"You are about to embark on on a most delightful journey."

I'm looking through the "travel journal" Deb Bogaert gave me a couple of Christmases ago. After I learned I had cancer, I thought it would be appropriate to write down my thoughts in it as I "journey through cancer." Though, as you might read on this blog, I am not much good at keeping journals.

On the entry for Wednesday, April 11, I taped a fortune from a cookie I opened on Tuesday night. It says: "You are about to embark on a most delightful journey." Delightful? I'm not sure . . . maybe. I did learn the Tuesday before (April 10) that the cancer had not spread to my liver. Bob almost cried when the doctor told us. Which of course made me cry. If I see even the hint of a tear in someone else, I cry. It's genetic. From my mother.

But the way people have treated me has been delightful. Everybody has been so nice. During recuperation from surgery, my hospital room and home looked like a funeral parlor (but the flowers were brighter and happier). And I have a huge "Life is Good" bag full of cards. Some people sent two and three cards each. And they still trickle in.

People came to see me; they brought me food (yummy); they called. I found that delightful, even though I am basically a hermit. At the least, I'm an introvert. I have never (except when I was a kid playing sick) sought out a lot of attention. I just need a little assurance you care. That's all. It doesn't take a lot. But this attention was heart-warming. And it made me think I should give it others.

So I'm trying to pay attention to other people's woes. Everybody has their own troubles, and they are so big when they are yours, even if they seem little to others. So I'm trying. I'm not much good at offering symphathy. But now I see how much it matters.

This cancer has been a trip.