he is to look out with compassion to the world.
Ours are the feet with which he is to go about doing good.
Ours are the hands with which he is to bless our fellow beings now.

-St. Theresa of Avila

I added the prayer section at the end for myself. It's a bit odd that St. Theresa's prayers are the ones that carried me through the hardest times, because I'm Jewish. It's not like the Jewish liturgy is lacking in powerful prayers. But it was the first prayer listed here that really spoke to me and I used it for meditation purposes and altered as I showed above.

Tales of the Grinch

It’s been a hell of a rough ride lately. I had surgery on the fourth of December, early in the morning. It went well enough, and I went home in the afternoon. However, once I stepped out of the car I immediately vomited, and was projectile vomiting through the afternoon. Howard, God bless him, was charged with the task of cleaning up after me, stumping around with his broken foot in a boot, mop and bucket in hand. If I ever doubted his love for me (and actually I haven’t) I now can have none. When we got married for better or worse, I guess this was on the “worse” list that he signed up for. He cleaned up after me graciously and without complaint. In the evening I finally remembered I had some anti-nausea medication left over from chemo so I took some and my life immediately improved. So did Howard’s.

I took the week off from work and seemed to be mending well. Surgery was on a Tuesday and by Thursday I felt well enough to attend the company party, which was held in a very elegant hotel with lovely food and a great swing band. David was my date (invited for his many sterling qualities, such as his ability to find his way around without my direction) so I even managed to dance. I felt great and wondered why that surgeon had insisted that I not return to work until the following Tuesday.

The next day I found out. I was exhausted. It was back to recovery mode, a good day followed by a bad day. I was down for the count. I laid low that day and the next. On Saturday I went to my weaving class at Quest and that was fun, but tiring. The next day we had a big party because Mark Ettinger came and gave a house concert. It was a delightful evening and it was so fun to see him again and hear his new songs. I stayed up late (for me). The next day, well, I was tired, but better than I had been.

That was Monday and I went to see the surgeon. The top half of me was looking pretty good, but the site on my thigh where the skin graft was taken from looked sort of gruesome. The surgeon had taken a large smile shaped chunk of skin about three inches long from my upper inner theigh. Instead of sewing it back together, she sort of super-glued it. However, I have an allergy to adhesives, so my body rejected the glue and the wound was starting to gape open. She said that it wasn’t a huge problem, but if it got much worse, I should come see her.

I went back to work on Tuesday and had a great day. It was wonderful to be back. I was a little disoriented having missed a whole week and of course the paperwork had piled up, but life was okay. I taught my class, I saw clients and I felt great. I took the Max home and walked from the station to our house because the bus didn't come fast enough and I felt some urgency since I had agreed to drive my housemate to OHSU to see his doctor because he was in a health crisis. I got home with no time to spare so I skipped dinner and drove him there. In getting out of the car at OHSU, I turned on the seat and I felt my wound open even more. We spent some time waiting, then seeing the doctor and finally it was time to go home. Then the same thing happened when I got out fo the car after driving him home: I opened up the leg wound even more when I got out of the car. It was late, about 9 pm when I hobbled in and I still hadn’t had dinner. David had made some soup so I had a bowl even though I hate to eat late. Then I went to bed, but it was a lot later than I had intended.

I woke up Tuesday at 5 am and started the next day. That day was okay, too, but I was moving a little slower. By Wednesday morning however, I realized that I was in bad shape. I went to the doctor’s office, intending to stay there until I could see someone, but they made an appointment for 11 so I decided to go to work in the interim. I went to a meeting and then back to OHSU to see my surgeon’s colleague. The nurse practioner came in first, took some information, and then asked to see the wound. Her eyes got big and then she said that she thought the surgeon should see this. I heard her out in the hall with him. I couldn’t exactly make out their words, but she sounded a little alarmed. The surgeon and the nurse practioner entered the room presently. He took a look and said, yes, these things happen sometimes but that the body can heal it from the inside out. I expressed my concern that it was just getting huger and huger and deeper and deeper. It looked like an enormous crater in my leg. And it hurt. He said well, no, it didn’t hurt him at all. What a smartass. I told him that he wasn’t the one I was worried about. He advised me to do a wet-to-dry bandage on it. I could clean it with soap and water and run water directly on it, then put wet guaze on it with dry gauze over it and tape in on, twice a day. The Nurse practioner showed me how to do this, gave me some bandaging supplies, and off I went, back to work.

The next day I was even more exhausted but I soldiered through. However, by Friday I was completely out of it. I found that I couldn’t even write a simple note. I didn't have the ability to write full sentences anymore. I had supervision and my clinical supervisor took one look at me and wondered why I had bothered to show up. I was so far gone. The crater in my leg wasn’t healing, I hadn’t slept well for a long time. I ended up staying late at work because I couldn’t figure out how to go home. I got stuck in traffic on the way home and almost had a meltdown, but decided that would be too time-consuming. I made it through, battled my way to Fremont, and picked up groceries for dinner.

