Today was the last test result, the last appointment on the whole endometrial thing.

But first the oncology surgeon had to tell me that he’d taken that Kit Donnell peach home and shared it with his wife: he told me emphatically, That was the best! peach I have eaten. In. My. Life! He wanted to make sure he remembered the name of the variety right. He thanked me several times for telling him about Andy’s Orchard.  I looked it up, he told me: August.

He was clearly very much looking forward to next August’s crop.

The nurse had the biggest smile on her face.

Baby Crawford is the other really good one, I told him.

Oh! He was instantly on it, getting this down. He was not going to miss that either! Baby? Crawford.

I turned to her and apologized that I hadn’t brought two peaches last time, and she laughed hard and I thought, You were thinking the same thing. I should have. But I didn’t know you were going to be there. And I didn’t have enough left to bring a bunch.

So, on to business. No cancer. No virus that might someday cause cancer. No surgery. Fill this prescription to help with the atrophal shedding.

I told him, Plot twist: after two and a half years of bleeding, it is somehow almost almost gone. (How to tell G_d a joke: tell Him, You weren’t going to let up on that symptom till that man and his wife and maybe that nurse discovered that farm and that fruit, were you? Because those peaches are divine.)

At the last he said, with the very warmest of smiles, And then I never want to see you again. For your sake.

Man, we lucked out.

The dryer is still under warranty.

The inside wall was still hot fifteen minutes later but the outside wall was nice and cool.

I had walked in the door after running an errand this afternoon and instead of doing what I’d planned to, had gone straight to the laundry room to see if the load was done. Good thing. When I got to the end of the hall, something was smelling a little funny but I couldn’t find the source nor figure it out. Sticking my head inside the dryer, it just smelled like regular old clean sheets in there. Huh. I walked back across the house to tell Richard.

Within maybe two minutes we all could smell it all over the house but we knew what room it was coming from because I’d just announced it and this time Michelle found a slight browning of the wall rising above the plug and I found the blackened prong.

That was so close. So close.

Thanks, everybody. My hands are fine, my back required a bit of stretching but basically things are okay.

This morning was the second half of the local church conference. The guy whom I was a pushover for last night was the one running the mics and super-focused on the tech tasks at hand again.

Some years ago I mentioned to a friend who was a tech writer about a teacher I’d met who’d told me she’d transferred into the district from a town in SoCal because there were more single men than woman in Silicon Valley and she was hoping to find her way into that next stage of her hoped-for life.

To which he remarked that if you’re looking for a husband, there are a lot of engineers here but that’s also why you have a concentration of single men: they’re on the spectrum. “The odds are good–but the goods are odd.”

Before the meeting started, there was last night’s Mr. Oblivious, suddenly standing in the space two rows in front of where we were seated, holding his two-year-old son’s hand like the best daddy ever and looking just above our heads.

Last night’s meeting ran past little kids’ bedtimes and there was no family there with him and no way to know he had one.

I dove into my purse and pulled out the first thing to hand. Richard held the little white puppy finger puppet out to him, which, when he sat down, his wife exclaimed over and his little boy was happy.

If the guy had been told he’d knocked me down, if he or I worried about what to do or say next, it was all taken care of now. It’s cool.

I wish I could tell whoever the knitter in Peru is, Thank you for the peacemaking.

Whoever he was, he was in such a hurry to get a chance to chat with the speakers after the meeting that when he squeezed out of his pew just behind me he had no idea that when he hip-checked me, while I had no idea it was coming to brace against it, I did my funky which-way-did-up-suddenly-go wobble and then tumbled to the floor with my cane thankfully only smacking the carpet and not someone’s leg.

In front of about forty suddenly horrified people on that side of the room, with the four nearest arms immediately reaching to scoop me up. I confess to quickly looking back over my shoulder to see if the guy had even noticed.

Nope.

But I bet the speaker visiting from San Diego whom he was in such a hurry to get to did.

(Oh wait, someone I know *did* see my dignified little dance. Hi, Julia, hi, Eric, nah, nah, I’m fine no worries.)

My first thought had been, No! Don’t mess with my knitting hands, I need those!

My second was to wonder how often I had inadvertently hurt someone and never known it. It made me want to pay closer attention.

I did do the icepack thing when we got home, just to be careful.

