Early morning: fearful. Bleeding heavily. Should not be.
Mid morning: relief: Yes, it was a huge tumor (baseball sized), and yes embedded in the wall of the uterus, but definitely contained and benign in nature and now I am forever free of it. Also relieving: I’ve torn a stitch, but have not (yet) put a hole where there should not be one.
Mid morning: warned: I listened to stern words: activity level must decrease immediately and stay that way for several more weeks or I risk needing repair surgery–while I am in London without the usual medical support from this community.
Mid afternoon: willful: I still had to go to Dallas for an important meeting with a banker and then to the memorial service for a high-school classmate who had died unexpectedly last week. So much for extremely limited activity.
Late afternoon: grief-ful: It was confirmed at the memorial that this classmate, an incredibly talented musician, architect artist and friend, had intentionally shot himself. In beautiful eulogies to this gifted and troubled man, we were given an inside look at the twin demons of depression and alcoholism that plagued him from early adulthood to his death. Tears flowed freely. Our high school class (Woodrow Wilson in Dallas, class of ’67) are an extraordinarily tight-knit group who still care for and support one another after all these years. Deep corporate sadness here.
Early evening: emptiness: Following the service, my husband took me on another necessary errand and then, seeing my gray face, stopped for dinner. I knew by then that I had again loosened that stitch, and the mixed news and emotional extremes of the day, coupled with renewed pain, had just about put me under.
Late evening: sadness. I came home and began reading blogs about what is happening at General Conference in Tampa. These thoughts about my beloved connection will have to wait until later.
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