Thank you for all your emails, well wishes and prayers. I completely SAILED through the last chemo, physically. I have to admit that, while I am usually fairly upbeat, the past three weeks had me totally down in the dumps. It felt like there was sad news and endings everywhere I turned, and I kept relating all of it to me.
Some of the endings are cancer-related: A friend of a friend has been amazing at supporting me by being open about her path of living on chemo. I learned that she is no longer doing chemo, and not because she is miraculously cured. Though I've never met her personally, she really has been a rock for me through all of this.
Then, of course, there is Elizabeth Edwards. I felt that, if she could live forever, then I could, too. But then, she died. Guess I set myself for disappointment there.
I've been having really disturbing dreams about dying.
Even the songs on the radio seemed to reflect cancer and loss. I swear that every time I turned on the radio, I heard this Christmas song about a little boy trying to buy shoes for his dying mother who might not make it to Christmas Day. Gut wrenching sobs. Ugh.
As if those weren't enough, the yoga studio I attend is closing. On the surface, this doesn't sound like a big deal. I attend a weekly class, and lately, I've only been attending every other week. That computes to twice a month. Not often.
It's a small studio; I never counted the students, but there were maybe 18 max in each class. I first met Joseph, the teacher, during a time in my life when I really needed to laugh. You wouldn't think that one would find laughter in a yoga class, but I laughed through my entire first class with him, and the laughter pulled me back to the class again and again.
Many of the students were regulars, and despite my nine years there, I knew few of their last names or what they do outside of yoga. But when I got the message about the studio closing, my stomach sank. I realize that we've formed a community. I would miss Joseph and the entire community. I had no idea how important and strong this thread was in my life.
I was so tired of everything feeling like it was going away. And I was tired of feeling sad. Yes, I know, endings can make way for new beginnings. Sometimes it is hard to really believe that.
Still, we all go about each day, doing our thing, and I suddenly noticed that it was more important to me, personally, to support the decision of my instructor than to be sad about it. And, surprise: It felt better, too, like I was lifting my head up again, and able to look outside myself.
I have no clue what the future holds. I hope it holds more surprises like this, elements that light the way of how to feel better.
I suppose that our yoga community will stay in touch, at least for a time. I suspect that it will morph, as we all change and grow, but we are truly part of each other in ways I never knew, and it is nice to actually be aware of that.
I'm taking small steps forward. I'm setting up a yoga room in my house, or, more accurately, asking my father to do that while he visits this week. I've stopped listening to the radio for awhile. And I'm going to Dana Farber to get a different perspective on my health situation.
The laughter - well, some things are just so life-affirming, and laughter is one of them. That will have to stay.
I hope you can find real joy today, that makes you smile so big that you have to laugh, that something tickles you in such a way that you see the humor in it, and that you can feel the light shine right through you.
Chemo again today -- I'm writing this from my chair! Your prayers and good wishes are always welcome and help to make this all okay.
Love,
Marie
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Managing cancer and going for world peace, one step at a time
Thank you for your thoughts and prayers, your good will and your support, for me and for my family. Besides the huge impact on me and my health, I know that it helps Tiron immensely, and the kids as well. For them, as for all of us, the stress pops up during what often seems like unlikely moments, and we appreciate how you are handling it along with us. Thank you.
It might seem like your efforts are small, they are huge for us. I was reminded of this during a recent talk with my doctor. People comment that I am managing cancer as a "chronic disease" (as opposed to a fatal diagnosis), and I like that mindset. Though I still hope to get rid of this cancer, if I can't, well, I'd like to LIVE with it.
As I thought about this mindset, I started noticing more and more subtleties. For example, my doctor would say, "When this chemo stops working...." when I would prefer to hear, "IF this chemo stops working...." That one word difference can send my emotions diving to the bottom, and after our conversation, I was left alone to stand up, brush myself off, and somehow climb out of the hole I was in.
This kind of knock-down was not exclusive to my doctor. It happens, for example, when someone honks their car horn: I happily drive along, feeling the breeze from the open car window and singing away, then that horn blast goes right through me, shattering the good will into shards flying out the window.
I do it to others as well, like when I come down too hard on the kids for a relatively minor infraction and watch the change in their eyes. Or when someone is blocking my way and I say "excuse me" with a bit of edge in my voice. Though unintentional, the other person ends up absorbing my ill will, where it either does some damage to them, or it affects their mood and they pass the ill will along to someone else.