I got word today that my cousin Janna had passed, the one I’d knit all the chemo caps for. The one who told this story about our cousin John and her granddaughter. I’m glad for her that she’s no longer having to go through–waves arm in a wide sweep–all. that. I am so very glad we got to see her and her husband and that granddaughter in early June, and I hope those hats are being passed around her family in remembrance of her love coming back to her and now returning outward once again.

She was a good one.

I don’t know that they could have caught her ovarian in time in any case, but still: a plea from here for getting checkups and screenings scheduled. We need you.

The kids and I went past a clerk’s line on our way to another aisle and from there I made sure we doubled back and checked out with her, thinking, let’s see if we can help that woman feel like she’s cared about. She looked tired.

She’d had a long day and we were her last.

The kids were putting all kinds of stuff on the conveyor I don’t usually buy: resealable candied nuts, granola, flavored water (here, let me give you a Hint), cookies, jerky, roasted nut mix. Stuff that will see you through if your car has any issues along the way. (There was a friend of Richard’s and my parents in our childhoods who’d been in a plane crash in Alaska and had hiked two weeks to find help. He found a Hershey bar in the snow along the way and made a huge impression for life on us about how much energy there can be in a few ounces of chocolate. To our own children: Always always have some food with you when you travel. And take some chocolate.)

I said to that clerk, When your kid drives twelve hours to see you, you get them every fun stuff you can think of for their twelve hours home.

All the sudden our family reunion was her family reunion and it made her day to see us together and looking out for each other and with her on this very fine Labor Day of a day, and the kids had her laughing in the back-and-forth.

My youngest is going back to his own life in the morning. Which is wonderful for him and a little bit hard. The delight on that woman’s face on his behalf helped more than she could know.

Here, taste the tip of a spoon here, see what you think of it so far.

They approved.

Then the kids drove to San Francisco to Dandelion Chocolate for some sibling time and brought home a splurge of bakery goodies and hot chocolate. Not your standard lunch. That orange sanguine entremet–wow!

As my dad loved to say, How many meals do you eat in your life? Now: how many do you remember?

Then John drove me to Kings Mountain Art Fair, with the ocean to one side on that twisty road and Silicon Valley laid out below on the other and the Fair on the spine of the ridge, where we got to see Mel and Kris. Mel knew exactly what I wanted when I broke my favorite tall mug and held the new one up in happy anticipation of my delight. Which he got. I liked it even better than the old one. Kris was there for the first time in several years, her chemo long over and looking great. I picked up one of the smaller mugs–and it had a sheep on it! (With apologies to them that my photo washes the colors out a bit.)

I knew she played with adding hummingbirds and dragonflies and honeybees…

She was delighted that I was the one who bought her first sheep.

Not long after we walked back in the door, Michelle and I ran an errand exploring a store that sold favorite pantry items she hadn’t been able to find in Boston. And because she liked going there; it was part of being home.

John cooked dinner.

We all got to FaceTime with Lillian, who wanted to show her grampa the wart on her foot in solidarity. She wanted to see his foot, too. He gently told her she wouldn’t want to.

And then at long last we turned off that goshawfulloudnoise that had been going in the kitchen for 26 hours at that point (24 is about optimal on the conching) and John and his dad worked for a couple hours more at cooling and re-warming and thus (hopefully) tempering our new batch of homemade chocolate correctly while getting some one-on-one time of their own.

I got to do the honors of pouring it out and did as messy a job as I ever do and we managed not to devour it before it had even set, probably because, really? We had a lot of cleanup to do. And we’d had a lot of chocolate today already.

And all of it was very very good.

I like days like this!

Today was the cataract guy. He was thorough. I got referred to a corneal scarring specialist at Stanford to go to after all this; he says some of the bright scattered reflection problem is from that, and that it can be fixed, too.

So: a multifocal lens, or what by the sound of it is a new improved multifocal with fewer problems at night, or monofocal, and if the latter, for distance, mid, or near, with glasses for the rest?

Multifocal+ sounded good to me!

Richard cautioned that a friend of his greatly regretted making that choice. His own prescription is quite mild, so he went for mid on his so he could spend his work time and grandkid time without having to worry about glasses.

Me, I’ve worn glasses for distance since third grade and just assumed that’s what I would choose. But maybe not?

