Something above me - the many levels at Tom Baker Cancer Centre, rooms where patients lie watching doctors and nurses coming and going dispensing medicines and diagnoses and the limited wisdom of limited but seeking minds. The blessings and curses of modern medicine flowing through hallways and up and down elevators, shadowing visitors with flowers and candy or toys and balloons.
Something below me - my shoes squeaking on hard linoleum washed and polished every day by men and women with tired eyes who still take the time to smile or say good morning as I follow the green line to the dressing room and on to the waiting room, the signs about privacy telling us all to wait for the assistance of the nurses.
Something beside me. Yusef, Katie, Matt, Amanda, who step to my side as I lay on the table, their smiles telling me this is all normal after all, as they make sure my body is lined up, "perfect," "Yes that's just right," and we chat about countries we've seen, their comments interjecting like exclamation points of victory as my mind slips back to Spain and Portugal, their "wonderful people." Yes, I think, wonderful, truly wonderful. And filled with mercy and grace.