By the way, that's not me

Easter 2007.

Oh my goodness, can you believe how great Bob looks here? The thing is, we never took pictures of what he looked like when his liver was gone. The egg yolk eyes, the emaciated body, and the tormented being. I think I myself took a picture of it, though. Too many pictures. They're all somewhere inside me. And now I'm thinking I should have just put one on the digital camera so the images might leave me alone.

Thanks everyone, again, for walking with us during the terrible time that is now far, far behind us. Thank you a thousand times over and over. Someday, I really do want to turn those care pages into a book. It will be dedicated to you all.

But now the thing is, I look at this picture and the first thing I think is, this is not me. This picture was taken just one day before my throat biopsy and well you know how the rest of that month went. Ahem, last month. Turkish surgeon come and gone. And now it's like I'm a different person. Even ask Bob. Ask Martha A+. I'm not the same. Today I am just who-I-am-is-what-you-got. Maybe that's the gift of cancer. And I say that fully knowing that I survived the easy cancer. It just is. Thyroid cancer is the easy cancer. No chemo.

You know what? I haven't even been to one single soccer game or karate class. That's what Amanda and Aidan are doing now. I barely know what's going on in their school. I don't pick them up at the bus stop. I don't cook them dinner. I go hours and hours -- like more than 12 hours on some days -- without even seeing them. My own kids.

What am I doing? Listening to my ipod obsessively on the bus to and from the office. Figuring out how to fit core power yoga in to my day everyday. Looking for the courage to resume dance classes. Thinking about my next doctor visit. Which, by the way, today went very nicely. My Ethiopian Endocrinologist, Dr. Asfaw, was as beautifully refined as ever and told me I shouldn't feel like I should wear a scarf all the time. Wondering what song I should put on my ipod next.

Is that what a wife and mother does?

No.

I don't know.

It's like a different kind of retreat. I've gone away without leaving home. Bob is taking care of everything. And I mean absolutely everything. He shops, cooks, cleans, works out the kids' schedules. He even got me that book today that I've been wanting, Prague. All I do is go to work, yoga, and come home. That's it. Read a chapter or two of Captain Underpants to Aidan. Ask Amanda how her last 24 hours were. Think about my next ipod download. Have a fleeting thought of that sleezy Paul Wolfowitz and how finally, FINALLY, he has been dismissed from the World Bank in shame. As if one botched war wasn't enough shame for him. Make that two botched wars. Didn't he do Afghanistan too?

It's like the next wave of liver recuperation is upon me. My first therapist would be so impressed. She didn't exactly work out, plus she moved her practise to another city anyway. All I did was cry when I saw her. Now I never cry. All I do is move about downtown Minneapolis to the music on my ipod and conspire with myself on how to get to the next yoga class.

This is not how nice midwestern women are supposed to be. And a candidate for pastor's wife at that.

It's still the post surgery power surge. It just won't stop. I hope it never does. I think it's OK. Bob says I am really different. I am.

They say that you're supposed to find your own voice, your authentic self. Maybe I'm lucky enough to have finally accomplished that. Don't worry, I won't be a selfish mother for long. Just for now. It feels so good.

With love, T

P.S. We have an incredibly amazing weekend coming up. Lots-o-pictures and bloggin already in the plans. Please come back.