kids with kids

Life continues joyous in its simple graces. Stacey took this photo of me and a 4-day old baby goat when she, her visiting sister Alex and I took a Sunday afternoon jaunt to the Redwood Hill Farm in Sebastopol. Periodically the owners let the public come in to luxuriate in a cooing pet-fest with these adorable creatures. I've attached a link of a Photo Gallery --->HERE!<---- for you to have a visual wander!

I met Stacey and her older (by two whole years!) sister Alex in Venice Beach in 1962. We were six and eight. A long time ago. With a homestyle bowl cut, Stacey first thought I was a boy. We played together out in the expanse of the deserted beachfront, sometimes with my little brother David. We formed the Shiny Stone Club. (Guess what we collected). Both families had their dysfunctional edges and muffled pains. We played. And 47 years later, we are still friends. What a miracle and a JOY!

I passed on sampling the cheese and kefir as I'm dairy-free today, but cuddle-o-rama it was for us all. There is a peculiar delight in having these little kids gnaw nearly toothlessly on your clothing, shoelaces and, if you're not careful, your hair. We came in our grubbies, rolled around with the baby goats, toured the grownup goats, had a picnic. We took a post-lunch stroll and found the tractor you'll see in the photos. It was a great afternoon out.

I'm cherishing my life these days. I awaken each morning and say, "Here I am, God. Show me how to love and serve You today." Jumbles of confusion from years past, brushed off as chronic anxiety or ADD, now smooth into a deeper rhythm punctuated by breaths of joy. Work is being renewed. Plans percolate without robbing from today. Friends are loved and prayed for.

I'll be visiting L.A. in a few weeks, seeing friends, visiting old 12-Step rooms, walking Venice Beach. My last trip out there was in September of 2008, the month before AML was diagnosed. The past 20 months have been, at times, Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. Right now I feel like clicking up my heels and saying, "Hee hee hee, I have today and oh it's a lovely one!"

God's double rainbow

My friend Tony took this shot of me skipping through a surprisingly drenching rain shower while a double rainbow arc'd at the end of the field where the sheep graze. (Yes, this could be the name of a town in Wales). It was a year ago. I wrestle to ably juxtapose a glorious double rainbow with nearly getting soaked.

As well I don't find this the most flattering shot of me, so my ego gets to squirm and step aside while I share dollops of goodness.... in fact, really awesomely cool news of YAY GOD!

Those of you praying for me while my counts sank over the months? If ever you think, "Well, this is probably useless" or wonder, "OK, God, please help Diane right now...." while you felt a bit wearied by the whole deal can just leap up and get some affirmation right here and right now. From April 5th, with the lowest of the lows white counts at zero-point-niner to April 22nd, try

this one: WBC 1.5! While I hung my head and thought, "Well, Lord, they can only go so low and then if You want me that badly, here I am," I prayed, too. I didn't do a moonlight dance or 150 affirmations a day. I didn't light candles or send money to anyone. I pondered life on life's terms and prayed. And so did you.

WBC 1.5! And those platelets? 83 to 110! And those shy little neutrophils that have been one-third of the minimum by which I was sprung from the hospital well over a year ago? 300 to 600 - they doubled!

This blood draw was for a visit with my former oncologist, Dr. Krijanovsky. I added in the fax number of a friend so that I could see the results prior to yesterday's consultation. "Is this {so-and-so} a doctor?" asked the lab tech. I paused. I'd already ruminated, "Hey. This is MY BLOOD! Don't play games with me!" After pausing, I said quietly, "Have you heard of the 5th Amendment?" She smiled. "Look. If there's any problem, call me, but please, leave the number in."

When my fax-equipped friend emailed me a PDF of the results and I opened them, I cried. He phoned me and I cried. Weeks of glum and glowering shattered. With a few lab values I could see that I was moving from possibly dying and relapsing to being SO BLESSEDLY OKAY I could almost hear Jesus say kindly, "O ye of little faith..."

