So many good things have been happening lately that it's hard to keep up.
Only one week ago we returned from a quick trip to Tunisia, planned to take advantage of the extra week reprieve that I was given between the last chemo and the upcoming surgery. We flew to Djerba, only 3 hours from Brussels, where we indulged in a fine hotel with spa. I was able to go swimming everyday in the heated, indoor pool, which was an incredible treat for me -- I love to swim! We rented a car to explore several Berber villages about 150 km. inland from Djerba. It reminded me of pictures from my Sunday School books, vast expanses with tiny green wheat fields terraced along the mountainside, an olive oil press just inside a troglodyte dwelling driven by a blindfolded camel, dark-skinned men draped in even darker burnouses.
The best part of the trip, besides the incredible food and the occasional massage, was the fact that I realized that given enough time after the chemo, I began to feel like my old self again. I had enough strength to swim, bike, walk and climb, feeling a bit stronger everyday.
The Monday after our return I spent the entire day at the hospital for pre-op exams, PET scan, chest X-ray, blood tests, etc. Tedious, uneventful and boring.
I was so exhausted by the end of the day, but this was all forgotten as soon as I got a call from Breck who informed me that Madelaine had just had a baby girl, weighing 7 lbs and 10 oz. Immediately following his call, I received several emails laden with pictures from Rebekah, Madelaine's auntie. What joy to see how healthy and plump she is, and to see how Madelaine and Richard both were simply radiating with happiness. The next few days they spent in the hospital with her getting to know her and trying out names. Apparently she likes Élodie, et voilà!
The next day, Mr T and I met with the oncologist who gave us the good news from the PET scan: the activity of the cancer cells continues to diminish as a result of the chemo, and therefore removing the bulk of the tumors in the abdomen would be a real benefit for the long term. At last, we received the official confirmation that the surgery will go ahead next Tuesday. This was confirmed the next day when we met with the surgeon who filled in the details of what the surgeons would be doing. I was so relieved to know that Dr. D2, my immunologist, would be receiving the cancer cell samples that he needs to build a vaccine for me.
All of my life I've seen "the doctor" as the ultimate authority concerning my health and usually just went along with what was prescribed. Now I find myself in a situation where I'm coordinating the interaction of various specialists, each of whom have their particular perspective and area of expertise. They may be willing to acknowledge the benefits of the other approaches but won't cross the line of their own competence. When speaking of the immunotherapy, the oncologist only gave the approving nod of the head when I said "You can't win the lottery if you don't buy a ticket." Once again, I'm reminded that it's my disease and that I have to discover and organize the best treatment options possible.
Tuesday evening Alec and Virginie arrived, fresh off their last WWOOFing stint in the south of France, to give us moral support and a helping hand around here during and after the surgery. Leaving Mr. T behind to tend to professional commitments, the three of us headed to Heuchin for a few days. Although the weather was still a bit chilly, I bundled up and took a tour of the garden where spring has definitely sprung -- narcissus, forsythia, and primulas in full bloom, fruit trees and bushes laden with promising buds, mother hen initiating her one little chick in the chicken scratch dance, a few bees making occasional, cautious sorties, birds in full concert.
Virginie headed for the vegetable patch to harvest some fat, resilient leeks to include in her "potée" of mixed greens and bacon. For desert, she treated us to flan made with home-grown eggs and raw milk that Alec had fetched from the neighboring farm earlier.
The next day we set up a factory-line to get my new beehives in shape for the upcoming season. I decided to paint only one of the two new hives that I had bought in February, so as not to wear myself out completely. The big task was to wire up the new frames and attach the wax sheets to the wires. Alec put together a clever device for heating up the wires using a transformer plugged into a push button control (default position alway off for security). We just needed to touch the two live wires to the frame wires and after 5 seconds the wax would melt just enough to surround the wire. When cooled, the wax was solidly fixed to the support wires. This technique worked so well and was so efficient that not only did we kit out the frames for the new hive, but we redid the frames for the uppers that I had done last year. I hope to use these uppers this summer for my first honey harvest. Last year, I did all of the frame preparation by myself so I was just amazed at how much work the three of us were able to get done working together.
We headed back to Brussels yesterday in time to rest up and then go to the movies with Mr. T. We all wanted to see "True Grit" which was a fantastic "get away from it all" experience as well as an excellent lesson in determination. Mr. T took us to the local brasserie where we ran across Nicole who then joined us.
In the background I feel like I'm running a long checklist and I can feel the clock running. What do I really need to get done before I go into the hospital? The anxiety of "will they operate or not" has now been replaced by the anxiety of "they ARE going to operate". It's a strange situation in that I'm so relieved that the surgery is really going to happen and yet I'm apprehensive about the process, the pain, and how long it will take for me to get better. It's so hard not knowing exactly how it's going to be afterwards.
I had such a touching moment when I locked the front door to my house in Heuchin because for the first time ever I couldn't know when I would be able to come back again. How long will it take before I can stand to ride at least 2 hours in a car, not to mention a trans-Atlantic flight? Sounds like science fiction for now. Let's be more realistic. Will I be able to walk down a flight of stairs by myself? What about just getting into the shower? For now, I just have to get on and ride the ride, and let go of the outcome.
Letting go seems to be one of my lessons in this experience. Very tall order for a control freak.
