Deported

It seems my handy-dandy Power Port (a device inserted in the chest from which blood can be drawn and chemo given to preserve my already elusive veins) has resigned after a two-and-a-half-year term, so tomorrow I will be having it replaced and another put in.

When the nurse went to access it last time I had chemo, I immediately felt pressure, like the line to the port was blocked. When we tried it again, same thing, and we noticed a bit of swelling, so decided to stop. General consensus is that it may be cracked.

This is rather annoying as I am just getting over the tendonitis in my hand and arm and now I will have two (albeit, minor) wounds to heal from over the next few weeks. Still, I hate to even complain about this as the last while has been much more challenging for a number of my friends, near and far.

Moreover, yesterday was one of the most beautiful and affirming days of my life.

A number of participants I have had the pleasure to write with in our workshops joined together to present Voices of Callanish, an afternoon of words and music. We had a full house and it was truly breathtaking to watch the writing I have seen come into being over the past two years find a voice within the larger community.

I can't even imagine what these last few years of my life would have been like without the opportunity to write with and share the company of such fine individuals.

I raise my pencil (mechanical, of course) to each and every one of you.