
To speak gratitude is courteous and pleasant, to enact gratitude is generous and noble, but to live gratitude is to touch Heaven.
Johannes A. Gaertner
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Yesterday was a good day. I had a great work out, a fun Nia class, a leisurely hot bath, and quality writing time. I also did some web research on the hormones I’m taking and learned that the number one complaint about them was weight gain, especially in the thighs. I cannot tell you how much better I feel about my tight pants!
The absolute highlight, however, came at just the right moment. I was watching my usual 4:00 hour of television, waiting for the hubster to get home so we could head to the nursery and buy a plum tree to replace the apple in the front yard. Suddenly there was a bright spot in my vision, and I knew I was in trouble. The first trace of impending doom, the awful light show of a migraine. I turned off the lights, closed the blinds, and put the blanket over my eyes, waiting for the pain that I knew was coming, disappointed that my diamond day was taken down a notch, bummed that the afternoon tree-planting would have to be postponed, and irritated that nothing would make my head feel better.
Well, almost. When the hubster arrived, he had a box in his hand. I could not remember ordering anything. Then he told me where it was from: Arizona. Kelli! My friend Kelli sent me a care package. Suddenly my head felt a little better, and I cried at the kindness in the world. In addition to the sweet card, pickled okra, prickly pear jelly, and the adorable zippered bag (all made by Kelli) was a deliciously creamy bar of hazelnut chocolate, but we gobbled it up pronto. I don’t think my headache minded a bit!
How nice it is to have friends, near and far. Thank you for the wonderful treats! I hope you have a diamond day…

Hello my friends!
Gosh, it feels so good to be back in blogland! Now if I could just be in the land of the fully mobile and conscious, that would be grand. I am not complaining, however. I feel better with each passing day, requiring smaller doses of narcotics to keep the pain down, while gaining more strength and mobility. When I first got home, I was popping pills like crazy and had to use my walker (remember that?) every time I wanted to go anywhere, though my trips were mostly limited between our bed and the bathroom. Going all the way to the kitchen was considered a big feat!
Now, I only need the walker about half of the time, moving quite freely on the first floor of the house. I don’t know when I will muster up the strength to go upstairs, but, thanks to my superstar hubster and guest blogger, I have practically everything I need in our bedroom: a borrowed air conditioner for this hellish weather (107 today, ugh), a boom box, television, lap top, watercolors, books, and snacks! It’s pretty darn cool, pun intended.
Since a lot of people have asked questions about the endometriosis that led me to my surgery and this cozy bedroom lair, I thought I’d give a little information about it, and why it was causing so much trouble for me. In a nutshell, endometriosis is when tissue from inside the uterus migrates elsewhere in the pelvic cavity (no one knows why, when, or how). It is problematic because it has hormones and a monthly period just like the uterus, only it can’t exit the body like a normal period does, so it stays inside a woman’s abdomen, where it creates adhesions, like scar tissue. Think about it like this – you spill something on the counter without cleaning it up right away. When you return in a few hours, you touch the spot and your hand sticks to it, and sometimes even creates a kind of gooey, taffy-like bond. Only with endometriosis, you can’t wash it off. The taffy just spreads, connecting tissue and organs that have no business being such close neighbors, and, at least in my case, causing some pretty intense pain.
This is why my surgery could not be completed laparoscopically, and I had to be opened up. My insides were so thoroughly bound and twisted with taffy-like adhesions that my doctor needed to get inside and carefully cut everything apart. Thankfully, she was able to do so. In the process, she removed my uterus (complete with a large adenomyoma), my fist-sized right ovary, both fallopian tubes, as many adhesions as she could, and then zapped the remaining visible endometriosis with a really good laser. It’s no wonder it took over six hours!
Being in the hospital was a very emotional experience for me, like I was out at sea and riding a series of waves to shore, to home, and with each wave came a different emotion: gratitude, release, sadness, disbelief, joy, and wonder. Gratitude - I survived my surgery. I was alive, and the healing process was underway. Release – I am a pretty independent person, but in this situation, I had to, quite literally, hand my body over to strangers. They fed me, clothed me, bathed me, all with great kindness, compassion, and respect. Sadness – Even though I had never wanted children, I felt sad that this definitively left that choice out of my hands, though I guess it never really was. I am not driving this bus! Disbelief – For my recovery, I was placed in the Family Birthing Center, as the staff there would best know how to treat someone in my condition. Perhaps this seems a logical choice for someone who has already had children, but for me, it seemed a bit, well, odd. The lady who can never have children, infertile Myrtle, chockablock with mothers and babies? This same feeling of disbelief, however, was replaced by Joy – To be in the most precious place in a hospital, to witness those first days of life, the first tiny cries, each beautiful babe swaddled, hatted, and loved by all. Finally Wonder – There is so much kindness in the world, so many talented people doing their best work, so much love, and I am a living, breathing part of it all.
