Holy Motherfucker,

June got sent home from preschool this week because of nits (that's baby lice eggs for you uninitiated) and Fred and I became psychotic. We've dealt with a lot recently, my cancer and its treatment; finding the right kindergarten for our autistic son. We've dealt pretty well and pretty calmly; we haven't let our fears take hold of us and squeeze us. We've gone on living and laughing and seizing the day.

But nits--Motherfucker! Scrubbing our four-year-old's hair with chemicals and combing through each strand with a finetooth comb and washing every single linen, pillow, pillow case, blanket, jacket, stuffed animal in hot water...ad nauseum because the treatment didn't work, she got sent home from school again and then we found them on George's scalp and then we took them and got them both haircuts as short as we could and then June decided she was a boy and we just kept washing every damn thing in the house and trying to work and using natural nit remedies like bathing the kids in vinegar.

Motherfucker. I'm sorry if this sounds facetious because I don't mean it to be at all but nits have been harder for us to deal with than cancer. And I'm just now, thinking they're gone, the nits, thinking they're gone, laughing at that. A little bit.
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It's been a funny few weeks of post-cancerness. I've been receiving things--cards and presents--from people who weren't present for me during my cancer experience. First came a package from a mom of a boy who went to preschool with George for two years whom I had developed a close friendship with and then had stopped talking to me about a year ago because she was "going through things and couldn't deal." That was a strange, hard experience for me because if I can say one thing about myself, I'm a good friend. I'd never had someone do that to me before. I won't rehash it all except to say that it was very painful for me and I've let it go and then there comes a package from her a few weeks ago with jewelry for me and a video for the kids and a note.

And then a few days later a long heartfelt letter from a friend of a friend saying how sorry she was that she hadn't been there for me and wishing me well.

And then more jewelry, beautiful earrings and a necklace, from a congregant at the synagogue where I work who had been one of the few people who hadn't written me a note or email while I was going through surgery and treatment to say that I was in her prayers.

And then a brisket. From another congregant. Who saw my post-chemo haircut and apologized for not reading her emails from our "Acts of Caring" list and wanted to know what was going on while I was in the middle of an activity with a large group of students. When I said that I couldn't talk just then, she left the room looking flustered. I went back to my office after school and found a large brisket on my desk with a note from her.

Now this part has been comical. Because I didn't need any of these people to be with me during my cancer experience; I have people close to me, very close, who were incredibly present. So I am able sit back and watch these delayed reactions in an unattached way. And accept their gifts.
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Monday morning George is having surgery. It's routine; ear tubes in, tonsils and adenoids out. We've been through the ear tubes before at CHOP and I am grateful that we discovered that he needs them again and also his tonsils and adenoids out. It won't be easy, the surgery and recovery for him, but he is my love and I am holding how good this will be for his health on the other side of recovery. If you pray, pray for him. Hold him in light and affirm that he will go through surgery with ease. George is my baby and this coming week will be another one that won't be easy for us.

But easier, I think, than the motherfucking nits.