Coffee Morning Supreme

There were white scones, brown scones, seed scones. There were scones with cream and jam, butter, butter and jam, plain and whatever you're having yourself. There were chocolate meringues, iced fairy cakes and more besides. There was chat, explaining, introductions, questions and more introductions. There were pensioners and babies, cyclists in lycra, neighbours, friends and relatives. There were donations galore. All-in-all, it was a lovely morning! Mairéad, baking since 7.30 in the morning, raised over €500 for the Irish Lung Foundation, which I will register on the charity site as an off-line donation. Etty and I are very grateful.





Donation Box





Neighbours and Dad

Mairéad, the hostess

Modelling T-shirts front & back



Friend



Fabulous Feast!

Neighbours

Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

It's really beginning to feel like that. These little runs (4miles today) feel more of a nuisance and I am getting impatient to get at the 'big event'. "Just let me at it," I want to say, "Let's just get this over and done with." IN bed, at night, I have begun to really try and imagine the route, what phase of the run it will be, how I will feel and so on. The final miles will be measured in bridges, I think. 

Not that the little runs are too easy. Today I really was the reluctant runner. A jumbled phrase from the Meat Loaf song popped into my head around mile two, "I would do anything for love, But I won't do that." The 'that' in this case being my running. Why such resistance this morning is a mystery to me? My legs were heavy, I wanted to sit and work on a piece that has (finally) come unstuck for me, I will be heading South shortly for twenty-four hours. I think it just was one too many things to do. I only hope that I am not getting turned off running and that I will continue on when the marathon is over. As a way of coping, instead of doing the one and a half rounds that I usually do for 4 miles, I quite literally turned around at mile 2 and ran back the way I had come out. I was slightly fearful that if I passed my gate, I would be tempted inwards. Anyway, I got there. My short runs are now complete for the week and there just remains an 8 mile run on Sunday.

I'm off to Cork shortly. Mairéad and Dad are hosting a coffee morning for the neighbours in the morning and I am making a 'guest appearance'.  Seriously, I really appreciate it folks. The money is still coming in and I want to thank people for their generosity. I will be sending out a final appeal next week.

There is one last thing I want to say before I sign off today. Despite the cliché, "the loneliness of the long distance runner". I have rarely felt alone on this campaign. The blog has been a significant part of that, keeping me motivated, imagining my readers and 'answering' to them and so on. Also, I know of so many others who are out there venturing their own fundraising or raising awareness or marking a significant episdoe in their lives. Last Autumn, for example, a cousin ran the Evening Echo Women's Marathon, for another cousin who sadly lost a baby at birth, raising funds for Féileacháin.  Cousins on the other side of the  house are also out there running 5kms and 10kms for charity and personal achievement. I love following their exploits on Facebook. I have mentioned Singapore brother who started me on this really, back back when I was still studying. Café-Java brother has done a fair few events on his bike as has No.1's brother who is another great fundraiser. Brother-and-busy-father-of-3-girls will probably run a half-marathon before the year is out - no pressure! I had some lovely runs in November with Etty's hubby who runs every morning before work.  Rhetorician, a friend and colleague, is busily clocking up 2,000kms for the year and engaged in running 84miles in events to mark the age her Dad would be this year, if he had not died from a heart attack leaving her and her Mum.  There is an added poignancy to this because she is now the age he was when he died (am I right?). And she's in her forties! She has already done a half-marathon and has a number of events lined up, including the Dingle half-marathon which we will both do in September.  Then there are people I have never met, who have offered support and encouragement and their experience, through other contacts. In truth, I like to run alone. It's a great bit of space. That said, I feel part of a much larger, bigger community all out there striving and training and just cutting out a pace for themselves. A big cheer for all!

Morning

A light mist hangs suspended in the air, air that is sultry and moist. The birds sing their dawn chorus. Little Guy had a bad dream. Aroused from sleep at 4am I stumbled in the waning dark in search of "magic spray" (my perfume)that chases bad dreams away. A kiss and a cuddle and Little Guy sleeps again but mama's wide awake! And so it goes....

It seems I may have unintentionally created drama with my last post. No need for drama, no need for worrying or fretting. In fact her words, if anything, bring comfort, "time...", "peaceful....".

Have I told you lately that I am feeling really well these days? I feel like the sparkle is back, the energy is flowing. I had another infusion yesterday and it went really, really well. As I lay there receiving the medicine in my veins I imagined the healing that was taking place. I have been experimenting a little with meditation and was able to do a little healing meditation, blessing those around me, those in pain, those taking care of me and those close to my heart. (I don't know if that really helps others, but I know it helps me and my relationship with the world.)

