Well, yes, actually, I did.
Apr. 12th, 2011 02:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gerisullivanI don't know how many people reading this have met Dancer, the thoroughly-incorrigible stuffed rabbit hand puppet who's lived with me since he told me his very favorite thing in the whole wide world the moment we met in an artists' co-op in Boulder, Colorado, during my first trip to Boulder in the summer of '85.
Those who have met Dancer know exactly what I'm talking about. Those who haven't? No worries; all will be revealed shortly.
On the other hand, perhaps worrying is totally in order here.
I just spent 29 hours visiting Susan Palermo in the hospital. It's my fifth such visit this year, and Dancer's third.
Susan was dozing, dozing, dozing when Sister Nadine arrived for a pastoral visit Monday afternoon. The nun immediately noticed the addition to the stuffed cat and dog that regularly keep Susan company in her hospital bed. I introduced Dancer to Sister Nadine, explained that he visits when I do, and proceeded to tell her the same thing darned near everyone who's ever met Dancer knows about him:
"Dancer's very favorite thing in the whole wide world is when complete strangers put their hand up his...bum."
Oh, yes, I really did.
The story gets better. Sister Nadine's response was to reach for Dancer. She quickly had him quivering with delight. Then she helped Dancer give Susan his super-enthusiastic, oh-so-happy-to-see-you greeting, snuggling her neck, stroking her face, and dancing on her head.
Sister Nadine made Dancer one happy, lively bunny. I'm pretty sure he was a nun virgin before today.
Much as she loves Dancer, Susan wasn't having any of it. Ghu know what sorts of dreams the interlude prompted, but she continued snoozing, snoozing, snoozing. It's one of the signs that the glioblastoma multiforme is running its usual course. Sister Nadine and I had an interesting, friendly talk and she prayed for Susan before she left.
Other fun, loved-filled things happened during those 29 hours, a good handful of them while Susan was awake to enjoy them. I'm thankful she pretty much always has a loved one with her and I'm honored to have been that person for those 29 hours this time around, to have helped, and to have gained even more blessings than I've given. I don't know how something so horrible can possibly also come with so much that is good, but that's certainly been true since the first 30 minutes of this horrible, horrible year.
Cancer still sucks. It sucks warm, flat Canadian TAB from a dirty glass with half a dead rat smoking a cigarette in the bottom of it. All that and then some.
As if any of us needed me to say it for that to be clear, true, and all too real.
Onward.
Those who have met Dancer know exactly what I'm talking about. Those who haven't? No worries; all will be revealed shortly.
On the other hand, perhaps worrying is totally in order here.
I just spent 29 hours visiting Susan Palermo in the hospital. It's my fifth such visit this year, and Dancer's third.
Susan was dozing, dozing, dozing when Sister Nadine arrived for a pastoral visit Monday afternoon. The nun immediately noticed the addition to the stuffed cat and dog that regularly keep Susan company in her hospital bed. I introduced Dancer to Sister Nadine, explained that he visits when I do, and proceeded to tell her the same thing darned near everyone who's ever met Dancer knows about him:
"Dancer's very favorite thing in the whole wide world is when complete strangers put their hand up his...bum."
Oh, yes, I really did.
The story gets better. Sister Nadine's response was to reach for Dancer. She quickly had him quivering with delight. Then she helped Dancer give Susan his super-enthusiastic, oh-so-happy-to-see-you greeting, snuggling her neck, stroking her face, and dancing on her head.
Sister Nadine made Dancer one happy, lively bunny. I'm pretty sure he was a nun virgin before today.
Much as she loves Dancer, Susan wasn't having any of it. Ghu know what sorts of dreams the interlude prompted, but she continued snoozing, snoozing, snoozing. It's one of the signs that the glioblastoma multiforme is running its usual course. Sister Nadine and I had an interesting, friendly talk and she prayed for Susan before she left.
Other fun, loved-filled things happened during those 29 hours, a good handful of them while Susan was awake to enjoy them. I'm thankful she pretty much always has a loved one with her and I'm honored to have been that person for those 29 hours this time around, to have helped, and to have gained even more blessings than I've given. I don't know how something so horrible can possibly also come with so much that is good, but that's certainly been true since the first 30 minutes of this horrible, horrible year.
Cancer still sucks. It sucks warm, flat Canadian TAB from a dirty glass with half a dead rat smoking a cigarette in the bottom of it. All that and then some.
As if any of us needed me to say it for that to be clear, true, and all too real.
Onward.
