We find many reasons to celebrate at number 15, but last night was special. Bring out the champagne, foix gras and smoked salmon. With No. 2 son just back from Paris, housemate off to the mountains, and me chemo-safe it was a wonderful night.
I’ve been especially moved by No. 2 son, who not only visited me in the hospital the night before surgery, did a special drawing when I returned home welcoming me back, but told his mother that if she had to be away during the chemo (which I didn’t need--yes, yes, yes) he would have been there. He even knew that the question he would have to answer for any medical intervention would be my birthday and he wanted to make sure he had it right.
The birth date question was asked so often every time I get near the hospital that it has become a long mantra: juillet vingt-quatre, mille neuf cents quarante-deux. Even the handsome Italian taking up to surgery asked. I almost expect to have tell the parking meter where my housemate left the car near the hospital what my birth date is.
I was so excited yesterday about not needing chemo, I forgot to ask for the stitches they pulled out. The string was the most beautiful royal blue. I joked about wanting to colour co-ordinate to my clothes. The nurse and I agreed that it is too bad that the string only comes in one colour. I thought it would be nice to put it with all the drawings of my breast that I have in the folder I've been keeping with all the paper work.
I know I still need to go through the radiation but that is such a minor thing in comparison to what I thought it would be.