The results from my CT scan of the previous week came back and my lungs appear to be stable, no new damage. Good news indeed! It seems that the remicade infusions, while maybe not completely eliminating the disease is at least inhibiting further lung damage. The report notes the loss of lung volume from previous disease activity and extensive fibrosis and scarring of lung tissue and of course bronchiectasis (floppy airways)in the lower lobes. But...just a week or so ago the New England Journal of Medicine published the findings of a study funded by The National Institute of Health and carried out at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston. This study claims to have identified stem cells capable of repairing damaged lung tissue. Of course it is a controversial study and of course it so far has only been conducted on mice (to which we owe so much gratitude for their contribution to medicine, seriously!) but surely it is a sign of hope and progress.

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/05/110511170837.htm

I certainly think it is!

Remembering a Visit

Etty ... You are very brave ... and very open. It can't have been easy to write that.

I don't really know how to follow that last post. Writing about my little runs seems somehow trite and facile, by comparison with such larger questions.

I am reminded of my last visit to Arizona, though, about four or five years ago. You had all been home for Christmas and then you went back and just seemed, even from across the miles, to be getting sicker and sicker. In the end, I organised a surprise visit through your Hubby. Gosh, we had some good fun plotting, he and I. Most of the time, when visiting Etty in Arizona, it entailed an overnight stay in Phoenix. So, I did that. On the following morning then, I picked up a rental from the airport and headed up the mountains. It was such an adventure on my own. Part of the fun was ringing Hubby (Etty's) on a Saturday, when he would be at home and surrounded by Etty and kids and trying to talk to me without letting on to them that I was on my way. He would talk to me as if I were an engineer digging for water (related to his work). So, He'd ask 'How much further' or 'Did you find anything yet?' and other questions that were nonsense to me, but I knew the drill (sorry!)  while I gave him location and expected time of arrival. It worked, noone suspected a thing. 

That was fine, except when I arrived into the Circle or estate and at the house, Etty was outside by herself tending to her plot of Spring flowers. I didn't want to cheat Hubby of the arrival, so I drove around again. There she was still, weeding and clearing to her heart's content, and no Hubby to be seen. There was nothing for it, but to hoot the horn and alert him to my arrival. In that part of the world, tooting the horn was not really the done thing. The kids were soon on the doorstep, Hubby guessed and was out with the video camera. Etty stood looking at the blue saloon car, wondering who could it possibly be. Most people in the area drove larger 4 x 4s or cars to cope with the mountains and families.  I can still see her expression when I stepped out. She was absolutely stunned. I think it was one of my best kept secrets ever. Needless to say, we shed a tear or two.

What I am really warming up to, though, is my departure. It was a great visit, easy going, ordinary and loads of time spent with Little Guy who despite being only 18 months and depending on sign language to communicate was just the best company ever. By the way, he was the only other person who knew the secret. Hubby admitted that he had to tell someone and knowing that Little Guy wasn't able to tell, whispered it to him one evening while changing for bed. Lucky there wasn't a baby monitor! The other two were in school and I did the aunty visit to the School. But Little Guy was at home and so I had some good times with him. That's when he used to sign 'leaf' for 'Niamh' which fascinated me. One morning, there was a little knock on the door and Etty told me later that he was outside signing 'Aunty Leaf'.  As I have said before, he intrigued me because despite his inability to speak, it was fairly easy most of the time to know what was going on. By the way, he talks plenty now!

Anyway, back to the trigger for this reminscence.  On the Sunday we went to Church. Etty and family were very active in White River, as she said. I was surprised, though, when the local pastor asked her if he could pray over her, without giving much reason. I was more than surprised, I was also troubled. He too could see what was prompting my worried visit to White Mountains.  I'm not an unbeliever, I just struggle a bit with faith and the language and, in truth, I'm not sure what I believe. I like to keep it a bit nebulous for myself. I believe in graced moments, but I'm a bit cautious about the miracle thing. That said, the following day, Etty went to her local physician who, finally, acknowledged that Etty was sicker at that point than he could manage. It was on the day I was leaving. From there, Etty's appointments with the specialist in Denver began and, certainly, some improvement came. Sometimes, despite my tough attitude to miracles, I wonder about the prayers or was Fr. Eddie and I and her physician and whoever else just recognising some real sickness in her?