Yes, it's now April 30th and I've been dancing with this for over a week. I didn't know what to say and how to say it. I still don't. And I'm saying it..... the counts moved UP. For the likes of me, this IS a MIRACLE. Today they are not what they were at the beginning of this month, in a downward trend that had been slugging on for several months.

God is in the midst of this. He will be in the midst of me when I die, as someday I shall. However it's thinking that the grim reaper is right around the corner looking at his watch that takes the wind out of my sails. And you bet your sweet bippy that this consciousness shift finds me in greater gratitude AND happiness!

Is it that vitamin IV infusion? Those Chinese herbal pills? Twenty minutes on the Rebounder? Raiding all raw organic at Whole Foods? The Presence of Christ IN the Eucharist? I'll make myself rabbit foot insane for trying to unwrap this to that degree. But Present He is. I pray that as long as I am alive, one day at a time, God shows me what He has for me to do in service.

I'll close with sharing that yesterday I had a positively lovely visit with my former oncologist, Dr. K. The possibility of a bone marrow biopsy didn't even come up. "I'll tell you why I made this appointment," I said to him. "I wanted to say hi." And it wasn't the nya-nya-nya that might've slithered in the door even a few months ago. It was a warm-hearted hello that began and ended with a hug and was a truly fun visit. I was able to be re-reminded that he was and is more than a 'part of the system' with which I have profound disagreements; he is a caring, conventional physician who had worried about me when I took off on my healing journey and was thrilled to see that after only one Induction and one Consolidation, I was well. Very well. Sixteen months after being sprung from the leukemia ward, with no further allopathic treatments, I was sitting in his office and laughing.

Julian of Norwich might be pleased, too. "…All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well..."

Hi. Do I look worried?

Someone in Germany may threaten me after nicking this image off the web, but can you blame me? Look at this liddul face! Look at this graceful, plump body in a ballet pose at the lapping waterfront. This is my new make-believe pet and symbol of ease today.

I was surrounded by supportive love after my last posting about those Damn White Counts. While their verity presumably remains, my angst has shifted. What good is that going to do? I was able to share my frightened demeanor, feel supported and then.... breathe. Breathe more deeply. And look to other things to capture my attention, many of which remain painful and involve the messiness, even darkness of humanity. My soul is heavy with the suffering of some of my dear friends. My anger is stoked by life's sheer unfairness at times. God loves me bratty while I moan, wave my arms and sometimes holler loudly.

Sometimes I sit in a 12-Step meeting next to another cancer- ..... what are we? Sufferers? Survivors? It's almost a demeaning label, that - for we are so much more than warriors against that which wants to kill us. So much more. But we have that connection and it's a bond, even a small one. "You're looking great!" We say it to one another and mean it. We compare notes, drugs, lack of drugs, near-misses, and then gratitude for this day. I still haven't nailed the heights of present-moments consciousness but I remember sometimes to savor the goldfinches stuffing their faces at my bird feeders or knowing that, sluggish as it may be, I'm heading out soon for a 20-minute jog. Not an hour? It's oxygen and life, still.

This little seal reminds me of my inner lightheartedness and grace which even when veiled are never wholly banished from my life.

Giddyup. Life is now!

Six years before I was born, my father David Luboff co-produced a Hollywood B-movie called Buffalo Bill in Tomahawk Territory. I have a copy of it as a VHS. When the credits roll, I cry. I miss my Dad something fierce.

This morning I was again struck by the disconnect between the cowboy at far left holding a gun to my Dad while smiling for the camera. (And go ahead, have fun with the costume-i-ness of it all.... it was Hollywood then!). Something's not on - the gun, the intention or the smile. We know what it is, but do I always know what's off? No. Not always.

During Holy Week I fasted from all emails and Facebook chatter. At the beginning of the week, I had suddenly felt imprisoned by every little red plop! that landed in my Inbox. My friends disappeared. My love for them had evaporated. There was simply..... all this EMAIL with no precious soul of substance at the other end of it all. And so I crafted an Auto-Reply that said, I'm not responding. And if you need to reach me, please phone.