I’d love to hear anyone’s input, because I have zero experience with this.

Meantime, the person who was supposed to call back to schedule the surgery didn’t, and doctor #2 didn’t seem to be in a hurry about it, and I’m okay with that right now.

The important thing is, it’s going to happen.

Meantime, when I changed Richard’s dressing his foot looked way better. I feel like I can finally breathe easy on that one.

The question, the moment of truth, the blunt response.

I have a macular pucker and it’s been stable for several years now, with me coming in every six months to get it checked.

The retina specialist came in the room today after the routine pictures had been taken, concerned before I even said anything. He asked how I was doing.

I’m fed up with it, I told him. My husband was just in the hospital for five days and I found I couldn’t see well enough to drive home safely later than 5:00 because the late sun created blinding reflections. I needed to be with him and I couldn’t be. And I can’t read labels in the grocery store anymore.

He asked how my husband was doing, and I said no amputation so far and so far okay but the infection was not gone.

He made a decision on the spot. He told me, Don’t ask the front desk–they’ll tell you four months. Dr. M will do the cataract and then I’ll do the retina and we do joint surgeries on Mondays, sometimes Fridays. Maybe we could get you in Monday, would that be okay? Or even this Friday, let me see what I can do.The second cataract is typically done two weeks later.

Me, surprised: Sure!

I realized afterwards that Monday’s a holiday and this weekend is King’s Mountain Art Fair and I’ve already said I would pick up something my potter friends Mel and Kris were making for me.

I dearly want to see them but I do have friends who go to that. And there’s certainly always the mail.

One way or other, this is all going to work out. Finally. I know that macular pucker surgery can take 3-12 months to show improvement from–so let’s get started. It’s time. Taking out the cataracts will give me some instant gratification on seeing colors clearly again in the meantime.

Scene: Trader Joe’s. I was wearing a plain shirt and this gerdan.

The woman in front of me at checkout looked over at me, decided I looked friendly enough to engage in conversation, and exclaimed, I just love that!

She tried to get back to the task at hand but ended up saying it again.

I told her a woman in Ukraine had made it for me.

“I’m from Ukraine!” She asked me who I’d bought it from, but I explained that the woman had lived in Kherson and had evacuated and I didn’t know where she was now.

She asked, with some hesitation at first, if she could touch it?

Sure!

She felt the beads: yes of course glass, not plastic. Could she take a picture of it? She loved it so much!

Sure!

She did, and I wondered if she was a beading artist herself or was close to someone who was; she was texting the joy of the moment via her phone with someone whom it would mean something to, too. All artists need that spark renewed from time to time.

And everybody far from home needs to feel welcomed and a part of their new community.

The guy finished checking her out and she headed on out the door, beaming at having run into someone who knew what those were, who’d interacted with her countrywomen, who cared about her country during this war and who was making that part of her culture visible here. She was just about dancing.

And that, I said to the guy now checking me out, is why I wear these even to the grocery store. I have several of them. There are quite a few Ukrainians in the community.

He glanced out the door after her and for the first time in this long wearying Saturday rush, he was now smiling, too.

In case this is of use to someone else out there: decades ago I had a doctor tell me to take 500 mg of vitamin C a day to help ward off bladder infections.

I call it my placebo of choice, and awhile ago Richard got in the habit of taking one when I did. Anti-colds, right?

The first thing the doctor at the clinic asked him was, Do you take vitamin C?

Yes…?

Stop immediately. It almost certainly is the cause of your kidney stone.

Turns out the last time he’d had one it was the type directly tied to it. The guy also told him supplements for calcium and vitamin D are the other culprits for their particular types of kidney stones.

So it could be that easy to never have to go through this again.

You’re going to like this part.

His kidney stone moved to where it somehow doesn’t hurt, and the clinic’s urologist saw him and is keeping tabs on him. Cardiology set him up on a heart monitor for two weeks to get a more complete diagnosis.

And while that was getting started, I was in the next town over seeing my surgeon #2.

Who told me that surgeon #1 had called him and warned him she was sending a doozy of a case over. I got a bit of, Oh, *you’re* the one!

She had told me of potential nerve damage.

He told me it was way more than that. With no colon nor rectum in there holding things in place, things just slosh around, and–he was pleased that I knew what adhesions were–that ovary they couldn’t find on the ultrasound: it could be fused with my tailbone. Anything could be anywhere.