I know that I have said this to one or two people in the past, but leaving Etty that day was one of the hardest things. I didn't know if I should extend my stay, but was conscious of my own commitments. She came in from the doctor and just sat. She was kind of blown away. Etty, you were so thin that time too. To hug you, was to hug bone and, let's be real, we're not small women.  The other memory of that day was the bag of coffee! Despite all this distress, or because of it, I spilled ground coffee over the counter, into the cutlery drawer, down the side of the cooker ... everywhere. It didn't do the decent thing and fall into a heap in the middle of the floor, no, that would be too neat. It just seemed to find every crevice, every nook and cranny. (Jeepers, 'tis almost a metaphor for that blinking Sarcoidosis which seems to be all pervasive.)  Etty would tell me, laughing, that she found more of it, for quite awhile afterwards. I suspect the new owners will even find coffee grains in the kitchen ... whoever they might be. So much for being helpful!

Prayers, faith, healing ... just your post triggered that memory for me. I want to write about other runners and projects, but I have been thinking of you a lot since your last post, as I trot my little circles. My runs are shorter again, so I am back to little circles within the larger local circle. Take care.

Circles, Part 3

Circles, lines, waves,....I see so many of them in my life. Today, I'll have to admit, it is the straight /forward path that has most caught my imagination. It has been only a little more than two months since my family and I moved to Massachusetts from Arizona. I am so amazed at all that we have lived and experienced in those two months. We have travelled far, both literally and figuratively. Niamh has travelled far, both literally and figuratively. Transformation is tangible for both of us. For both of us it has been an extraordinary few months...

Yet it is to the circle that I need to return to now. I need to circle back to some earlier posts of the week of Feb. 27th where I had begun to share some of my experiences living in the southwest and interactions I had with Native people. It was a Native Elder that first told me that I was sick. I wrote those stories as we were journeying across the country. It was a good "in-between" time to reflect back and it has been difficult to find that space here, but I'll try.

Many have asked the question "What happened with the lady in the church?" And the true answer is....nothing else happened! At the time I did not understand her words, I did not know how to interpret them but looking back now I see how sarcoidosis was already manifesting itself in my body. There were the night sweats, weightloss, coughing, difficulty sleeping, swollen lymph nodes, kidney stones, a miscarriage and then the drama of trying to find a diagnosis once doctors took a real look at me and figured out that something was wrong, terribly wrong and my chest x-ray was so alarming. So is this what she saw? Was this the shadow that was looming over me? I don't know and I will never know for she and I didn't speak again for a really long time, years and years in fact. I saw her in church every week but Native people don't look you in the eye, it's part of their culture, and this tribe in particular did not always want to engage with "white folks". So, what happened? I finally was diagnosed and my illness strarted to play itself out and there was no more interaction with the lady in the church...until the week before we left Arizona.

The community now knew that we were leaving. As the music minister there it would have been hard for us to leave without anyone noticing so an announcement was made. As I was leaving the church that sunday the lady was behind me. Aware that my time with her was limited I took a deep breath and decided that I needed to ask her if she remembered our interaction of so many years earlier.

"Do you remember that night?" I asked.

"Yes I do" she replied quietly. "And I remember that you did not know what I was talking about".

"I was diagnosed with an illness shortly after that", I said, willing her to talk more, tell me more.

"I knew you were sick", she said "and I know you have struggled so much. I see it in you. I tell my children sometimes, "you need to pray really hard for that lady because she is struggling so much"".

"Thank you", I said quietly, "I'm doing better now"

Her old brown eyes filled suddenly with tears.

"I'm so sorry" I said "I certainly didn't mean to make you cry."

"It's so hard sometimes" she said, "knowing these things. Father tells me it is a gift but it's so hard for me to see it. There is so much pain, people hurt so much and I look at them and I know that they will be leaving us soon, leaving behind family and loved ones..."

I was confused, just what was she saying to me?

"I'm sorry, I don't understand" I said.

"Your passing, I can see it."

And then it hit me, she was talking about death, my death!

"But you have time" she said. "you will have time to be ready, to have everything in order and everything prepared and you will be ready and accepting when the time comes. It will be very peaceful. I can see that, very peaceful"

And then she hugged me. It was a warm, tight embrace. And then she left...and that was it!

In the following weeks our church community said goodbye to us. The elders prayed over us, the Native people gifted us with a "burden basket", a hand woven basket traditionally used to carry food and supplies but often to be placed at the front door where one may place all one's troubles upon entering and preserve harmony in the home. They blessed us with pollen and "holy" salt from the river. They turned us around in circles, always clockwise "so you will always follow the sun and walk in the light" they said.