No one did. But I did. The land of oh, I don't have the time! became reignited as intimacy caressing. I needed a break from emails and I took it. Doesn't mean they're bad. But enough already. Enough.

I also got to see my knee-jerk in action and make a conscious decision about it. I felt liberated for those six days.

I'm wrestling with thoughts and fears about the numbers again - my blood counts. After CLAIMING a complete healing IN JESUS' NAME, after eating one of the purest diets I have in decades, after.... you know, the whole health thing, really ramping it up, I wanted those numbers to RISE. Go! Giddyup! Reflect the Glory of God!

A recent blood draw showed the lowest white blood count I've ever had. I was crushed emotionally. And very, very angry.

White blood cells fight infection. Their lack doesn't leave one exhausted such as say with the red counts. And those reds, for which one can see I fail to thank God, are almost at normal levels. They seem to respond well to diet, exercise and nutritional supplementation. But whoa, the whites, my chemo-embittered, bone marrow-compromised whites. I've even talked to them, patting my legs. C'mon, kids. We can do it. Get your little asses UP there! And in came the numbers: .9. Zero-point-nine.

I wailed in the office of one of my practitioners who is actually more of a 2nd Spiritual Director to me, "How can I feel so good and HAVE THIS COUNT???" And one of the many aspects of her responses included the word "supernatural." I won't unpack everything here, but my idea of a miracle (the white counts being NORMAL and HEALTHY) and perhaps another way of seeing a miracle (shitty counts but otherwise abundant well-being) are having a meltdown at the Not Quite OK Corral. Hey God! I want it MY WAY! I want to be healed the way I WANT IT! And today, the numbers don't reflect that.

So I've been wrestling and not writing here. I remain neither "praise God, all is fabulous!" nor "oh no, it's wretched." I feel unnerved and vulnerable to share this here, but my fingers are tapping and my willingness is almost present. Regardless of what this means, I awoke this morning as I have many others. The moody clouds are overhead, which I love so much. I'll see my childhood pal Stacey later on. I'll worship the Lord tomorrow. And I'll continue to suffer with many CLOSE friends who are struggling with serious health ills.

I ain't smilin' with a fake gun pointed at my gut and I ain't dead yet, either. I'm poised at praising God. If His love is indeed unconditional, He'll love me bratty.

I think I need Him to.

Psalm 90, re-visioned

When I stayed most recently with my dear friends Tony & Ali in Scotland, I would walk slowly through the wood behind their bothies, breathing in the air and putting my arms out to the trees and God in nature, saying, "Please come into me and revive my tired bone marrow..... transplant your God-holiness into me now!" I didn't do this every day but I did it more than once. This past week of psycho-shakeup finds me actively visualizing yet again the revivification of my insides, that dried marrow that I now ask in Jesus' name to come alive, like in the Valley of the Dry Bones in Ezekiel 37. I'm seeing a plump and revived marrow pumping out vigorous white cells and neutrophils, leaping into my bloodstream and getting ready to show all that God is even more powerful than my considerable array of herbs and potions.

I would walk this trail in Morayshire and pray.

Acceptance is a very high state. And the Serenity Prayer gives me options: God, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. On a seemingly smaller scale I did that this morning during Morning Prayer.

I don't remember which psalm I was reading, but it was the one appointed for today. And I read it dutifully. It was dire, dour, lackluster.... I had an attitude and I didn't like it. "But it's the appointed Reading!" I thought.

And then I thought, "I will read some other psalm NOW." I grabbed a glorious book that was gifted to me during the St. David's Women's Retreat back in October, in Sewanee, Tennessee..... and found this lovely reweaving of Psalm 90 by Nan C. Merrill. I will share it with you now.

Eternal and Immortal One, You have been

our refuge in all generations.

