Ken and I recently went to Chicago--my hometown--for a long weekend. It was a weekend of firsts. For Ken, it was his first trip to Chicago, the first time he watched a Marathon, the first time he had Chicago-style pizza (he loved it!), his first time to the Sears Tower, his first time meeting NutHouse, his first time on a train, and his first Italian Beef from Portillo's.

I had just one first.

It was the first time a bird shat on my head. My forehead to be exact. Good thing Ken already loves me.

Here's a few pictures from the weekend. And no, there isn't one of the birdcrap on my forehead.

We had a Xanga-meetup with our favorite Xangan, my niece Jenna.

We cheered for several friends who ran in the Marathon. 26.2 miles. They are my heroes! Ken enjoyed giving the runners some humor as they passed by...


Then we warmed up at Starbucks. There was a quite friendly homeless guy outside banging on his drums, and he jumped in a picture with me and my girls.


Food is a big part of the Chicago experience, and there's nothing like Giordano's and the Hershey's store.




Chocolate...


History is also big in Chicago. This is one of the only buildings to survive the Great Chicago Fire that started when Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicked over her lantern in 1971. Ken is posing in front of it.




Next we went to the 103rd floor of the Sears Tower. They call it the Willis Tower now, but to me it will always be the Sears Tower. We went out on The Ledge they recently installed. It's all glass, and it freaked me out at first. Ken loved it.




We might use this as our engagement picture. What do you think?
(The one below...,not the one above!)


Someday, if I'm very, very good, I hope I'll get to move back to My Town.



This is the "El," the elevated train. One of my favorite views of the city, and lots of great memories of riding this train.


We stopped for a kiss at The Bean.


Isn't the architecture amazing?


I took this for Seedsower. See the sad face in the building? I don't know why anyone would be sad in Chicago, but apparently this building is.
 

The first time I passed out was fifteen years ago. I was sitting in a small room with my mom, and the nurse had just put an IV in the port in my mom's chest. I thought I was fine, but suddenly I started feeling light-headed. I must've turned white, because my mom said, "Are you OK?" She then suggested I take a walk and get some air.

As I walked down the hallway toward the EXIT sign, blackness started to surround me. I made out a "Women" sign on a doorway, and pushed it open. I sat down quickly on the floor of the restroom and took some deep breaths.

I don't know how long I sat there, but by the time I returned to my mom, she was just about done getting her chemo, and she laughed when she saw me. I had always been her "blood and guts" girl, the one person in a family of six who didn't get grossed out by anything. But for some reason, seeing that IV pumping drugs into my mom's cancer-ridden body made me sick.

Ever since then, I've had a thing about needles. And blood. And medical procedures. I know it's mind over matter, but the mere mention of these things makes me queasy. Even writing about it is a challenge.

So as I sit here, fifteen years later, in the waiting room at Holy Cross Hospital, waiting for my mom to get a new port implanted into her chest, I look towards the cross with Jesus that is affixed to every wall. Although He's attached to the cross, He doesn't seem to be suffering. In fact, His outstretched arms are quite inviting.

When my mom was hospitalized a few weeks ago, in this same hospital, Jesus hung on the wall, close to the TV. It's hard not to notice Him. As my mom and I frittered away an afternoon, she motioned to the statue and asked, "What do you think Jesus is doing?"

We are people of deep faith, but as Protestants, we don't normally display crosses with Jesus still on them. That seems to be more of a Catholic thing (which this hospital is). Our crosses are normally bare.

So my mom's question made me think. I paused for a minute, then said in a cutesy voice, "He's reaching out, mama. He wants to hug you." She laughed, and so did I.

...

I couldn't sleep last night. I tossed and turned all night, checking the time almost every hour. My family is very positive about my mom's prognosis, as are the doctors. But we can't escape the fact that it is advanced breast cancer, and it has spread to her lungs. Her oncologist assured me that she'd be feeling great by the time of my February wedding, but it's hard to believe. The truth is, nobody knows what the future holds.

After my sleepless night, I finally fell into a deep sleep just as my alarm was about to go off. These October days are getting shorter, and the dark morning was perfect for staying in bed. I ended up over-sleeping by about 20 minutes, and then was running around like a mad woman, trying to get ready so I'd be on time to pick up my mom at 7:30 am for her 8 am appointment.

I put the leash on my dog and headed outside, knowing I wouldn't be home for several hours, and said a quick prayer that she'd pee quickly. I took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. Dark clouds enveloped me. And I felt peace. The Bible says that God rides on a dark cloud, that He comes on a dark cloud to help us. It says He led His people with a cloud, and that He'll return in a cloud.

As I waited for little Lucy to do her business, I felt Jesus all around me. I felt Him stretching out His arms to hug me, much like the wall statues in this Catholic hospital.

I like this hospital. I feel good when I'm here, despite the bad circumstances that cause me to be here.

"By His wounds we are healed."

I hope it's true for my mama--not just in the life to come, but also here on earth.