Now it is time for some shout-outs. First and foremost, to my amazing husband. Through our eighteen years of my increasing pain and suffering, he has always been a source of great love and support. I could not imagine a better partner or friend, no siree Bob. During my hospital stay, it was the hours he was there that I felt most safe. Listening to him type away on his laptop or hearing his whispers in the dark, it was almost as if I were home and not hooked to a catheter, pulse oximeter, and an IV. I was free.
My fantastic doctors. First, to Petra Caruso, Naturopathic MD. One of the most kind and compassionate health care professionals I have ever had the privilege to meet, she has been on this journey with me for nearly two years, constantly striving to find new, healthy solutions to make my life more comfortable. When she realized our options had been exhausted, she recommended my awesome specialist, Dr. Liz Newhall. Oh goodness, I am ever so pleased to have found her way while on my own. She is an amazingly talented woman, highly educated in her craft of women’s health, with a heart and humor to match. After my surgery, when I asked her how bad it was, and she told me that it was one of the worst cases she’d seen in her thirty years of practice, she said, “You would have won a blue ribbon at the fair, no doubt about it.”
YOU, the people of cyberspace, across the street, across town, across the world. Thank you so much for your prayers, kind thoughts, cards, meals, visits, everything. I felt and continue to feel so bouyed by all the love being sent my way, so incredibly grateful to be alive!
Colleen and I are often “accused” of having rose colored glasses on. It used to be something I felt guilty for, as if I didn’t have a grasp on reality. I now view this ‘trait’ as something to embrace since there are many events in life beyond my control. Sometimes the only thing I do have the ability to shape is my view. Colleen is fond of saying “I’m not driving this bus”, and I agree.
A shift in perspective can be a powerful thing. As I look back over the past year and a half, it has been a little bit of a roller coaster and I thought I would share some of my hospital reflecting…
This was a fairly serious body change for Colleen and obviously at the forefront of our lives at the moment. With the amount of endometriosis, it is probably one of the more invasive hysterectomies that a person can have. (Actually, the hysterectomy was a small part of the procedure. Think trying to free up taffy growing inside you that has been twisting your organs for 20+ years.)
With glasses: I have a lot of hope that Colleen will feel a good sense of freedom from the abdominal issues that she has suffered with. After all, the whole point is of all this is to make things better than they are now. I’m hopeful she will enjoy her time in Colorado without having to worry about serious cramping and pain this September. From a “me” perspective, the event has been a great chance to be able to help someone I love who can’t help herself. It is a great gift to be able to make a difference in her recovery and feel that much closer to her.
I have changed positions three times in the last year, gone from having a large chunk of vacation to having to fight to get a chance to help Colleen for a day or two, and taken a fairly significant financial hit.
With glasses:I now work for a functional company with people I enjoy being around. My commute is smaller. I am not making as much and not as able to save as much, but a good portion of the 401k savings went up in smoke anyway! My work is much more varied now and I really enjoy this variety. My boss and colleagues are pleasant and I feel a strong desire to truly help the company I work for grow and improve. I find myself very content and intrigued with the possibilities that the future holds.
It is certainly not always easy to find a positive perspective on perceived ‘bad’ situations but I have enjoyed the challenge and awareness that comes from the search.
I think I will put my glasses on now and rest near my lovely wife as she does some healing…

I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.
G. K. Chesterton
Goodness me, oh my, are you a lovely bunch of people, pretty and divine and kind hearted. I do feel doubled over by wonder, too. Despite the fact that I broadcast my life to the world through this blog, I often feel rather small and invisible (in a good way), stealthily floating through life, touching those I can and watching the world with joy. Then, with that last post, I felt all of these hearts reaching, in their own tender ways, back to me, with words of support and love. Thank you, a million times, thank you!

Yesterday at Nia class, my instructor Margaret mentioned Silver Falls State park here in Oregon, and with it came a cascade of memories for me.
The spring after we first moved here, one of Greg’s colleagues participated in an exchange with someone from Daimler-Chrysler to further the relationship between companies. Ron went off to Germany and Hans came here.
