Chief Rain in the Face

Mr. Solie, our music teacher, used to call me Chief Rain in the Face. My eyes would always leak during my saxophone lessons. Guess I was angry at myself for not practicing. I cried a lot when I was young.

There were a few tears after I got my diagnosis of Stage III breast cancer, especially when they said it was aggressive and invasive. It was fleeting.

Last night my eyes dripped at we left Le Mer. There must have been eighteen of us at the last supper - before many of the patients went home. My emotional reaction was surprising. After only three or four weeks, these folks have become very important to me. I don't remember ever being cast into a group of more friendly, helpful and delightful people. All from different areas of expertise, and different parts of the country. The only thing we have in common is cancer, and the IAT Clinic.

This morning the outgoing patients picked up their frozen serum that will last them until their next tune-up. In the waiting room were two new gentlemen. From their beard style and clothing they appeared to be Amish. More new patients and old "tune-upers" should arrive at the Clinic on Monday. It should be an interesting week.

We watched the boats come into the harbor while we were eating lunch at Pier One. My host was returning from Florida by ferry. Tasty conch fritters was my seafood choice. They ring a bell at sundown and a herd of sharks appear waiting to be fed. Sounds gory, but it is a tourist attraction.

What an adventure. It could only make one stronger.

And I haven't worn a bra since surgery on Jan. 12th. What freedom. Feels good.