Week One

We are one week post surgery today, and I'm feeling not bad at all. Yesterday, in hopes of eventually getting behind the wheel of my car again, I stopped the meds. I'm fine. A little sore, but really fine.

I also went grocery shopping. BFF took me. (She is really amazing, my rock through all this.)

Oh my. That was difficult. I felt as if I had no filters, and was completely overwhelmed by the people, the noises... had a brief moment where I though I might actually faint, and how embarrassing would that be? But... got through it, got stuff for Petra and me to live on this week (my dear girl... there's another rock!). Came back to Recovery Central and collapsed on the couch.

Then I went to a concert in which I was supposed to be singing. Petra and I have been singing with this fine organization this fall. A bit of history: when the ex Mr. Mags and I moved here in 1990, with Larry-O in tow (who was all of two and a half) I quickly did two things in order to meet people. Mr. Mags had, after all, a graduate program... He had the colleagues one finds in school... who are, in my life, my bestest friends because of all sorts of "We've been through it together" feelings. So, he had all these built in insta-friends, and I had... Larry, who was as darling as he could be, but... I'd left all my grown up friends (and a half finished Master's degree) in Bean Town. So, two things: I ran for the board at the pre-school Larry attended (and got on), and I auditioned for that choir. In both places I made friends with whom I am still close... in fact, I made one friend who is a member of St. Sociable. ("Little town, it's a quiet village... " everyone knows everyone two or three ways here, honest.)

I sang with Local Choir for three years, until Petra came along. Then I dipped in and out of their seasons until seminary-- during which time it was impossible to commute to Big City AND sing-- and then my divorce, at which point the music became a little too painful (a fall concert of love songs just about sent me over the edge) and I took some time off. (Before that, Larry sang with me for one season, which was lovely.) Then I commuted to distant interim pastor positions; since we sing on Sunday afternoons, that became tough. But this summer, Petra and I discussed the possibility of singing together, and she made an appointment to audition for the director, and... we're in.

So, we've been rehearsing a concert of songs from around the world-- England, Ireland, Japan, Africa, and the US, plus a couple of songs in Hebrew-- Petra and I even had parts in a little quartet for a shape-note hymn in the second half. The concert was supposed to premiere in a town an hour from here (where I was an interim pastor for nearly two years) on Sunday the 19th... on which morning I awakened at 3 AM with my second gall bladder attack, yada yada yada. And Petra was not leaving my side, so we both missed the first concert.

On Friday, just for fun, I stood and tried to sing something. And my muscles said, "No no no no no, we're busy. And we hurt. What the hell are you thinking?" And I said, "Oops, sorry guys," and that was officially it. I wasn't singing the second one either.

But Petra did sing, so Ex. Mr. Mags (I think he needs a new name. Henceforth: he is the Impresario) and I sat companionably together and watched and listened to our daughter sing like the lovely and talented young woman she is (youngest in the choir). And then Petra and I went out to a red lightning Italian restaurant with our fellow choristers, a dozen or so of whom shared their gall bladder (or appendix or perforated colon) stories with me. Whee!

Then... Petra back to Impresario's, for one last night, me back to BFF's, for one last night. Today... follow up with surgeon. Tonight I cook at home (Alert the media!!). Tomorrow, a half day at work. The surgeon told me two weeks for recovery. This week I plan to do two half days in the office and to write my sermon at home and get ready for Sunday. That seems doable... today. I promise to evaluate as I go.