A Bunny Tale

It's a sunny day to revel in the Easter holiday weekend across the prairie.  The temps aren't that far from the norm, although the wind makes it feel chillier.  There are hyacinths and daffodils galore outside.  I made a nice arrangement and will use the flowers as part of a centerpiece for Easter dinner. I'll put them smack dab in the middle of the table, nestled in among my bunny collection.  And now, a warning:  Today's entry is going to be serious and personal in nature.  Heartfelt, yes.  Funny, no.  A bit of drama to boot.

So what's up with them bunnies?  My kitchen table has on it two Jim Shore rabbits and also a cheap felt bunny that I found this year at the Christmas Tree Shop for $2.99.  What a deal!  The tablecloth is full of bunnies.  My kitchen towels are adorned with bunnies, along with the potholders. Even my profile pic on Facebook smacks of Bunny Land.  If you were to come to our house and knock on the front door right now, these bunnies would greet you.  Take a good look at them, because this floppy- eared trio is responsible for quite The Bunny Tail  Tale. 


It was discovered quite by accident, six years ago.  As are many band directors who have been at the job for decades, I had started to develop hearing problems.  And by the way, it seems that the odds of hearing impairment greatly increase if a teacher gives drum instruction in a room that used to be a public school lavatory.  The proof was provided not only by the garish yellow tiles, but also in that large cylinder that jutted out from the wall.  I was thankful for the custodians who removed the toilet that once was connected to the pipe.       

Anyway, all I could hear out of my left ear was my heartbeat so I went to the ear/nose/throat guy in town. He wanted to make sure that the problem wasn't caused by the carotid artery so he ordered an MRI.  Half-way through the test, I was brought out of the machine and injected with dye.  "We might see something," was all that was said.  A few minutes later, I was standing in front of the director of the imaging center, who showed me the images.  I didn't say anything.  Didn't move.  Just stood there and listened as he told me I had a brain tumor.  

I numbly walked out to my car and sat in Fabio (the name of my ultra sharp-looking navy blue Taurus at the time) and had myself a good cry.  Called my husband at work and shared what I knew, which really wasn't much but which seemed to me at the time to be more than I could handle.  Then I pulled myself together because I knew I had to go across the street to the nursing home where my mom lived and pretend that everything was peachy-keen. I was able to pull it off without my mother suspecting a thing.       

The next day, I was back in the ENT's office, where he told me that he was good buddies with the head of the neurology department at an area teaching hospital.  He added that although his friend was booked solid, the guy had agreed to see me as a favor.  So at 7:30 on a Monday morning, I was sitting in the office of a Dr. Hodge, who confirmed what we already knew.  I had a brain tumor.  And due to its size, surgery was really the only option.  I was told that the prognosis looked good but to get my affairs in order, just in case. 

Not being an emergency, I had to wait three weeks for the operation.  Talk about misery and stress.  I continued to work and found that school became my savior, a place where I could temporarily forget how terrified I was feeling.  The music faculty and students became my crutch.  On my final day at school, every member of the middle and high school bands formed a line and gave me hugs and kisses as I got prepared to leave the building.  I will never, ever forget the love and sensitivity that those kids showed me on that day.  So very scared, I felt so very blessed.

I was standing on the front porch of our home on April 2nd,  one day prior to my surgery.  Fabio was primping himself for the big trip into the city, and my husband was standing beside me.  We had to leave.  I reached out for him and looked out at the beautiful countryside that surrounds our home and I told him that I would be back to see those three bunnies hanging on our front door.  I would come back home.

I remember very little about my time in the hospital, but I remember as Fabio entered our driveway, I saw those bunnies and I cried and cried.  And it was during my recovery that I discovered more than I ever thought possible, mostly of the pureness of life that once was perhaps taken for granted.  There's my husband, who answered the "in sickness and in health" bit with "I do" and as it turns out, he really meant it.  Forever it will be him and me.  There's the incredible community in which I live.  The middle school teachers who kept a caravan of hot dinners coming to the house for a solid month, including an Easter ham dinner with all of the trimmings, topped off with a cake shaped in the form of a bunny.  Every church in the area had me on a prayer list, irregardless of denomination.  Flowers, books, puzzles and other get-well thoughts and kind gestures.  Two huge grocery bags full of cards, many from people who didn't know me but ".... heard about you from a neighbor."  Friends came to my house to keep an eye on me, to clean and to do laundry so that my husband could keep his business afloat.  Small town stuff, but tremendously rich in so many ways.  This is why I hold bunnies so dear.  Bunnies represent the goodness that is offered to us without being asked, the love and hugs that our hearts are capable of holding and sharing.

The bunnies hang, heralding in the springtime and the hope eternal that flows with the season.  Happy Easter.