The lady's words don't scare me. We are all fragile. Time is ticking by for all of us. "You have time" she said. That could mean anything...She gave me a great gift that day though, a reminder that as we strive to live well we can also die well.

I'll concentrate on the living well and the dying will take care of itself!

2 Weeks To Go: Is Feidir Linn

As I write, Etty, your President is flying over my head towards Dublin city from a visit to a small town in one of my neighbouring counties where, reputedly, he has some ancestors. I could hear the helicopter earlier as it headed South from the Phoenix Park but, alas, I could not see it. That's news of national and international import.

As I write, I am preparing for my own drama of sorts, aware that this day two weeks the marathon, the weeks of training, will all be over. We will be celebrating or crying, as appropriate, in the Flying Enterprise in Cork. By the way, anyone who is in Cork on the day of the marathon is welcome to join us! We will be there from 2.30, maybe 3pm, hopefully. It's at the South Gate Bridge, right on the Bridge. I use the word 'drama', but deep down I wish to keep it calm, low-key, matter-of-fact. My biggest challenge will be to avoid losing energy to nerves and excitement. Every ounce of strength, emotional and physical, will have to be harnassed that day. Jittery heartbeats need to be kept to a minimum. Heartbeats are oxygen, I need as much oxygen as possible flowing smoothly through my limbs. I need strong, steady and slow heartbeats.

Training continues. Last Thursday, I used a version of my local Slí na Sláinte to do just 4 miles. On Friday, I was in  Kerry and so ran around Ashgrove and Sheen Falls to give me just over 5 miles. I rested Saturday and on Sunday, a day of mixed showers and sun, I did just over 10 miles, heading out to Roughty Bridge, back through the town, out the Killarney road to turn left towards Reen and down to Letter and back the Sneem Road. It was supposed to be 12, but I was stuck for time and had read that one shouldn't run more than an hour and 45 minutes this close to the marathon. I have no idea where I read that, but judging by the tiredness that seems to be fairly stuck in my limbs these days, I am happy to just keep things ticking over between now and then. It's a difficult balance. I can hardly improve in the next two weeks, but neither do I want to disimprove. There is also the reality that my body has become used to running such distances and may find less running quite peculiar. This week I will be running 2 x 4 mile runs, 1 x 3 miles and my long run is but 8 miles. I have also brought my long runs to Sunday, to dovetail with the Bank Holiday Monday of the marathon.

Over the last sixteen weeks, my body has changed, or rather my legs have changed. There are muscles and definition where there were none. Earlier in the Spring, I remember reading Cheever who, after several months of training, noticed a bridge of cartilage "running downward from the point of my kneecap". I looked down to examine my own legs but, almost disappointed, couldn't see what he was talking about. Inadvertently,over the weekend in the throes of a yoga pose, I spotted the ridge on my own knees. As I keep saying, I haven't lost much weight, but my lower body has stronger muscles than I did in January. Hopefully, those muscles are strong enough to keep me going through 26.2 miles! 

As I write Obama has arrived on stage in Dublin city centre where there is a concert to welcome him. It's a lively energetic visit, by all accounts. He seems a very joyful person? Who knows? Still, unexpectedly, it was last week's visit that touched me more. I will never forget the Queen's bow in the Garden of Remembrance. I was filled with memories of the terrible atrocities on the news that were such an intense backdrop to our childhood. One of my earliest memories of watching telly is, I realised lately, Bloody Sunday of 1972. There was some disagreement between the adults (parents/grandparents) and I knew it had something to do with the images on telly. That's all I can remember. In the last twelve months it occurred to me to ask for clarification on this memory. It seems my Grandfather had a somewhat intemperate response to the events of the day with which all in the house did not agree. I thought of my other Grandmother's stories about the Black and Tans, her husband's fight for freedom (I never knew him) and her attitude to our neighbours across the Irish Sea and I wondered at the change that has come, and I was filled with hope. That was the greatest impact of last week's events for me, there is always the possibility of change.  Cheever noticing the changes in his body from training was told by a friend, "You're a different person now. You can't ever go back."  Last week too, I thought of one of my nieces who, from where I'm standing, seems like she could be anything she wants to be. The world is, as we say, her oyster. I am happy that that world includes a more friendly view of our nearest neighbour. My Granny on one side, my niece on another and in between the change, for better, that has come about. Who could have thought it? Here's to "not going back".
As I conclude, Obama is concluding his oration which is, as expected, a message of hope and promise.  For the pessimists, those who don't believe in change, he offers the phrase, as Gaeilge, "Is feidir linn!" Yes, we can. Maybe, that will be my mantra on the day of the marathon. Is feidir linn!