Received an email from A. today. She saw a wall hanging at a friend's house today and thought of me:

    Sometimes God calms the storm

    Other times God lets the storm rage

    And calms the child.

Once again, God calmed the child today. This morning, I found myself once again in the hospital (every day this week except for Wednesday). In the radiology department, nurses prepped me as if I was in the OR, draping my whole body. The doctor froze my arm, then inserted a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter) in my upper arm. I was hot because of all the draping, so asked for a cold facecloth for my head. I love cold facecloths; they work wonders when you're not feeling so 'hot' (like my pun?). My heart started to palpitate during the procedure, as the catheter was inserted, but I advised the doc and he did something to calm it down. Another storm pushed through. You know, I have always loved to walk outside during rain storms and snow storms, because I know that if I can get through those storms, I can get through anything. I always put my hood up and my head down, and plow through it. That's what I'm doing now in this storm. So, God calmed the child through this medical procedure.

After that pin-cushion procedure, I trekked upstairs to the oncology unit to try and arrange my blood tests to be done on that unit, as the regular blood collectors did not collect blood from PICC lines. I was supposed to have the blood test tomorrow, but conveniently, one of the nurses on oncology said, "I can take your blood right now." So, I took a seat inside the chemo room with all the other patients receiving chemo. I didn't think I would go in this room and socialize until after the second or third chemo treatment, having already asked the resource nurse for a private room for Monday. But, God always prepares me bit by bit for things, the weak child that I am, and I was in there today for about 40 minutes. Clark, a man from our church happened to be the volunteer for the day – only works there on Thursdays. Coincidence? I think not.

Anyway, on with the story. My nurse turned to us, AS we're entering the chemo room, and said, "Hi, my name is Charlene." Doug and I burst out laughing. She said, "What?" "Oh, we'll tell you the story," I replied." Now this is the second nurse I've had named Charlene. The first one was the day of surgery. Today's 'Charlene' just happened to be a francophone Charlene, just the way I like it. Now, for some of you, this may be a strange entry and not funny, but for people like Natalie, Linda H, Shelly, Sue, Max, Laurie, Doris, Carolyn, Cheryl, Becky, etc. this should be hilarious. She sat down and we told her the story. I told her that it was God's payback for a funny experience I had years ago. Mary Poppins said there needed to be an element of fun in everything, didn't she? And just as I'm entering the room that I'm scared to go into, God showed me His sense of humour with "Hi, my name is Charlene." If you want to know the details, email me privately and I'll tell you.

There's more. I'm in this chemo room longer than Charlene expected, because she got a phone call from radiology. Apparently, one of the nurses got a needle stick injury either while the procedure was going on, or during clean-up, so standard procedure is that the patient be given an HIV blood test. So, on top of all the blood I was to give (including a pregnancy test!), I had to given written consent for an HIV test! Dr. Raza came and explained this to me. I signed the form. Another form. He asked me with a smile on his face, "Are you ready for chemo?" "No!" I smiled back. Then I drank some ice water, sipped some coffee and ate a blueberry muffin. Charlene came back and drew eight vials of blood from the PICC line. Good old PICC line; already my li'l buddy. Thanks for the laughs, Charlene. I really like you.

Home again, home again. Not for roast beef this time, but to see my mom cleaning my house. I'm so glad that I have a healthy, workhorse mother. She is great. She brought me her homemade chicken soup for lunch. I tried to have a short nap, but no sleep would come. It's physically and emotionally draining to go through this process, but God calmed the child today.

Received a delivery from Scott's Nursery – a beautiful plant arrangement of all these living plants and flowers that can be repotted later. 'My friends at Edith Lank Camp in Campobello Island" sent it to me. Thank you – it is beautiful. Here is a picture…. It gives me hope – so alive and green – just like me! I'll be going there the week of August 10^th to lead "Mothers' Camp," a week long camp for kids and their mothers. We have a serious volleyball challenge going on and this will be the second season. I'm on the Mustangs. We won the tournament this past summer. And I think we'll win again. The girls on the island are busy making our team uniforms. I can't wait to see them. Talk about competition – girls from the island are competitive. Grand Manan girls seem to be that way, too, especially Q. She's all that and a bag of chips, I say.

Later this afternoon, the OT director took me to Brookside Mall to check out hats. She bought me two hats: a navy wool hat for outdoors, and a baby blue 'hope' cap, a snug fitting cap, which can be worn inside the house, under an outside hat, or to bed (www.hopecaps.com). We went to Lawton's Drugs and I picked out the hope cap. I also found out that I can go there for a prosthesis fitting when I'm ready. Every step of the way, He is leading me. Now to get some scarves. You know, this past week, I have really loved my hair. I brush it and brush it, and feel it and look at it. I've had some really good hair days these past few days. I'll never take my hair for granted again, nor complain about it. "Oh, where is my hairbrush?" is the song I want to be singin'.

Our neighbour cousins, C & W, decided last evening to put their Christmas lights back up on their deck so I could see them. I am so touched. Thank you, C & W; how thoughtful! I love lights. They comfort me. I still have my Christmas tree decorated by the OT director outside my front window. I'm leaving it there all winter. It never goes out. My light will never go out, either. Father of lights, light my way tonight.