Disclaimer:
These are just thoughts. Not pleas for pity. Just thoughts. The everyday thoughts of a woman with a serious diagnosis. A woman who laughs far more often than she cries. A woman who feels joy far more often than sorrow. A woman who embraces gratitude as a serious element in her life. I also lean into my faith to sustain me. These are just thoughts meandering across my days and I risk sharing them because I think they are important thoughts and valid... but not by any means defining the whole of who I am.

Also, all of you are my *Alisons* and I thank you. You all are amazing! Especially my sons.

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Yesterday and this morning had my mind clouded with negativity. Um, sad thoughts.

I have an amazing posse of friends on the mountain and around the globe, but I sometimes stumble with the worthiness of my survival of this illness that's trying to become *me* as I struggle to retain the *me* I want to be, thought I would be. (I'm kinda freefalling with my thoughts here.) It's like I've had to let go of every dream mote I've ever had. I've been given a new canvas, which at times is testing my creative ability with a blend of colors and strokes that are new to me and overwhelming and too complicated. It's also kind of like when a writer tries to proofread his/her own words. It doesn't work - never does - it's impossible. That's why we hire proofreaders and editors. In this case, God is my Supreme Editor, and like the writer I try to be with perfect syntax, I must trust God as my editor and the perfection of His syntax as He modifies my life. So what if my life has a momentary cliffhanger? I trust.

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I haven't been dieting the way I should nor have I been exercising. My negative me figures, "What's the point?"Let someone else have a second chance with harvested lungs. My motives to let someone else have a crack at a transplant aren't the least bit philanthropic. It's about giving up - and I'm way too early in this diagnosis to be giving up. But I now do understand why candidates with spousal support have an edge for eligibility during evaluations. It's not even that married people have more to live for... it's hard to articulate because it's all so damned obvious.

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This weekend a call from a friend updated me with a new crisis: Her arthritis is making it difficult for her to pick up her purse.

REALLY? FLIPPIN' REALLY?

It's all about resignation and worthiness. It's sometimes hard to shake. The older folk of my family won't let me talk about my diagnosis. It's too painful for them. I truly understand. I'm not supposed to predecease them. Another friend gets drunk and calls me with babble-speak that makes me quickly regret I picked up the phone. In an insufferably sloshy-slurry voice she'll meander with stupid comments like,"We're gonna fix this." And I'm soberly thinking, "Yup, you got it, you ass-monkey." I can be such a bitch. I know she means well - I really do.
So I listen to stupid crap about my friend and her heavy purse, and the drunken miracle cures my other friend has conjured through bourbon induced hallucinations. Gah. And this is why I sometimes feel I have no place for my sorrows.

Then this morning I got a call from Alison. Let me tell you about Alison.

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Alison answered a classified ad in the Sewanee Messenger last year. I'd finally decided to rent my apartments, which are attached to my home. She was the first one to arrive in my driveway. Alison's a beautiful woman with silken long blonde hair. She's tall, all legs, and slender. The day I met Alison, her countenance was shattered. Her face was a jumbled roadmap of despair. I silently, inwardly groaned. She was carrying trunk loads of invisible baggage. Yet, courtesy reigned and I showed her the studio. The whole time, I could tell Alison's concentration with the task at hand was not operating. She was extremely distracted... her mind jammed with some crisis, of this I was certain.

When she left she indicated she would get back to me regarding her decision. As she pulled down my driveway, out of sight, I threw my hands in the air and wailed, "Dear Sweet Jesus, why me! Why can't you ever bring someone normal into my life?"

The next day as I was driving to meet some friends for lunch, Alison called with an interest to rent my studio apartment for three weeks. I accepted her request - rolling my eyes the whole time - but before the conversation ended, she asked if I knew of a church where she could attend a Maundy Thursday service. As corny as it might sound... time stood still... and I knew. I knew a plan was in the making for Alison and me. This was no simple coincidence. I told Alison I would be attending a Maundy Thursday service at Morton Memorial and that she was welcome to join me.

This particular service included *washing of the feet* and as a Haphazard Spirit would plan it, I washed Alison's. As she sat in a chair at the front of the church and I leaned over the basin poised to wash her feet, I first took her hands and said, "I don't know why you're here and why you've been placed in my life, but I'm glad and it doesn't matter why you're here but for whatever reason, I hope you find peace." We both wept.

That night when I returned home with Alison, she slipped a slender silver bracelet from her wrist and handed it to me. It had an angel dangling in perpetual flight. She said, "I've found my angel in you." *sigh* Does God have a sense of humor, or what! I was also humbled.

I never knew the full story of the crisis Alison was dealing with, but I didn't need to. It involved one of her children. By the end of three weeks the crisis was over - all was healed - Alison was ready to return home to Virginia - and to this day we remain so veryveryvery close with a bond that defies explanation, definition, reasoning... because our union wasn't of our making. I completely believe in the divinity of our relationship and the impossibility to place boundaries or definition or explanation on it.

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Alison called this morning. October 15, 2012. I was still in my mopey-dopey-I'm-not-worthy slump.

Her timing was impeccable. Her faith blazed through the air to land right in my hapless heart. She stirred my longings for a future I DO deserve. Strong and brave words burning bright with hope and understanding and incredible dedication to my well-being.

And then another miracle happened.

Alison told me about her background in nursing. I knew she'd been a nurse, but never heard the details.

Alison was a nurse at UVA in Charlottesville, VA. She was a nurse in the Donor Program. She knows every single iota hiccup I face now and will face in the future. She knows, she knows, she knows! She knows the process - from the heartbreaking loss of a donor's precious life, to the second chance breathed into a recipient's precious life. She's known from the moment she received my letter with my diagnosis (yes, we mail letters to each other), but it wasn't until today she shared her medical background with me... and that's why several months ago she was the first one to step forward to say she would come to be with me before surgery and stay with me the full three months post surgery. She knew!

God is good, indeed. He reveals His plan when it needs to be revealed. We must always trust - always trust. Amen.

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Back story to the past few months. As soon as word got out about my diagnosis and the chances of having a double lung transplant in the sometime future, so many incredibly fine people have offered to be with me post surgery and I will tap into these offers when the time comes. Women literally from around the globe have offered to be with me. My sons have also been amazing. I guess I am worthy. Lol.