Sand and Stones

Today I woke up early and dressed for my volunteer gig doing native planting along the creek in the Laguna de Santa Rosa.  It's an important event for me, and a continuation of the work I did in New Mexico planting with various groups working on riparian ecosystem restoration.  Today I woke up before the alarm, not due to the excitement of the day, but due to the piercing pain in my side.

I will not be planting trees along the creek today.  

This week I had two imaging studies at the medical center, the idea, after the first study, was to see if I could head off a visit to the ER by having a procedure done sooner rather than wait.  I don't yet know the answer, because the first appointment I could get with the surgeon is in a little over three weeks.  Today I feel like I'm in a race against time.  Will I end up in the ER before I have my appointment? 

I've had to give up far too much to this.  When the pain started again (too close to my last procedure!) I left my other volunteer positions on the coast in favor of those which are closer to the hospital and more accessible.

Sand and stones has become my theme these days.  Sand, dripping through an hourglass representing time. Sand, small stones dropping through a narrow opening, a medical condition.  Sand, the coast, which I've lost to all this (at least for now!) And stones, which block the path, both in my anatomy and my path to joy.

Sand which flows.  Stones which obstruct.

Tuesday I have a hike planned with my daughter. We'll see if that day is begot of sand or stones.