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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.


Sheesh, and here we go again


~ Please forgive me for yet another post of such medical matter, but to be honest my brain has been wearing a fuzzy wool sweater for the last week AND the following is the news that is news today. Scrim, scroll or skimp if you like (you won't hurt my feelings, promise they're a bit distracted right now anyways, chasing little flickers of light across the mantle and trying to decide on the next mug of tea), but I promise to return sooner rather than later with stories of my REAL life and not of this whole C business. But for now, honesty first. ~

Well I know this is rather late in the game, but decisions seems to happen either weeks and weeks down the line OR in a matter of mere moments.

The results from the surgery last were partially great and partially, well, partially resulting in the decision to go back in for Le Surgery Número Dos, which happens to be in a matter of hours. Actually I'm throwing back broth and glasses of water like it's going out of style before my "total fasting" hour kicks in (On a deserted island I'd be the first to go if there was no water. Drink like a camel. That's me.). The super short story is the doctors want to remove a bit more to be certain that the cancerous cells were contained and test a few more lymph nodes, and I'd rather know for sure than be told "We mostly got it all." As I'm sure you would agree.

At first when I received the call from the surgeon I'm was so terribly disappointed. The surgery was so smooth, the recovery so manageable, and I felt so bouyed up by love and support that I expected with full certainty the results to be perfect.

I considered being angry, held that small nugget of rage in the palm of my hand, but after examining it's pocked and burned surface, I decided it wasn't what I wanted and I let it fall to the floor with a sharp plink. Not that I haven't already held it tightly in my fist, shaking it in the air, screaming into the atmosphere, and not that I may pick it back up and throw it at the nearest pane of glass, but not now. Not right here.

It was a first. This strange sense of calm and composure in the face of something that would generally pull the rug out from beneath and leave me sprawled on the floor for hours. But I think the answer I've found this week has been this:

1. There is so much that is positive.
2. All the love that has been given freely to me, all the belief, all the care, all the support that has wrapped me in a cloak softer than cashmere and stronger than wool does not always change the physical results within the body. However, it lifts me up above the swamps of despair and holds my arm steady until I find my footing once again.
3. Oftentimes, chocolate cookies really help.

- The Nitty Gritty Details -
Surgery Number 2
Thursday June 24th at 10 am PST

I've already placed my order (thank you BC) for a Mango-Papaya smoothie on the road home from the hospital. See you all on the other side of a sweet dream and some ice chips.