It’s been an emotional few days for me, with memories and patterned footsteps keeping the past alive and the present in check.
Thursday was the final follow-up to the weirdness we found from my doctor’s appointment last month. Six weeks prior, when the appointment had been made, knowing the appointment was to be the day of my baby’s sixth birthday and the first anniversary of Carla’s death from cancer weighed heavily on me. After all, she was younger than I, a marathon runner, and an optimist so convinced that I most certainly was a pessimist by comparison; this time it was my turn for a visit with a specialist to take a look at something that appeared odd and had triggered an abnormal result on a cancer screening.
I could not have been more grateful for the two weekends of grandparents in town in addition to the suddenly very busy days as I was suddenly a partner in Little Bird Tales. The busy-ness that filled my mind and my days helped the time breeze past. By the time the fateful day arrived I was calm; most days I didn’t even thinking about the upcoming appointment. By then my biggest anxiety was that the appointment had been bumped from morning to afternoon and I wanted to be sure I would be home before the kids got home.
The ultrasound went smoothly and the technician even exclaimed that I had pretty ovaries. (“You should put that on facebook,” she said when I laughed.) Everything looked great and there was most certainly no evidence of anything awry. The doctor confirmed it when she reviewed all my results, followed with a slight scoff that I had been subjected to the anxiety of a blood test so unreliable.
The cherry on top was that I have already exhausted my annual deductible with all this hullabaloo so this appointment only cost me 20% of what it should have. My greatest anxiety with health care is the cost. (I would rather die quickly than have a drawn out struggle and leave my family burdened with a lifetime of expenses.)
I was home before the kids got off the bus, relieved that my inspiration had been correct and that I was fine. Once I knew my innerds were happy I could focus on making my birthday boy happy. He remarked several times that day that this was his best day ever.
The party on Saturday was a success, despite the small number of guests. When it was over and we convalesced on the couch; skyped with my family in Vancouver (both brothers!) and wished Andrew a happy birthday; and marveled that it was a year since we pulled out of California.
I was in awe of how much had happened in the year since: how many deaths mourned, how many ways my heart was healed, the transition from crappy apartment to nice apartment to house — our house. Our house. We’ve been in the house six months and are so settled and comfortable that I find myself forgetting there was a life before this.
It’s spring and the trees are reawakening and the birds are returning in full song. Each day the leaves fill in just a little bit more and our small, homey town again resembles the town I fell in love with last year. I may be a long way from my mountains and my ocean, but as long as I have trees I am at home.
It rained over night, but while the meteorologists had promised 100% chance of precipitation for this “big storm” that was to hit today, nothing has fallen today but blossoms. I was looking forward to a “big storm.” It’s been a year to the day since another “big storm” chased us into town.
Happy Anniversary, to us, Dallas. You’ve been good to me.