Before the mountains were brought forth,

before You had formed the earth and

the world, from

everlasting to everlasting,

You are the Alpha and the Omega.

When our days on Earth are ended,

You welcome us home to your Heart,

to the City of Light,

where time is eternal

and days are not numbered.

You gather those who love You as

friends returning from a long

journey,

giving rest to their souls.

You anoint them with the balm of

understanding,

healing wounds of the past.

For our days on Earth are a mystery,

a searching for You,

a yearning for the great Mystery

to make itself known.

The years pass and soon the

Harvest is at hand,

a time to reap the fruit of

one's life.

Who has lived with integrity?

Who will reflect the Light

Who can bear the radiant beams

of Love?

Who have reverenced the Counselor,

and opened their hearts to the

Spirit of Truth?

Teach us, O Beloved, to honor each day

that we may have a heart

of wisdom.

Awaken us, O Holy One! Too long

have we been asleep!

Have mercy on your people!

Help us to wait in Silence listening

for your gentle Voice;

Strengthen us with courage to

face the fears within.

O, that we might be converted in

our hearts

and walk together in peace and

harmony!

Let your Love be known to the nations,

your glory to our children's

children.

Let the grace and gentleness of the

Holy Spirit be upon us,

guiding our feet upon paths

of Love Consciousness

Increase the Light within us -

O Beloved, heart our prayer!

Amen.

and on this side....

It's hard for me sometimes to find the right photo. I choose one to focus on the post's topic and I want it to be Just Right. Seeking and choosing this one took a bit more effort as that which I hope to share is still unfolding for me. So klutzy attempts at perky cuteness will clatter to the floor.

It's Lent and I can be a bit dour, even though this fermenting shift attends to things ultimately joyous.

The question on my plate is one I struggle with: At what point in time will I stand up and accept that I AM HEALED by Christ's mercy?

An old and ostensibly current dividing line in the cancer dance is the 5-year mark. In many cancers, one can graduate from an edgy "remission" into a full-fledged CURE! in 5 years. {And who decided THIS?} I have no idea who came up with that number or why, but it has also been pointed out that if someone dies 5 years and 2 days after the initial cancer diagnosis, then they did not die from the cancer. (Camera close up to eyes rolling). And when you think of it, five years is a pretty solid chunk of time to spend living a life whistling in the dark and HOPING that The Thing doesn't rear its ugly head once again.

So amidst my 94% organic raw vegan cuisine, daily prayers, fresh air, juicing, green smoothies, exotic herbal supplements.... on and on and ON, and it's quite a list!.... is the need to address my consciousness, my faith and what the squirrel cage between my ears is doing on any given day.

There are times when this is hard.

At what point do I believe that Christ can and would heal me? And to the extent that my mouth and my solar plexus part company in a pathetically slipshod manner, how may I step across that divide and say, "Yes, Lord, I receive this whole healing from You NOW!"

Look. I am going to die someday. My will is seriously entangled in "when." I don't want it to be soon and I don't want it to be from leukemia. Writing books and doing aerobics in my eighties are part of my living fantasies. And with everything in my being devoted to prayer (mine AND yours!), to trusting GOD, to doing the work of rebuilding myself as best I can....I acknowledge that that hour is out of my hands. So how do I not cross but bridge the divide of saying, "I receive my complete healing now in Jesus' name!" and "Thy Will, o Lord, be done."

This is what is on my plate today and I cannot always make sense of it.

I limped through a very unpleasant illness for much of February.... without pneumonia, sepsis or a visit to the E.R. I emerged and I am well! My white counts and neutrophils however remain extremely low, the kind where their numbers light up in red on some lab reports. They've been too low since I was sprung from my last hospitalization on January 2nd, 2009 but lately they've dribbled even lower. I need my bone marrow to fatten up, be filled with the Holy Spirit and begin cranking out those little workers in some SERIOUSLY NORMAL numbers..... NOW. Now the good news is that, after prayer and perhaps two of those pricey IV Immune infusions, my platelets are UP! My red counts are nearing the bottom of the normal range, which is really worth shouting about in gratitude. But the whites need to MOVE IT upwards if the healing I claim is to be manifest.

