I have a surgery date: Monday, Sept. 25. I am still devastated about having cancer and needing surgery (feels like stating the obvious), but also, having a date on the calendar feels relieving.

My surgery will be at Swedish Hospital. In a surreal spin of life events, when I called to make my consultation appointment they already had a medical record for me. And I remembered: I was hospitalized at Swedish in July 2009, when I went into pre-term labor with Lucas on what was supposed to be a short visit to Seattle; and again in winter 2014/15, when I was pregnant with Ida and needed ultrasounds (home birth midwives don’t have their own ultrasound machines). Thank you for being there when I need you, Swedish Hospital.

This week I am seeing friends and extended family, enjoying the last days with my body in this shape I’ve known for so long. I’m eating pastries as I write, because life feels short and I need treats to make it through this. And I’m also trying to follow my new oncology-specific naturopath’s advice to boost my immune system with lots of vegetables and vitamins as I prepare for surgery. Ida just decided that the best “we hate cancer” meal would be macaroni and cheese (“the good kind that you put in the oven” she said, miming sticking a huge casserole dish in the oven) and apple pie and pumpkin pie. She’s looking out for me.

And as I emotionally prepare I am channeling the wisdom of every wise teacher I’ve ever had. As I practiced yoga this morning, lessons and words from my teachers over the years kept popping up in my mind — teachers I had in Washington DC 15 years ago, rev. angel’s teaching on fierce groundedness from workshops six years ago, my mindfulness and self-compassion teams’ many teachings on self-love and anchoring in times of chaos. I’m remembering things I learned from my first therapist, two decades ago. When I teach yoga I remind us that we call it “practice” because when times get tough we will rely on the habits we’ve practiced. I feel like I’m spinning right now, but also I’ve spent years practicing. Today I feel confident that all the love wrapping around me right now, plus all that practice, somehow fits together into the boat (or life jacket? or or cocoon?) that I need to get through this. (Tomorrow I might not believe it… but I’ll re-read this post to remind myself I might have what it takes to make it through.)

Bleeding hearts in the Cascade mountains.