To the yin-to-the-yang-to-the-double-yin-ying. And out of it.

Yesterday didn’t turn out quite the way we planned. But what else is new. We did get the hubby in for some much needed needle pricks and adjustments with our dear friend, Swanee. And we did get in some much needed work. And we did get in those lunch time massages. But as we left the spa to head back to our desks, we made a quick call to the surgeon we’d been referred to — assuming we’d get set up for today. Nope. “Okay, we’re in Lafayette today. Can you be here at 4?” So off we went again.

Back into the maelstrom. Calling B to see if he could tag along. Calling Lady Lou to see if she could take the girls. Re-arranging the hubby’s afternoon con call schedule so he could get there in time. Ahhh....

But we made it. And got all of our various sources to weigh in on the guy. Call with Jane’s dad’s doctor friend earlier in the day. Doug texting us on the way, con call with Cheryl as we drove. Email from Elizabeth during that. (Glad we’re cool and have iPhones and a Pilot with Bluetooth.) Because — really — what is the best way to find the very best surgeon if you aren’t a doctor and have never had major surgery? Seriously. Does anyone know? And we still had massage oil in our hair for pete's sake.

He got good reviews. Had excellent credentials. And we made it to his office with time to spare. Then got to cool our heels for another 45 minutes before we were called back. Luckily Brian (and Averil) had just read a funny Dave Barry article about colonoscopies and we amused ourselves with that. (Oh that iPhone, yet again.)

We loved the PA instantly. She was a straight-shooter and took lots of time with us. Explaining everything with a diagram as back up. So even though it sucks to wait, it all seems okay when you’re the one in the spotlight.

Then the doc came in. We all realized the common connection of his growing up in NC (as well as his PA) and us just across the border. He went to Wake Forest (like my dad). And so on. So by the time he made his first poop joke, the hubby said, “Where do I sign?”

So even though he said he couldn’t stage us officially until after surgery/pathology. And that the hospital stay could be 4 or even 10 days. And explained that the surgery and recovery was much longer than we thought (as much as 6 weeks). (And said chemo after was still a fairly strong possibility.) We left there feeling lighter.

And we promptly relieved Purse Girl from her gas station stake out. (It’s the only place in Harmony, MN that she gets cell service, so she’s been camping out there after every appointment until we call.)

The hubby said, “Are you okay with him?” I said, “I liked him, but it’s entirely up to you.” Then there was silence. I made myself not speak even though I clearly had a very strong opinion. (Imagine that.) Then he said, “I want to be done. I’m tired.” So it was decided. And the whole car heaved with the collective sigh of relief.

Brian suggested taking the couple of weeks we could be allowed to wrap up work and life a bit. The hubby’s stress level has been at an all-time-high at the prospect of again having to miss work at his brand new job after just taking 5 unexpected days when Mima died. Cancer really does have sucky timing. Someone somewhere really needs to work on that.

I came home feeling like lying on the floor and never getting up again, but somehow found the strength to drag myself to the liquor store with Jimmy-hat in tow. So we had a nice BBQ with the Robbins and after they had departed and the girls were snug in their beds, we found ourselves back on the porch. Staring at the stars. It’s in the darkness like that when we seem to really find our way to the heart of the matter. This time the conversation ranged from why to we. Why = we have no effin idea. (Though today, our friend Keely who is kicking some serious stage III ass, suggested it might be due to eating unwashed grapes. Our own thoughts have run the gamut from pulling up asbestos tiles in the kitchen to making fun of Jesus by always using the Spanish pronunciation.)

As for the we. Well, let’s just suffice it to say that I’ve been weeing all over myself since this shitstorm began. The hubby said, “Are you effin kidding me? It is we. You’re going through this too! I can’t imagine how it feels to be you. Probably harder.” I said, “You know the first thing I thought when we heard? I thought, ‘You better not dammit die and leave me with all of this shit.’” Then I said, “What do you think you’d be thinking in my position?” Pause (he’s full of those). “I’d be thinking, ‘You better not dammit die and leave me with all of this shit.’” Case closed. It’s WE.

Today we got to just be. Surgery was scheduled for July 7th. Kenny started paperwork for his short term leave. I checked in with clients. Returned calls that I’ve needed to for over a week. Went to lunch together at dish. Decided to take the girls on a hospital tour this weekend to ease their anxieties.

Had a nice long chat with that Keely, whose strength and calm was unbelievably inspiring. Together, we made lots of plans for a joint effort to do something really big and amazing when we’re both on the other side. And wondered if that water at Avnet really is filtered. (Seriously, just kidding. But rest assured that our collective sense of humor is firmly intact. Though I did hear that a certain someone conducted an office banana test for reassurance. You know who you are.) Keely’s spending the next three days at Widespread. And it seems that we still have at least two more weeks of chaos/madness/tilted-life-from-hell. But. So. What.

(Did I mention that I am still a part of a West Nile Virus research study? Paperwork arrived today asking if I’d traveled outside of North America prior to contracting said disease. Yesterday, it was a copy of Mima’s will. The universe is a sado-masochist.)

Now we just finished an amazing meal from a friend who must’ve used almost all of the contents of her garden and even made homemade strawberry ice cream. She is so hired.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Plastic Jesus. Flaming Lips. I don’t care if it rains or freezes. ‘Cause I got my plastic Jesus. Ridin’ on the dashboard of my car.