Finding it all and fishing it out and freeing it amongst all the adhesions risked my small intestine.

I was stunned. I’d had no idea.

I asked him how many hysterectomies he’d done on patients with colorectomies.

It was rare. He’s been practicing a long time. He held up five fingers and said–But they all had cancer. There’s a risk/life balance decision that has to be made. He went through all the testing I’d been through, and he too had tested, giving me a pap smear just to make sure and do due diligence.

And my reaction to that smear was to start bleeding on the spot, and it’s still noticeably going. But that’s not necessarily cancer.

A side note here: his nurse had come in first and while she asked questions, I said that the bleeding had started small and gradually crescendoed over the two years till it was (this much). I wrote about it while waiting for this appointment, I told her, and was quite surprised that the next day it was far less.

And then friends told me they’d put me on their prayer lists. I didn’t know–and it changed, and make of that what you will, I told her. (A thank you to all you who prayed or Thought Good Thoughts my way, which to the loving G_d I believe in fully counts. Love, as they say, is love.)

Come back in three weeks, the surgeon said, and we’ll have the results of that pap smear.

But as he said it, we both were sure we knew what it would say and what we would say and that it would wrap it all up nicely. He didn’t quite say, And tell your friends to pray again, y’know, just to make it a little easier on you.

Having told him about my husband’s hospitalization, I told him of the ones who had asked what they could do to help. And then they’d joyfully made a day trip out of it with their teenagers to make sure I didn’t miss out on my favorite peaches.

And with that I left him with the most perfect single Kit Donnell ever, with the divine scent of tree-ripened perfection. He was blown away by just the smell and sight of it and the kindness of people he didn’t even know and he wanted to know where this had come from so he could find more for his own family.

Such a good man. His patients are lucky to have him. And lucky, in my case, soon not to have to!

One friend asked a few days ago what she could do to help and I somehow let myself say out loud in spite of myself that it was the week the Kit Donnell peaches at Andy’s were ripe, that I consider them his best, that I wait all year for them and I was just going to have to miss them this year. Otherwise I’d be buying a bunch and freezing them.

We can do that!

What?! He’s in Morgan Hill, it’s a 45 minute drive each way when the traffic is good, I can’t ask you to do that!

She and her family decided to make a day trip to Santa Cruz, let the kids have fun at the beach before they all finish growing up and going away, stop at Andy’s on the way and get some of those fabulous peaches for themselves, too and learn about what he had to offer. So much of California was still new to them. Exploring is fun!

The whole thing turned into so much joy. They were absolutely jubilant at the day, the trip, the getting to do something that they knew meant so much to me and we had a good hug this morning.

Her daughter helped me load my boxes into my car after the main meeting at church, I got them home and then made a beeline for the hospital.

Where I surprised Richard with a new Nautilus puzzle that I had ordered Tuesday, right before all this hit. A clown fish.

Having no idea that the most pieces in the smallest size would be the best for doing on a bedside hospital tray.

Two of the friends who stopped by to visit him couldn’t help but match up a couple of pieces themselves, to our great delight.

He looked so much better today. So much better. Normal heart. Swelling way down. Sitting in a chair, alert and with it, taking phone calls from family. He snorted a little laugh when I pulled out a 65-piece Nautilus puzzle and asked him if he were interested–and then we dove in on it together.

But the latest buzz is that kidney stone ultrasound treatments for some people can damage surrounding tissue so they’re having him wait it out for now.

An MRI this morning says the foot infection did go to the bones. The Infectious Diseases guy came in, knelt on the floor before him, and unbandaged and rebandaged him with a gentle tenderness that made me think of the story of Jesus washing his disciple’s feet to teach humility and service towards one’s fellow man. Then he told us that the antibiotics will continue orally for a goodly while after he goes home, but that these days, that should be all that should happen on that.

Who knew that catching the bathroom door on your foot could get your heart diagnosed in time.

He is a stone’s throw away from getting to go home.

Scene: Wednesday, Urgent Care. IV antibiotics round one.

Thursday: Urgent Care, same, round two.

Thursday afternoon, hours into this: Oh look he’s got a kidney stone too and it’s big. Take this CD with your info with you to the ER.