I think, quite possibly, he was the best gift we had in that first year. We’d had a rough start with the house (the furnace and oven breaking, plumbing problems, etc.) and I couldn’t find work as a teacher (a long standing trend!). One night, after a particularly bad day, we had Hans over for dinner, and his presence was like a light shining down on us – warm, friendly, and entirely good. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Hans became a near constant companion. We did every manner of activity together. We explored the McMenamin’s kindgom, had downtown adventures, threw parties, went hiking, took in movies, enjoyed great conversations, the works.
But these memories are the ones I hold dearest to my heart, for they are the most “Hans”:
Hans dressed in what I consider a pretty typical German fashion. Stylish with a dash of kookiness. He loved character socks. He once wore his favorite pair, Popeye, with sandals, to the waterfront for the Rose Festival. Also, he’d never owned a dryer before, and the one in his apartment was like a revelation. “Did you know it can dry pants in only half an hour?” Um yeah, but for every half an hour, you seem to lose a quarter of an inch in length, Hans. No matter. He was the happiest guy in high waters and Popeye socks. Definitely.
Hans always wore a button down shirt, always. In his left breast pocket he kept a small spiral notebook and pencil for new words and phrases. Often times, he would bring out the notebook for us to help him with something particularly unusual that he couldn’t suss out with his dictionary. The best was when he learned “spam sucking trailer trash” and “son of a bitch,” and in a rather serious tone, asked the G-Man and I: “Which is more worser?” The two of us nearly died with laughter, explaining that it really depends on the audience.
Hans was a master at cards. He could figure out any game in a matter of minutes and play joyously for hours. In particular, I loved to watch him shuffle. I have only recently become even remotely efficient at shuffling. I can’t really say why. I used to think it was my hands being small, but then we met Sandeep, and despite his fingers being a full inch shorter than mine, he was like a dealer in Vegas. Amazing. Anyway, Hans had this curious way of doing it, basically mixing up the stack, not actually shuffling. It was crazy how quick and efficient he was at it. You’d never imagine it would work, but it did.
Finally, the memory that started this all. On one of our many adventures, we went to Silver Falls State Park for a hike. It was a cold day, a bit drizzly, but exceedingly beautiful. The water was high and the falls in their full splendor, loudly crashing into the river below. As we hiked, we took a path that was further from the falls, deeper into the forest. Imagine the quintessential Oregon forest – redolent with the scent of clean air and earth, full of moss, ferns, evergreens, and the lacy branches of deciduous trees clamoring for the sun. We were happily chatting and walking when Hans suddenly stopped. I kept speaking for a moment then realized what it was about. Silence. A void of sound of the most profound variety, like none I have experienced since. For a full five minutes we stood in utter stillness and wonder that the world could be so beautiful and quiet and we could be so privileged to share in it.
There are many other wonderful memories of Hans, as well, and sometimes, when I need a little pick-me-up, I gently unpack one and smile that such a wonderful man came into my life all those years ago. Life is good.
By the way, I could not find the picture from that day, so this one has to suffice. The day was cloudier, but the landscape quite similar…
That’s how many pennies I just found dumped in the street in front of my house. Sixty-seven! There was tobacco, cigarette butts, and some industrial staples in the mix too, but sixty-seven cents. Holy smokes, Mr. or Mrs. Hepped-Up-On-Nicotine, you could have bought a candy bar with that money, savoring every sweet bite, or given it to a child and watched her count each coppery one, staring in wonder to see if she put them into neat piles, long rows, or groups of five or ten (like I did below – after washing them off). Gobs of entertainment potential for that sixty-seven cents and you chose to dump it on the asphalt.

Well, as my dear Byron Katie would say, “There are no mistakes,” and, “This is happening for you,” so rather than remain miffed at this dump, I enjoyed it. I really did, here’s how:
First off, as you may recall, I’ve kind of got a thing for pennies, especially found ones. So when I gazed out the window and saw them shimmering in the afternoon light, you bet I got excited. To think that God sent me sixty-seven of them at once is nothing short of fantastic!
Second, as I was crouched in the street, hair wild and my husband’s rather large winter coat about my shoulders, filling my hands with the precious metal, my letter carrier, Karl, happened to come along and said, “Hey, you know, I could pay you for the chutney you gave me, no need to get money off the street!” We both had a good laugh.
Third, I most certainly had to call my dear hubby to tell him, not only about my find, but about Karl finding me in the midst of my find. More laughter!
Fourth, I documented the story with this post and a photo to boot.
So, I guess the only thing left to say is, thank you Smoker – you made my day!