If we can pass along negative feelings with small thoughts and actions, we can certainly pass along positive ones, and we feel that impact when you share yours. They may seem to be small, but they are powerful, and hopefully we are passing those good feelings along to others.
So, thank you, for all you do for our lives, and also for the feelings of peace and good will that you are sending out to the world as a result.
Chemo day for me -- keep those good thoughts and prayers coming! :-)
Love,
Marie
P.S. Some folks wanted to know about prior emails. If you want to check them out (no pressure), look here:
http://adventures-in-colon-cancer.blogspot.com/
Monday, November 8, 2010
Skipped last chemo; next one on WEDNESDAY
Thank you so much for all you have done to show your concern, always and especially during the past four weeks. I apologize for being out of touch, but do appreciate all the check-ins.
I also want you to know how much I appreciate your flexibility with me and my family. I feel like I am always asking for exceptions, making or canceling plans at the last minute, forgetting things that I should be expected to remember. I know you have been cutting me alot of slack for a long time. I hope it hasn't been too hard on you, and I truly believe that helps in reducing the stress in our lives and makes things so much easier to handle. We all really appreciate it, especially me.
Overall, I'm doing just great. I feel really good and my energy level feels normal. In fact, when I went through this a few years ago, I did six months of chemo and I was totally wiped out. So far, it has been nine months of chemo. I don't know if the mix is different, but I am grateful to have the quality of life that I have.
My most recent chemo, however, threw me for a loop. I was sick for eight days following it and couldn't even get on e-mail. Then, once I could get on email, my computer broke. So I am quite behind on that.
By the time I felt better, my next chemo session was only days away and I didn't think my body was ready for another hit, so I skipped that session. That was a bit scary to me, and I wondered if I was giving any cancer cells time to grow. Plus, I got sick a couple of times during my off-weeks, but I have to say, the good days have all been great!
I would normally go in for chemo tomorrow, Tuesday, but Aidan has his second grade Harvest Feast at school on Tuesday night. It is a big deal for him, and I find it pretty exciting, so, for this week, I'll wait one more day and do chemo on Wednesday.
This decision has ripple effects. Two weeks from now is Thanksgiving. I wanted to have chemo on Monday that week in order to feel better by Thursday. But this week's Wednesday chemo means that Monday will be too soon afterwards (does that make sense?). So I will skip chemo again during Thanksgiving week.
Alternatively, I could be wearing my infusion pump during Thanksgiving dinner -- I could dress it up for the photos. Maybe have feathers coming out of my chest? But the taste of chemo doesn't seem to complement turkey (or raw foods). Plus, the steroids I take make me short-tempered and crazy! Maybe skipping is a better plan. Everyone has been so great at putting up with me; I don't want to push it.
Skipping ALL of these would be truly lovely, though it doesn't feel like a viable choice right now. Please do think of us this week and send your prayers and positive thoughts, especially Wed - Friday. Thank you for hanging in there with us. We are so blessed that you are in our lives!
Love,
Marie
I also want you to know how much I appreciate your flexibility with me and my family. I feel like I am always asking for exceptions, making or canceling plans at the last minute, forgetting things that I should be expected to remember. I know you have been cutting me alot of slack for a long time. I hope it hasn't been too hard on you, and I truly believe that helps in reducing the stress in our lives and makes things so much easier to handle. We all really appreciate it, especially me.
Overall, I'm doing just great. I feel really good and my energy level feels normal. In fact, when I went through this a few years ago, I did six months of chemo and I was totally wiped out. So far, it has been nine months of chemo. I don't know if the mix is different, but I am grateful to have the quality of life that I have.
My most recent chemo, however, threw me for a loop. I was sick for eight days following it and couldn't even get on e-mail. Then, once I could get on email, my computer broke. So I am quite behind on that.
By the time I felt better, my next chemo session was only days away and I didn't think my body was ready for another hit, so I skipped that session. That was a bit scary to me, and I wondered if I was giving any cancer cells time to grow. Plus, I got sick a couple of times during my off-weeks, but I have to say, the good days have all been great!
I would normally go in for chemo tomorrow, Tuesday, but Aidan has his second grade Harvest Feast at school on Tuesday night. It is a big deal for him, and I find it pretty exciting, so, for this week, I'll wait one more day and do chemo on Wednesday.
