There and Back Again

Checking back into the hospital for my chemo session that fateful Monday morning (almost 2 weeks ago) was one of the toughest hurdles that I've encountered so far.  Still so weak from the operation, I had to accept that treatment which I knew was going to make me feel like Hammered Dog Shit (refer to previously defined scale, if needed) .  And yet, that was what was on my plate.
The next few days were pretty rough -- I felt incredibly tired and as if I had the flu.  Unlike previous episodes, my appetite was only at half-mast and I was digging into my fat reserves, having lost 3 kilos (6 lbs.) since I had checked into the hospital.  I can only remember just dragging myself from the bed to the couch and back again, with short interludes sitting at the table.  I remember telling Mr. T that I felt as if I were vibrating with weakness. Once again I was in the position of just " riding it out", only able to concentrate on my breathing and repeating to myself "Breathing in, I feel alive. Breathing out, I smile at life." Yes, despite feeling so low I could still tap into that  "glad to be alive" feeling.
Fortunately the effects of this chemo seemed to subside more quickly than the previous sessions perhaps because of the long reprieve that I had been given before the surgery.  I was soon able to take advantage of the most incredible weather that we were having -- sunny, warm days usually characteristic of late May, but making a guest appearance in early April.  I could sit outside in my rocking lounge chair and watch Virginie potter about the garden on my behalf.  She had started a whole raft of seedlings in the greenhouse while I was in the hospital and these had just burst forth with the warm weather.
I let myself be quickly tempted away from my bland, fiber-free diet whose purpose was to allow my freshly operated colon to gently start back to work.  How could I resist fresh mesclun salad with arugula ("roquette') generously seasoned with Virginie's *real* vinaigrette after having eaten dry crackers for a week?  A digression on vinaigrette:  It is my personal conviction that only True Frogs can make *real* vinaigrette -- that heavy consistency, with the perfect balance between oil and vinegar, and the magical touch of mustard.   As a Naturalized Frog, I can attest that simple citizenship alone neither improves your accent nor confers upon you the ability to make vinaigrette.
As my good friend, Jeni, (former nurse and source of invaluable tips on the art of recovery) had warned me, "Bowels are like cats, they can seriously pout if disturbed in their habits."  I was now faced with dealing with miffed bowels and a recalcitrant A-Hole who was acting like a groundhog that had seen its shadow and had elected for six more weeks of hibernation.  After a particularly exhausting day, I was comforted by Alec who lovingly placed his hand on my shoulder, gazed deep into my eyes and said, "Don't forget, Mom, this poo shall pass."
At the end of every day, I managed to sit up and watch a movie with Mr. T and Virginie, which provided distraction and pushed me closer to a normal bedtime hour.  Each time that I managed to sleep all through the night, I was rewarded the next day with a distinct improvement in how I felt.  Each day was definitely better than the day before.  Yet, I managed to maintain my passive role of watching and letting others do.  I realized that I am not the Master of My Universe and that even if I were not in the heat of the action the whole theatre piece of daily life would smoothly unfold with other actors stepping in to fill my role.  Alec and Virginie were manning the household tasks of laundry, shopping, cooking and gardening; Mr. T was attending to all administrative tasks, runs to the pharmacy, and, of course, the home entertainment department.  I could just sit back, provided I could locate that elusive comfortable position, and concentrate on getting well.
The week was interspersed with several Skype sessions, produced and directed by Madelaine and Richard, starring Mlle Élodie, the World's Most Beautiful Baby Girl.  It was hard to say what provided the most balm to my heart:  seeing the glow of pure joy on Madelaine & Richard's faces or watching that gorgeous little angel with her eyes wide open already trying to figure out what the hell is going on.  Not being there for her birth was a hard pill to swallow, but now I have so much to look forward to:  taking her in my arms, sticking my nose in her neck and drinking in that new baby smell, and "getting all of her sugar"  (an expression from my Southern background inevitably heard when being smothered with kisses from some mildly perspiring, wrinkly old relative "I'm just gonna get all of yo sugah." ).
Yesterday, Mr. T and I took Alec and Virginie to the train station.  They are off on their own adventure right now, with plans to join up with Breck (Alec & Madelaine's dad) for a hiking trip in Corsica.  I always have a tiny pinch in my heart whenever I have to say good-bye to Alec, but this time I was reassured knowing that they would be back soon.  They've organized a big family celebration at our place in France in June;  more details on this to follow.
Mr. T loaded up the car by himself, and I managed to catch our big black cat, Moïse, who had suspected that a trip to the country house was in the air all day long.  The two hour trip to Heuchin left us both exhausted, but well worth the effort.  I'm so happy to be here and check on my garden and the chickens. The fruit trees are bursting forth, both beehives made it through the winter, and the tulips, the least modest of all flowers, are showing off  as they do every year.  For the first time in my life, I'm able to sit and simply enjoy my garden, without hopping up to snatch at a weed or dashing off to re-pot a plant that has sprung up in the " wrong" place.  Just sit and take it all in.  "Be" and not "do".
Your mission, should you decide to accept it:  just sit for thirty minutes in your garden or nearby park.  Drink in the details, open up all of your senses, and stay away from your mental " to do" list.
Back in the days, Mr. Natural wisely told us that "Shit happens", but what I've learned since is that any unpleasant situation bears some little gem of wisdom if I'm willing to stay open.