Well, I know I said I have no religion, but last night I did find it!
This week has been pretty craptastic, physically. Sunday I started feeling weirdly sick, and by Monday was down, down, down... It turns out that what two doctors have told me is an upper respiratory virus or infection looks really nothing like any upper respiratory thing I have ever had. This should be par for the course by now. I forget, every time some bizarre thing happens to me, that this stuff has happened before and will happen again. Chemo makes everything weird. This one has taken the form of a hard, swollen lymph node in my neck, making everything from my neck up to my teeth hurt, and hurt a lot. Go figure... I think my pain tolerance is pretty high, but this has been ridiculous. I am on a course of antibiotics, and Vicodin after failing with Tylenol and Advil. Of course, suddenly having a gigantic lump in my neck did cause a ridiculous panic attack, with doctor visits in which I had to be talked down from the certainty of having cancerous tumors invading my neck and head. I am loathe to admit any of this, but why bother concealing?
Back to the religion bit. In the midst of this little mini-crisis, loomed last night, the date of the long awaited Bruce Springsteen concert. I saw him perform in 1979. I did not even know if I should try to go, but figured I could just sit in my chair and hope the person in front of me sat occasionally. Jon carted me in to Portland, to our fancy hotel where I lied in the bed until it became clear food should be eaten. Long story a tiny bit shorter, the concert was amazing. It was so sentimental to me. He played every song I hoped to hear (almost), but told myself I probably wouldn't. It was basically undescribable, for me, to be there.
The religion and rapture of my teenage years returned to me, if only for a night. I spent from about the age of 13 to I-don't-know, worshipping at the altar of Bruce, as did my peeps, especially my beloved summer camp peeps. And last night, I got to return there, briefly, with all the other middle-aged folks at the Rose Garden. It was definitely worth powering through the crap to be there. So there you have it, my own personal religion story.