This decision has ripple effects. Two weeks from now is Thanksgiving. I wanted to have chemo on Monday that week in order to feel better by Thursday. But this week's Wednesday chemo means that Monday will be too soon afterwards (does that make sense?). So I will skip chemo again during Thanksgiving week.
Alternatively, I could be wearing my infusion pump during Thanksgiving dinner -- I could dress it up for the photos. Maybe have feathers coming out of my chest? But the taste of chemo doesn't seem to complement turkey (or raw foods). Plus, the steroids I take make me short-tempered and crazy! Maybe skipping is a better plan. Everyone has been so great at putting up with me; I don't want to push it.
Skipping ALL of these would be truly lovely, though it doesn't feel like a viable choice right now. Please do think of us this week and send your prayers and positive thoughts, especially Wed - Friday. Thank you for hanging in there with us. We are so blessed that you are in our lives!
Love,
Marie
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Good CEA number again -- whew
Thank you for being there -- just wanted to share that I got my CEA number tested last time and it came back at 1.8. Below 2.5 is considered in the normal range, so I am both relieved and a little scared. Scared because I worry that it can only get worse, but I try not to focus on that.
It can be hard to stay positive, because though I feel great, the doctor arrives listing all the ailments that i could possibly have, asking if I felt any of them. I hate that it plants all that in my head.
However, the other big fun news is that Julie, my rock star nurse, is back from maternity leave! So, all is right with the world.
I'm sitting here in the infusion room, with the needle in my chest and the tubes hanging out, and just feeling so lucky that you are out in the world, doing your thing, maybe singing to some great music as you sit in traffic, chatting with folks you are happy to bump into, moving some project forward. I'm psyched to be doing all those things in just a few days, and it is great to know that it is all happening already.
Sending tons of love and gratitude your way, and all the blessings I know how to muster up.
Marie
It can be hard to stay positive, because though I feel great, the doctor arrives listing all the ailments that i could possibly have, asking if I felt any of them. I hate that it plants all that in my head.
However, the other big fun news is that Julie, my rock star nurse, is back from maternity leave! So, all is right with the world.
I'm sitting here in the infusion room, with the needle in my chest and the tubes hanging out, and just feeling so lucky that you are out in the world, doing your thing, maybe singing to some great music as you sit in traffic, chatting with folks you are happy to bump into, moving some project forward. I'm psyched to be doing all those things in just a few days, and it is great to know that it is all happening already.
Sending tons of love and gratitude your way, and all the blessings I know how to muster up.
Marie
Monday, September 27, 2010
Back from Paris and Lourdes!
Thank you for hanging in there with me. I get concerned that this road is long and boring for you, and a bit self-conscious about all these e-mails, but really appreciate both your support and your presence in my life. Thank you.
My last chemo session went well, but the new blip on the scene was that something was literally growing out of my stomach. It is where I was opened from the surgery, and it looked like colon and was freaking me out. Some things are just meant to stay inside your body and remain unseen! Plus, we planned to leave for France in a few days (more on that later) and I was worried this could change those plans.
While all this was going on, Tiron got diverticulitus and had already scheduled an appointment to see my colorectal surgeon for that. So I muscled in on his appointment. We both saw her at the same time and got the two for one rate (two charges for one appointment). He got antibiotics, I got that thing burned off (yikes, but glad to have it taken care of), and we were good to go.
For the better part of the past year, I’ve been drawn to go to Lourdes. I’m not a Francophile, I am not a frequent traveler, and frankly, I’ve never felt a need to go to a religious site. So this was a surprising calling.
First the dog, which I never thought I would want but love, and now this.
The question was, how to get there. Between chemo, the kids’ schedules and needs, my funky diet, and the emotional hurdle of leaving the kids for the first time and going that far away, it just didn’t seem to be do-able. Still, I was drawn.
Have you heard the story of the woman in the flood? It goes something like this:
A flood was coming and the police drove by a woman standing on her porch.
“We are evacuating the town. Get in our car and we’ll drive you out,” they said to her.
“I’ll wait here and God will come for me,” she replied.
As the flood waters rose, a rowboat went by. The rowers said to her, “Everyone is evacuating. Get in our rowboat and we’ll keep you safe.”
“I’ll wait here and God will come for me,” she replied.
The flood waters rose higher and she sat on her roof. A helicopter flew over and the pilot said, “The town has evacuated. Get in the helicopter and we’ll get you out of here.”
