Starshine and whippoorwills

Our den is a window to a transcendent display of a thousand stars.

I often forget about them in the daily sprint, emerging in the night frazzled and worn, shuffling bleary-eyed to the door to flip the switch, thinking only of my bed. But just when I'm getting ready to close the door on the darkness, the swirling ceiling fan catches my eye, and I smile.

Gazing upon the universe of glow-in-the dark stars Luke so carefully and secretly arranged on the ceiling when the den was his room, I am transported by the treasure he buried high, in plain sight.

I remember my youthful camping nights in the Florida forest -- the smell of pines and damp night air fills my senses. And stars! Bajillions of stars so thick they're like sugar spilled across the sky.

Tensions melt away.

In the stillness of those nights, when the camp had bedded down, the whispering serenade of the crickets and whippoorwills would mingle with the fading smoke of the campfire like a sweet rugged cologne.

I would open the outer door of the tent, so I could gaze up through the screen at that vast array and lay down the cares of the day in the palpable presence of an incomprehensibly almighty and simultaneously tender God.

The latch of the den clicks quietly. Another good day.

Stay loose, champ.

Simon lined up carefully and took a practice swing. Poetry in motion. Stepped forward to the tee, focused on the ball, where the club would meet it, and the spot on the fairway where he wanted to land.

A bead of sweat rolled down my face.

Like a coiled spring, as if in slow motion, he wound up and then unleashed a powerful swing.

Anticipation.

For a golfer, there aren't many sounds as satisfying as a titanium clubface arriving squarely on target. Is it the intense joy of a ball well-hit? Maybe the admiration of the other enthusiasts?

When surgery is a week away, a similar focus takes shape.

As my college roommate the LaCrosse player told me, the trick is staying loose despite your intense anticipation.

Can we focus on the swing, rather than how badly we want the ball in the fairway?

I know you can do it, champ!

Is there an eye to this storm?

As Brandy leans over me and puts a drop in my right eye, I wonder aloud if we will see a lot of rain from the coming hurricane. Even as I ask, I'm somewhat preoccupied with her tattoo and the hurricane and the excitement about the new water additive I have found.

She doesn't think so.

"A non-event. Guarantee it."

I hear Dr. Benjamin drop the file folder on the counter as Brandy takes aim at my left eye.

Of course, there's no real reason to believe her. She's an ophthalmologist's assistant and I'm sure hasn't seen the updated forecast.

Besides, she looks about fourteen.

After shaking Dr. Benjamin's hand and exchanging the usual pleasantries, he begins to familiarize himself with my file as I blink to adjust to the drops.

Funny how easy it is to dismiss opinions from young professionals. I smile to think how experienced Laura's surgeon must be, wondering how many times she's performed the procedure that's now two short weeks away. I doubt it's less than several hundred.

Laura and I have increased our own knowledge of breast cancer and the associated procedures and contingencies exponentially in the past few weeks. And miraculously, what I used to think must surely be one of the most awful impacts a woman might have to endure in a lifetime -- the loss of a breast -- is now our accepted vision of the future state and can be seen as an adjustment rather than a disaster.

Life is change. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something.

Mosquitoes see in the daytime, too.

Have you ever had a weekend when you looked forward to work just so you could get a little rest?

Spending virtually the entire weekend under the sun was rejuvenating ... and as I crawled out of my chair Sunday night to go to bed, my body let me know it was going to be on strike for the forseeable future. Fulfilled exhaustion.

For Laura, there's no question it was exactly what she needed. Sunshine has always been her way of "charging her batteries." Add to that getting her toes into saltwater, and it was all but magical.

The fishing Saturday at Eddie Creek was good, it was just that the catching wasn't superior. I watched carefully for the signs of starving fish -- signs that never materialized. I never put a line in, choosing instead to sit in a bag chair and move as little as possible, trying to look like a shrub so the mosquitoes couldn't target my outline.

As I sat there with the sweat rolling down, I tried to imagine what their little compound eyes could really make out. Aren't they, after all, nighttime insects? Perhaps they're relatively blind in the full blazing light of August sunshine.

I guess no one ever told them that. I was saved by the slight breeze, a liberal application of Deet, and a cooler of ice by my chair. I think the cigar smoke helped a bit, too.

This was the end of Laura's first full week of teaching after summer break -- back to school facing a total of about 130 new eighth-graders.

Though she has talked about moving the surgery up, in the end her strategy hasn't changed. She'll get the students excited about their new schedule with her as their Physical Science teacher, then disappear briefly for the surgery. The lesson plans for the substitute have been prepared. It could be a relatively short recovery if all goes well and sentinel nodes are clear.

Clear sentinels, no chemo, back to teaching. That's the plan.

But, you shouldn't think the exertion of Saturday's fishing was solely responsible for my exhausted weekend. Sunday morning church started us off brilliantly, but then the rest of the day was spent getting things done around the house, like mowing the lawn.

My fellow Floridians, we are so blessed to have the summertime rainstorms to make the grass grow! Just keep telling yourself that.

Palm Trees Have Shallow Roots

I was watching Simon working in the yard this morning as I sipped my coffee, and thinking about all that's gone on in the last few weeks. How unpredictable life is!

You know, you go through the "what ifs," and in those daydreams it's natural to simplify the scenarios.

What if I'm in an awful crash that leaves me with one leg? What if one of the boys gets horribly injured during a training exercise, or comes back from combat with PTSD?

Thankfully, nearly all those imaginings never come to pass, and even when they do, I guess it's like everything else, it's never the same as you imagine it will be. I went through my folks' deaths with that same haunted feeling that I wasn't experiencing grief the way I had imagined I would -- or thought I should.

It's so much more complex, isn't it? You recognize the dread that you'd anticipated. You know you could take the dark path to worst cases, but you also know you have a choice.

How well can you balance dealing with hard realities and living in hope? Or maybe the better question is, how can you possibly survive the hard realities without living in hope?

As for me, I think when you turn inward, you whittle yourself away, bit by bit. That's when the walls start to close in.

As for now, in this interesting time, prayers buoy us from all directions. Thank you all!!

Now, as Laura and I thrive in your care and concern, I know some of you don't need to hear blow by blow.

My intent for this blog is to help you catch up when and however much you want to. (And it's also good for me to be able to express some of what's stewing inside.)

More detail, FYI:

1. Several weeks ago, Laura was diagnosed with DCIS breast cancer after initial mammogram and biopsy.
2. We discuss a relatively simple surgery with the doctor, trying to decide whether or not to accept the risk of not doing radiation treatments along with cancer excision. The surgery was scheduled for August 11. Today. "But you really should have an MRI. It can pick up things the mammography can't."
   
   We believe the doctor is being conservative.
   
   
3. MRI shows more involvement in the same breast.
4. Laura has an additional biopsy of that site. Yes, it's more of the same.
5. Conversation with the surgeon. Mastectomy now really seems the only option, and it depends on sentinel nodes examined during surgery whether chemo will also be required.

The surgery will be next month.

At this point, signs are still very good. The characteristics of this cancer mean it's less invasive. Our hopes are high that nodes won't be involved, and that with the mastectomy, it can be a matter of healing the incision and having follow-up exams every six months.