I got home at 7 pm and found my dear friend Deborah, her daughter and her daughter’s two little girls had been waiting for me since 3 pm but I hadn’t had time to pick up messages so I hadn't realized they had gotten in so early. I got a hasty Shabbat dinner on the table by 7:30. We had eight at the table for dinner. I’m pretty good at crude but effective meal preparation and I was in fine form even in the midst of overwhelming exhaustion. I was too tired to move after dinner and Deborah cheerfully cleaned up the kitchen.

She was leaving for Florida early in the morning to take care of her mom who had just had surgery for sinus cancer. Deborah had driven up from southern Oregon and her daughter Beth had driven down from Port Townsend to my house so that Deborah could give Beth Christmas presents to take home. Deborah had spent lots of money getting together toys, clothes, and bedding for all them because Beth doesn't have a lot of money. I didn’t realize that all of the stuff had been put in Beth’s car. Had I been more on top of it I could have told them not to leave anything outside in a car because it will be broken into, probably by one of my future clients. Well, in fact it was broken into, all the Christmas presents stolen, the side window smashed, the speakers ripped out, all before midnight. Deborah woke me up in tears. It was such a disaster. I had only slept a couple of hours and there was no sleeping after that. I stayed awake until it was time to drive her to the airport at 5 am.

I am amazed at the resilience of human beings. All her hard work for nought, Christmas ruined for her family, the car window smashed, the speakers ripped out, Deborah rallied and was calm and gracious, apologizing to me, of all things, for waking me up and “imposing” on me. I felt so awful that I hadn’t thought this out and warned her about car prowlers in this neighborhood. That’s the price of exhaustion. The brain just doesn’t make the connections it should and my dear friend and her family suffered for it. By the time I let her off at the airport, she was smiling and upbeat again. She gathered her suitcases and went into the terminal and I went home again and got a couple more hours of sleep before I woke up again to make breakfast for Beth and the girls and look for someone to repair the smashed window. David came down to help with that task and we soon found someone to come to the house to fix the car. It turned out that Beth had no insurance at all so we insisted that she drive Deborah’s car to Port Townsend and leave hers here until insurance could be arranged. Otherwise, if she got in a wreck it would have had huge repercussions. There are still some logistics to work out to get her vehicle home. I called William (Deborah’s husband) and he is willing to handle that end of things.

So, as we keep telling ourselves, it was only stuff, no one was hurt, and we still have many blessings to share this season, even if the little girls won’t have their new dolls, warm clothes, and Beth won’t get her new bedding. The truly valuable items, the golf clubs that were passed down from Deborah’s mom, were ignored by the thieves, and a couple of presents were dropped in the street and were retrieved so all isn’t a total loss. There was really nothing among their ill-gotten gains that had much value to the thieves except, perhaps, the stereo speakers and that may garner them as much as a couple of hours of intoxication.

I spent the day alternately on the couch and in my bed, really too tired to move. It reminded me a lot of the old chemo days. David was ill with a cold so we were in parallel stupors, moving through the day. He was tired but was able to help me out, water plants, carry the Ancient Beast out to pee, and, God bless him, make dinner for us both. We ate it in front of the television, something we never do, and watched the George C. Scott version of a Christmas Carol, which turned out to be the absolute best version that I have ever seen. It’s quite a refutation of George Bush’s version of America, his words deliniating the conservative Republican philosophy. The writing, straight from Dicken’s book, is astonishingly powerful when handled by the talents of such a great actor. It was a nice way to end a day that started so inauspiciously with such a thoughtless and mean-spirited act.

Contentment

My heavens, it’s been nearly a month since I wrote. That’s what working will do to one. It turns out that I love my job. It’s been a little stressful, of course, because there is so much to learn. It’s been a while since I’ve worked in treatment and I have to get used to the way that they do it at DePaul. But the people are great; I love the team that I work with. I’m enjoying the clients as well.

I’ve been riding my bicycle to work every day, but I’m reconsidering that. I come home so exhausted that I can barely move. Last week I had a doctor’s appointment so I had to drive to work so I could go to the appointment in the middle of the day. Despite the frustrations of driving and having to park downtown, I felt a lot more energetic when I got home. And today the weather was so awful (we’re in the midst of a huge wind and rain storm) that I took the bus to work and back. I feel pretty lively. I believe I’ve been pushing myself too hard and I’m going to have to not ride for a while.

Now that I think of it, that would be happening anyway. I’m going in for my final surgery tomorrow. This will be the icing on the cake, the construction of the nipple. I’m hoping that the anesthetic won’t affect me horribly as it has at times in the past. I hope to get Dr. Aziz, who was the anesthesiologist last time. He did a wonderful job and I felt fine within days instead of months. I have only one week off, so I hope I can clear the anesthetic out of my body quickly this time. I’ll have the skin for the nipple reconstruction taken from my inner thigh, so that might slow me down a bit as well, especially because I have to climb a lot of stairs at work. Still, I should be able manage.

