My Wobbly Bicycle

Socrates is a man. All men are mortal. Therefore Socrates is mortal. Yes, but. Our minds somehow maneuver us around this roadblock, or shut down and refuse to see.I am wondering how to say this. I am thinking that matters of life and death are to be approached with reverence, even when the reverence is turned awkwardly into a joke. When it is our own life that’s in danger, it seems arrogant to freight it with grand importance; it seems trivializing not to;  it seems negligent not to talk about it. I found out  three weeks ago that I have endometrial cancer. I had surgery on Thursday. The surgeon says the muscle of the uterus was “deeply penetrated” with the cancer.I don’t yet know what this means. I’ll have test results next week.The moment I heard the word cancer, I could feel myself cross a threshold, on the side now of those who know they’ll die. It is no longer a theory. On the other hand, nothing is changed. My life goes on without fanfare. It seems that I’ve been in training for this for over 25 years—my practice of meditation has steadily dissolved holes through what I thought was my “self.” I have less to lose than I used to have. Or, as much to lose, but less fretting about it. I can’t say. I have no answers to anything and certainly don’t expect to have some profundity arrive as a recompense for the danger I’m in.I can tell you about the amazing device that performed my surgery. Well, assisted by the surgeon. It’s called the DaVinci robot. It poked five little holes in my belly, cut through and cauterized the arteries and ducts that connected my reproductive organs, so they could be pulled out the bottom. It even stitched, inside my body. The arms and fingers of the device are so delicate (and the screen the surgeon sits in front of magnifies so much) that it can peel a grape. I have been home 1 ½ days, and my stomach feels like someone punched me, but other than that, I am fine.I may be in a little danger; I may be in a lot. I will know next week. What I do know is how much generosity and love I’m surrounded with. One small example: a couple of weeks ago, on top of this other news, I found I had a detached retina. I had surgery in the retinal surgeon’s office. Jerry said he’d leave his meeting and come pick me up, but nooooo, I said I could drive home okay. It wasn’t far. I had one eye taped shut, the other blurry.Stupid. By the time I got home, I was trembling with fear and pain. But there was a big box waiting for me, containing a prayer shawl from my dear Episcopal friends in Delaware, each stitch accompanied by a prayer. I stood in the middle of the kitchen wrapped with the shawl, sobbing and damn happy. Prayers are prayers—nondenominational and actually, to my mind, not necessarily “religious.” They’re human. They say “I’m turning my attention to you right now. I wish the best for you. I love you.”We’ve had food arrive on our doorstep every day. Along with multiple offers to help with anything.We pretend there’s some solidity, some predictability. But being alive is more like riding a  bicycle, balancing on two thin tires. Eventually we’ll fall one way or the other, but for the moment, we’re  upright. It’s exciting, sometimes frightening.I’ll let you know what’s next.