Wild Berries

      _{As a child I’d walk with Nana and Grampop}

_{on the trails behind the cabin.}

_{In the heat of summer}

_{we’d find the bushes}

_{laden with tart wild berries.}

_{We collected them as we walked,}

_{one for the basket,}

_{one, two for my mouth.}

_{Dappled sunlight fell on our faces and hands}

_{as Nana exhorted me to restraint}

_{during the harvest,}

_{“We have sugar and cream}

_{back in the cabin.”}

_{As a child I’d watch Mom-mom}

_{stir the boiling elderberries}

_{Pop-pop had gathered for jam.}

_{I watched him squeeze the cooled berries} 

_{through the cheesecloth,}

_{the purple-black juice tracing}

_{the veins on his forearms.}

_{I once asked to have some berries}

_{before they went in the pot,}

_{“No, girl. They’ll give you a bellyache.}

_{They need the heat.”}

_{As a woman I moved to the woods}

_{with my husband and children.}

_{I remembered the wild berries,}

_{searched my property}

_{and found none.}

_{I called the berries in the wilderness.}

_{They did not answer.}

_{There were sour years,}

_{Years of pain and quarrel,}

_{Years of heat and squeezing,}

_{Years when I so desperately wished}

_{I could speak with my grandparents,}

_{the men and women who}

_{had survived Depression and War}

_{and broken promises.}

_{I wanted}

_{to sit at their feet and ask,}

_{“Where is the sweetness?”}

_{In want of quiet and healing}

_{I returned to the wooded paths,}

_{inhaled the piney air,}

_{let the brook water wash my toes,}

_{dried my feet on the moss,}

_{listened to the birdsong,}

_{warmed my face in the leaf-filtered sunlight.}

_{When my heart was at rest}

_{the berries were waiting for me.}

_{They whispered,}

_{“We have come.}

_{We are here,}

_wild

_{and free.”}

Friday 55 & Da Count-Da Care

FRIDAY 55

The gowned surgeon smiles and asks,

"Ready to go?"

"Let's evict a tumor, Doc."

I drop quickly but gently.

I'm blinking slowly,

trying to focus,

remember.

I see her face level with mine,

her eyes meeting mine,

smiling.

Soft words, 

gentle touch,

"Michelle, 

we're all done.

It went great.  

Go rest."

Again

I peacefully sink.

DA COUNT

Last Wednesday I had my thyroid removed after months of testing and anxious waiting while cancer continued to grow unabated.  Those of you who have followed me regularly for some time recall a couple years ago how sick my daughter Calypso was and the months of anxiety and fear for her.  Along with that were some truly horrific experiences with doctors who either did not take her seriously or who were abusive and predatory once we got a diagnosis.  Although her physical health is restored it has left a mark on how we view doctors.

My experiences since my own health woes began continued in a similar vein.  I will say the experience with Calypso did bring me to a place where I was simply unwilling to put up with incompetence, unwillingness to communicate, or disrespect toward me as a patient.  I fired two doctors locally and never got through the door of the first surgeon I was referred to because his staff was intolerably rude and unprofessional.  I despaired of finding decent care for myself but I kept searching.

I wound up at Fox Chase Cancer Center.  I feel like all the bullshit I endured locally (I'll spare you the details but just trust me, you'd be mortified) was in order to get me to the place where I needed to be.  There are certain factors that make my case "interesting" even by the standards of people who specialize in my issue so I know I am better off with these specialists than with the local dopes who can't even diagnose a disease that is endemic to their own backyard (in the case of Calypso).

As important as the technical and professional skill the folks at FCCC demonstrate they have shown qualities I had pretty much given up hope in finding on a wide scale...compassion and maintaining the dignity of a patient.  Believe me when I tell you that from the first phone call I made until I was wheeled out to my car upon discharge I felt as if not one person I interacted with forgot they were dealing with a vulnerable human being.  Whether it was a doctor, a nurse, an aide, a housekeeper, a person delivering my meal, someone answering the phone, or a volunteer handing out free books to patients (cool bonus that felt like some sweet karma after all my years as a RIF coordinator) every single person treated me like I was...a person....not a case, a chart, or a disease.  I could rest in the care of skilled and decent people.  I could channel my energy into getting well rather than having to be hyper-vigilant as to whether or not others were doing their job or communicating appropriately.  And THAT was as healing and beneficial as having a tumor cut out of my neck, perhaps even more in some ways.

Friday 55 & Da Count-Worry Stone

FRIDAY 55

Rubbed and worn

by time and the river

till it's smooth and round,

amongst pebbles and seaweed

it rests.

Rubbed and worn 

by time and trial

till I'm frayed and frazzled,

walking along the river

I spy the stone.

Rubbed and worn

in my hand

till it holds a year of cares,

the stone and my worries

are returned to the river

and I rest. 

(Yes, this is more than 55 words.  I think you can handle it though.)



DA COUNT

I have a certain beach ritual when I go to the river.  Since the sand is so covered with pebbles I look for one each year to use as a worry stone.  It has to be one that is smooth and feels right in my hand.  I hang on to it for the week and periodically soothe myself with it by just rubbing it between my thumb and finger.   Some years I keep the stone, some years I leave it on the beach at the end of the week.  This year has been so consistently and intensely difficult I had lots of troubles to rub into the stone.  I found the rock early this year.  I decided I had no desire to keep it.  It was going to serve a purpose for the week I took to unwind then be left behind with my sadness, frustration, weariness, and burdens clinging to it.  I had no desire to carry all those things home with me.  I spared it none of my cares since it was only a cold stone.  It got a workout.  At the end of the week I didn't merely drop it on the sand.  I skipped it across the water's surface then watched it sink so the river could rinse away the woes and eventually send it back on shore for some other burdened soul to find.