Trying hard to be brave

After my recuperative weekend I find myself back in the position of having a tenuous hold on my courage. I will be calling Dr. Russin, the oncologist, today to ask if I can hear about the results of the bone scan after it's done on Tuesday. Either way.

The pewter word stone (the gal in the store told me what to call them when I bought some more) with the word patience has been gripped inside my sweaty hand all weekend. Having it to hold, literally, helps me to concentrate on that virtue. I ran into Yoel, a former boss and dear friend, who reminded me that he'd been trying to sell me on the concept of the power of single words for a long time, and he was thrilled I'd found my way to having these words in my possession and for my use.

Sunday night we went into San Francisco to Beth Sholom, our 'other' congregation, the one where we met, married, and sat in Row F on the right side of the sanctuary for so many years. At the new rabbi's installation I saw so many old friends, wonderful folks who stood in line to talk to me, hug me, offer kind words and provide what comfort they could. There's a special element to their warmth for me - maybe it's because I've known them for so long, or because they watched our courtship, my pregnant bellies and my adorable kids for years. And when each one of them said, 'You look great!' I said, 'I feel great!' because I honestly do. I'm as strong and healthy as I've ever been as an adult. A formidable woman in every sense of the word.

The best thing I heard this weekend, and from quite a number of people, are the words 'I read your blog every day,' because this reminds me of why I'm posting. I want people who care about me to be able to stay up to date.

Early this morning I had a conversation with my mother in South Florida who provided me with important family medical history - two of her first cousins had breast cancer in their forties. Another cousin who is still alive and with whom Mom has contact will be able to provide more thorough information, I hope.

Oh, and I read in the J, our local Jewish press, that even if I test negative for the gene, my sister may well test positive. And the other way around. I can't pass it along to my children if I don't have the gene, and also my brother David, whose daughter Heather is a young adult, might consider being tested. Now that they have such a close family member with breast cancer.

Oy, I must stop, this is depressing. I'm going down the street to get hot tea and something delicious, and I'll be inhaling the sweet smell of damp Mill Valley morning with mindfulness, aware of all that God has made for me to embrace.