My weakness in conviction became apparent when one of my holistic practitioners said, "I think it would be a good idea for you to get a bone marrow biopsy." In that one comment on Monday at midday, my psychic world went into a complete tailspin. You see, that is the ONE test that will tell me without fail whether or not the cancer has returned. Yes, the CBCs give signs, but that needle-in-the-butt bone for which no local painkiller will keep away the pain is IT. And this test can only be performed by an oncologist. The land of allopathic medicine suddenly came into my view once again.

It's one thing to feel GREAT. I do! I love my Lord and I love my team of holistic healing professionals!

It's another to say, "Let's know for sure. Now." Dan Dunphy needs to know whether he's treating low white blood cell counts or actual active leukemia.

Between the Daylight Savings Time "hangover" and feeling as though I was sideswiped with a nail-studded 2X4, it's been a rough 48 hours.

It is humbling what fear can do to me.

I have written before that until I can accept the eventuality of death, my living is a charade. And if I spend my psychic energy living in worrisome fears, many swept under the carpet, I have chained myself and cursed a projection of a jail keeper. I will neither live in denial, however.... in Whom do I put my trust?

It's Lent, and it's been a bit gritty the past few days. "Yes, God!" to the vibrant paradigm shift of claiming my COMPLETE HEALING has been knocked around not a small amount.

As it is, I've put in a message with my former oncologist, "Dr. K." Scheduling is supposed to phone me up and make an appointment for the coming few weeks. There is no rush. However, my inner work is set out for me. I do not wish to shuffle towards this procedure with bowed head, afraid. Each of the past seven I've had since November '07 have been choked with that restrictive vibration. I want to move past my old fear-based pattern and instead step into this in solid expectation that the biopsy/aspiration will show NO active leukemia. No legion of myeloblasts doing the backstroke between slamming down shooters at the Dead End Saloon. I want my white counts DOUBLED by then.... and then doubled again! Trust me, they have that far to go and that is what I want them to do by the Grace of God.

I have a fantastic life today. I will not let my struggles deny me of my gratitude. And to those of you who pray for me - more, please.... for my complete healing, my courage, my reliance on God. Thank you and bless you!

23 years ago today....

.... I awoke from yet another night of obliterating my consciousness with booze. I think it was cheap wine, if my confession be unadulteratedly self-humiliating. And I scrawled in my morning journal that I wanted it to be the first day of a very long sobriety, each day one more step away from drowning my life in alcoholism. By an amazing Grace of a most Gracious God, it has been so. Foolishness and deception have been my companions more often than I want anyone to know, but by God's holy Grace, I've remained sober and been a part of an anonymous group that has been a core of my spiritual walk. Aside from Steps for living, the joys of this fellowship fill my heart with joy. And when they don't, I am reminded of the worn aphorism that if you like everyone {in this Fellowship}, then you're not going to enough meetings.

The photo is from a Roman Catholic study in Forres, Scotland, where a mid-day meeting gathered for years. It was the summer of 2006. Having an icon of the Blessed Mother and her Precious Son above the meeting slogans is vital for me. My salvation and hope breathe in both the world of recovery and my worship of God in Christ.

February was rough. A mere 28 days long, I spent 3 weeks of it unwell with what I can only guess was some manner of influenza. I took no antibiotics but poured holistic remedies down my gullet and twice into my veins! (Legally). The 2nd run with the IV "Immune Drip" barely produced a cough. Go Diane's immune system! Now that the cobwebs are clearing from my consciousness, I can think of rebuilding my physical strength again with long nature walks, jogging and learning some bouncy-wouncy routines on my new Urban Rebounder.

It's Lent. I'm healing. I'm sober. And I'm very very grateful.