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    When I look back at the entry I posted yesterday, I am reminded of the amazing way that so many people stepped in to support me as I went through treatment. What’s interesting to me now is that I don’t recall anyone actually asking me what I would like them to do! I was blessed in the extreme. Very seldom did a need pop up that wasn’t met before I even asked.

    What everybody did was perfect. It was not usually what I might have expected, but it was what each person did best and it was always wonderful.

    The Charge Nurse on the 5th floor at Mills (where I had been giving inpatient massage once a week) organized a meal sign up for my family. She put out the call, and many of my co-workers signed up to bring meals. All I had to do was tell her when the infusions were, and when the worse days would usually be.

    Several of my colleagues in the Massage Therapy department took it upon themselves to see that I got a massage every week while I went through chemotherapy. One of the therapists chose to make soup instead. Every Friday she came over with fresh, delicious soup and a little visit to cheer me up.

    My friend Becky, who went to comedy improv class with me, heard the news of my diagnosis and announced, “give me your address. I am going to send you a wonderful healing card”. And she did. Again, and again, and again, pretty much once a week. These were not just cards. They were wild, wacky, exuberant, sometimes soft, always beautiful amazing works of art. Even the envelope would make me smile.

    My boyfriend, Steve, would call me every day on his commutes, and make me laugh. He also helped me get through it knowing I was still a beautiful woman. On rotten weekends he would take care of me, and on good weekends, our four kids and the two of us did normal things. That was all so important. He stayed with me for most of the journey, and we parted friends.

    My mom, who was far away in Seattle, surfed the net for information and hope, and passed all the good stuff to me and kept the scary stuff to herself. Poor mom. That was a heavy burden, and she bore it without complaint, or even letting me know there was anything but the good stuff.

    Other parents took my kids to school. Flo, my #1 sidekick and all around support person, recruited her husband Don and they took the children out regularly, and helped me get them to bed. When I would call Flo up and complain of how miserable I felt (she knew about it, she’d been there) Don would call out in the background, “remember to tell her it’s TEMP-O-RA-RY!” and I would sigh and take heart.

    Several dear friends and family members flew down from Seattle, or ventured across the bay, to stay and take care of me during the yucky chemo days. Susan (I’ve known her since 6th grade. The kids call her Auntie Pickle), Christie, my mom, my sister, Holle, Aunt Ding Ding (Darlene, Ding Ding since we were babies), my sister in law Andrea, they all took their turn.

    Terry took me to Filloli gardens once lovely spring day. It was perfect.

    My brother set up a Netflix account so I could watch funny movies. The night after my surgery, my mom and my sister howled as we watched “the 40 year old Virgin”. Mom hired me a cleaning lady at the very beginning, and kept her until I was strong again.

    My friend Melissa made me the most wonderful collection of delightful, wacky hats that I had the audacity to wear frequently. They always brought a grin when I went to the infusion center with one of those on my head!

    So many people watched my Caringbridge journals, and left wonderful messages in my guest book. I would go and read them when I felt really rotten.

    If someone you know is facing cancer, don’t stress about what you can do to help. Do what you love to do, do what feels natural. You will certainly be a blessing.

    Looking back, I am again amazed and in awe of my army of angels.

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