Summer is always a little odd for me living near the ocean in San Francisco. I judge how hot it is inland by the extent of the fog blanket when I wake up. I wear shorts and sandals if I leave town. I visit summer, I do not live in it. I like it this way.

This summer while recovering from chemo I have been reading and listening to friends accounts of their summer trips and adventures and feeling mostly content staying close to home, walking through the park to the shoreline. By early July I was starting to feel pretty good and getting excited about going to sunny San Rafael for a week of poetry writing, sun lounging and having all my meals prepared for me. My kind of vacation. I had to miss a similar opportunity last summer because of unexpected surgeries. I would come back rested, creatively stimulated, and breeze through my last round of chemo.

That was the plan. Instead, my plan and my gut took a twist. The day before I was supposed to leave, I felt abdominal cramps which got so bad I gladly went to the ER that night and had an emergency surgery the next day to unblock a small bowel obstruction. The good news is that the obstruction was not caused by cancer and none of my intestines were removed, just unkinked. The bad news is that the blockage was caused by scar tissue from my previous surgeries and radiation. I was in the hospital most of the week and missed the entire writing workshop.

Now I am almost two weeks out from surgery recovering well. Yes, I am tough, but how many times can my resilience be tested? I’m finding it hard to maintain an attitude of gratitude. Its more appealing to retreat to the universe of Terri for a major mope fest. Can’t I get a flicking break? Why me? Why now? Haven’t I been flicking good enough? All useless questions with no answers. I can’t even navel gaze effectively. My belly button was bisected by the latest incision and is currently not recognizable to me.

Yesterday, I heard about the shooting at the movie theater in Colorado. I am appalled but even sadder that I am not surprised that some lost young man would play out his fantasies in this gruesome way. He made plans. What about the plans of the movie goers? What were the people who were killed planning to do the next day? The fragility of plans and the goodness of life are all too present for me. I wish all those who survive resilience in their recovery.

I indulged in some online ambulance chasing; reading news stories filled with video, pictures, eyewitness accounts, twitter quotes, watching the sausage of disaster being transformed into narrative. Some stories will be healing, create connection, remain open ended. Some stories will be disjointed, discard what is contradictory, try to tie things up a neat knot, sort good from bad etc. They will be ultimately unsatisfying.

Today I sit with the no answers. I will keep telling stories to myself and others but I will try to keep them open ended, with room for surprise. I will keep making plans and I suspect I will keep getting reminders to hold my plans lightly.