In general, I feel a sublime contentment. There’s something about having suitable and engaging work that is incredibly uplifting. I sent out messages to the universe to attract this job to me and here it is. It’s what I asked for: “I find meaningful, interesting, and fun work for which I am well compensated and well appreciated with excellent benefits, a job that will find me at just the right time with wonderful people to work with for subervisors and colleagues.” I meditated upon that several times a week and lo, it came to pass.

I was struck today how last year at this time I was in the hospital with neutropenia, near death. This year I feel very healthy. I feel like I’ve been through hell and back and lived to tell the tale. I believe I’ve learned a lot along the way. I wouldn’t trade experience for anything, although it was really difficult to go through and probably aged me several years. Indeed, I’ve become a crone, a little old lady. I kind of like it. I’m more fragile physically than I used to be, but I’m certainly strong enough to do what I want to do. I need to be respectful of my energy and not take on too much. I have a rule: only one evening meeting a week at most. So far I’m sticking to it. I get to bed a 9 pm every night, lights out by 9:30 so I can wake up early to meditate and do yoga. It’s a good life.

Returning to Real Life

Deborah pointed out that I haven’t posted in weeks and that all that is really required is a paragraph. I got the job that I wrote about in the last posting. I went and taught a class there and had a great time doing it. There were 53 men in the class, so it was a much larger class than I had anticipated. However, I am enough of a ham to enjoy getting up in front of a bunch of people, especially since I was armed with a good curriculum. It was a lively session with lots of participation from the men. I got lots of good feedback afterwards.

I also sat in on a process group. It sort of ran itself. It was a small group, only four men, but I was impressed with the two that had been in treatment the longest. They obviously had learned a lot from the program. I was grateful to have had some grounding in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy since that is the basis of the program there.

Lots of people, staff and residents alike, said that they hoped that I would take the job. Once I got the formal offer, I took a day or two to really think it over, but the more that I thought it through, the more I realized that this was the right job for me. I called them last Thursday and let them know I’d take the job. The HR person said that what I needed to do next was to take a drug test in the next 24 hours. Piece of cake, I thought.

That afternoon I went in for a routine mammogram, only these days no mammogram is routine for me. After the first mammogram, they brought me back into the room for another series of mammograms, and then back again for more and it looked like the news wasn’t good. I’m not a radiologist, but even I could see that there was a problem on the mammogram. The radiologist wanted to do an ultrasound, but it was the end of the day and everyone was in the process of leaving, so she asked me to make an appointment for the next day. I went to the front desk and asked for an appointment but they had shut down their computers for the day. The receptionist gave me a number for “the scheduler” which I called. The scheduler said that the next appointment would be for the 13th of November, or 12 days hence. I was not happy at the prospect of waiting 12 days in fear of what might be another tumor percolating in my remaining breast. I put down the phone, went to the receptionist’s desk and in a steely voice said, “This is not acceptable. I need to be seen tomorrow. Please find a way to fit me in.” I probably looked dangerous, as if I were ready to dismantle the reception desk, because one of the doctors came out and said he would personally do the ultrasound and asked me when I could make it. I said first thing in the morning.

I decided not to fret all night and actually had a decent night’s sleep. I printed out the form for the drug test before I went to bed so that I could take it on my way back from the hospital. The ultrasound went well. The suspicious area turned out to be a cyst, which is a good thing, or at least nothing to worry about. They gave me a small glass of orange juice when I was done. I got in my car and drove over to get the UA for the drug test. However, I didn’t have the form with me for some reason, so I drove home. And I needed to take my vitamins since it was getting late. I had to get to a class, so I ran to the drug test place with a new form, peed in a cup and then ran to my class.

Monday I got a call that my drug test was invalid because it was too dilute. I had failed the drug test. It was pretty ridiculous, me, failing a drug test.

I had to go in for a new one in the next 24 hours. If this one was too dilute as well I wouldn’t get the job. Jeez Loueez. I spent the rest of the day not eating or drinking. By the time I had the next test, my pee was opaque.
It gave me a little more compassion for what my clients must go through with their drug tests, especially if a small glass of orange juice can through off the results like that. That was pretty ridiculous. At the time of the test I was asked if I had eaten anything with poppy seeds and I said no. The next morning I was making myself a piece of toast, as I had done the day before, with sprouted wheat seed bread. Hmm, seed bread. I looked at the ingredients and, sure enough, there were poppy seeds. I called the drug screen lab in a panic to let them know that I had eaten poppy seeds recently, the morning of the test. I mean, how sensitive are these tests? The person at the lab noted my poppy seed consumption in the chart.

Later in the day, when I was back at OHSU, but this time with Stephen who I drove to physical therapy, I got a call for HR. The drug screen was fine; could I start work on Monday? I was relieved. It would have been such a bummer to fail the drug test, especially since I don’t take drugs.

So, now I’m organizing my closets and drawers, trying to get myself ready to dive into a full time job. Actually, for the first month I will be working 32 hours per week. And I will have to take time off the first week of December for surgery. It’s the final piece of breast reconstruction, putting on the nipple. That will be my last surgery, so it will be a milestone for me.

I’m putting my life back together after one hell of a year. This time last year I was gearing for chemo. Now I feel like I'm done with cancer. It’s time to get on with my life.