Tomorrow, Ann and I go off to the Reform movement’s Santa Cruz Kallah, for a few days of study, prayer, eating, schmoozing and sleeping. She’s driving; I’m walking with a cane. (She’s already (and quite rightly) accused me of having “caneitude,” a reference to my using the cane for gesturing, emphasis, and general prop-ness as much as (if not more so) than as a walking aid. Bwahahaha.)
I feel… well, apart from the four-inch stitch in my extreme lower right abdomen, the pain and stiffness of the surgery, and the grogginess of the (still-necessary) painkillers, I FEEL *G*O*O*D*!*!*! Wow. I mean REALLY good, psychically, physically, emotionally, etc. I’ll post something I just sent to both of our tight-knit social circles (our synagogue and our Renfaire tribe) which describes that in a general way, but the thoughts and feelings are flooding me by turns: relief, awe, gratitude, fatigue, triumph, grim determination, overwhelming appreciation of my family and friends, puzzlement, frustration at the inhibitory effect of the narcotics on my ability to express myself (self-expression is a cornerstone of my sense of identity, so this is perhaps the hardest of the side-effects of “it”), a sense that “This is/was a Big Thing,” and above it all a strong sense of surreality.
Surreality as expressed in the following post. Right now Ann and I are going to have a vanilla Tofutti Cutie (dairyless ice-cream sandwiches) and go to bed. Oh, and I expect to be back at work, G-d willing, on August 2.
And then, aside from the scar, It Will All Be A Memory… pshyeah. Ri-i-i-i-i-i-i-ight.
Anyway, here’s what I said to everyone:
Date: Mon, 15 Jul 2002 08:55:45 -0700 (PDT)
Less than a month after I was diagnosed with cancer, Ann & I are now left
with a surreal sense of, "What just happened here?"
It feels like something ugly, huge, hairy and sticky just brushed through
the house with a loud howl of trembling and medicine, leaving barely a
memory (and a few stitches) in its wake.
That's not entirely true, of course. What it chiefly left me with is an
overwhelming sense of gratitude for my life and for the people with whom I
am blessed enough to share it -- for all of your prayers, and concern, and
visits, and dinner, and support, and calls, and advice, and just for being
there. With an overwhelming force of love like that, the awful parts didn't
stand a chance -- not that they weren't still awful, but they were certainly
bearable, since I knew that I wasn't alone.
You all helped me see that, and from the beginning, when I was still
assimilating the fact that I /had/ cancer. I don't know what Ann & I would
have done without you all. "Thank you" doesn't exactly cut it -- I sort of
fantasize lining up everyone so that I can soundly hug you all one by one --
but it's the best I can do over the email.
I love you all. Thank you. Thank you.