December 8th, 2008: I had misgivings when I left the hospital with a high level of nausea. But I did not live out my greatest fear which was a recurrence of the misery I experienced after my initial chemo discharge. That was truly dreadful. This time I had an array of anti-nausea pills. And I took them. And they worked!!! Not to say that I was comfortable and totally oriented, but I rested quietly for most of the day. I started eating again (watermelon first, then, a few hours later my homemade chicken soup with wild rice and barley). Most of my first meals stayed down. A couple didn’t. With every hour of rest, I felt like I was moving forward to more stability.

Ideally, I would have stayed home and drifted all day. But destiny had scheduled me a clinic appointment for an injection that would support my white blood cell production. It seemed a bit much to get out of bed and schlep to the clinic to get a shot (which is given a day or two after discharge), but I also didn’t want to sabotage my white blood cells. When I arrived, I looked at myself reflected in the big clinic windows. I thought, “Yes. This is how I look right now: a thin corona of hair left on my head, pale skin, major facial wrinkles from weight loss (about 15 lbs.). I look like someone with cancer. I look like someone who has been given chemo. It’s true. It’s all happening and now you can see it visually, and that’s OK.

Once home, I was grateful to be down for the night at 4:30 in the afternoon. I had a brief but heartfelt and comforting talk with Lorenzo. Then, after feeling out of my body for almost a week, I listened to my Tibetan bowls CD and ran my energy, grounded, cleaned out my aura and went to my healing center. This time, I soaked in my turquoise pool for a long time. I’ve added a temperature switch that modulates the water’s warmth from 100 degrees to 110. This soak was followed by a rest on my marble mattress and then I heard a growling behind the garden gate. After being reassured that it was a healing growl, the gates opened and a mid-sized bear ambled into my garden. It circled around me several times, slowing as it moved. Finally, it put one arm over my chest in a friendly way, cupped me with it’s paw and rested it’s muzzle against the side of my head. “Dream,” it said. “Dream. Dream now. This is your dream time. Allow dreaming. Go into dreaming.” Then, after a long time of resting together, the bear removed his arm. “Eat lots of salmon,” were the final words as it shuffled out through the garden gates.