“I’ll wait here and God will come for me,” she replied.
After she died in the flood, she asked God, “Why didn’t you come for me?”
To which He replied, “I sent a car, a boat and a helicopter. Why didn’t you take them?”
One of my favorite things is when God works through people, and I feel like that is what happened here. Our dear friends invited us to their apartment in Paris. Coincidentally, it was during a week that worked well for us, both kid- and chemo-wise, and we decided to go! There was no way we could have done it without them (and my parents to watch the kids), and I truly feel like God was working through Julie. Thank goodness she let him!
So, after the chemo and surgery appointments, we flew to Paris. It was my first time there. Paris is wonderful, of course. We did all the things I love to do: visit with friends, wander the streets of a beautiful, vibrant city, shop for food and cook. Well, I didn’t cook, since I eat mostly raw, but we ate our meals at the apartment in order to accommodate four different diets. So I was able to mostly stick to my diet. The baguettes and cheese are impossible to resist!
Then Tiron and I headed to Lourdes.
For you non-Catholics, Lourdes is a pilgrimage site. Think, Mecca. I never in my life thought I would be doing a pilgrimage, but then, life is full of surprises, especially these days.
I met some wonderful people. Father Brian (pronounced Bree-un) and Father Patrick, both from Ireland, shared jokes and stories with soul. Anne and Claire from Scotland were like two angels who appeared out of nowhere and guided me on my journey. Plus, they told me they thought I was in my 30’s – loved that! Or maybe I just didn’t understand their Scottish accent…Little Monica (age 5 ½ -- she insists on the “1/2”) from Rochester was so joyful and fun, skipping as we retraced the difficult steps of life of St. Bernadette.
The place itself is incredibly large. There were over 25,000 people there and it didn’t feel crowded. In two days, I only saw a portion of it. There were two cathedrals and numerous chapels, the Grotto area, the baths, a bookstore, museum, information booth, and much more. Except for the bookstore items and candles, everything was free.
I have no idea how this place operates and pays to keep the lights on. It was clean without constant street sweepers, had no graffiti, and, despite being so welcoming and open 24/7, had no homeless people sleeping on the benches or police patrolling the streets.
It felt calm and peaceful, interesting and reverent. And, like many places that touch the soul, difficult to describe.
People go to Lourdes for miracles. I’m not sure whether I got a miracle, but I don’t feel like I was there looking for one (though, I would not turn away a healing miracle, in case anyone is listening!). I just felt like I had to be there. Anne and Claire from Scotland said that it appears I was “invited by Our Lady” and that felt right – that I was invited there and just had to go. The pull was so strong. The reason may not be clear to me, but that is okay. I did what I had to do, and I hope I did it well.
It is clear to me that I couldn’t have done it alone. I appreciate your prayers and good wishes, which give me energy and keep me going. I appreciate all that you did to take care of the kids (those of you who are local) – thank you for that. They had a great week and felt loved and secure.
Thank you for all that you continue to do for all of us, and thank you for sharing all this with me. One of the Stations of the Cross depicts Simon of Cyrene helping Jesus carry the cross, and making me think of the ways that others help us carry our burdens. You truly do that. This path would be entirely different and way more difficult without you. You make a difference in our lives.
Chemo on Tuesday….
Love, Marie
P.S. If you are interested in the stories from my experiences at Lourdes, I will be posting them on
http://adventures-in-colon-cancer.blogspot.com/
or let me know if you prefer an email.
To keep them readable, I wrote a different post for each event. They aren’t all there as I write this, but I expect to have them up soon.
If you want to read only one story, I would recommend the one on the baths:
http://adventures-in-colon-cancer.blogspot.com/2010/09/baths-at-lourdes.html
My last chemo session went well, but the new blip on the scene was that something was literally growing out of my stomach. It is where I was opened from the surgery, and it looked like colon and was freaking me out. Some things are just meant to stay inside your body and remain unseen! Plus, we planned to leave for France in a few days (more on that later) and I was worried this could change those plans.
While all this was going on, Tiron got diverticulitus and had already scheduled an appointment to see my colorectal surgeon for that. So I muscled in on his appointment. We both saw her at the same time and got the two for one rate (two charges for one appointment). He got antibiotics, I got that thing burned off (yikes, but glad to have it taken care of), and we were good to go.
For the better part of the past year, I’ve been drawn to go to Lourdes. I’m not a Francophile, I am not a frequent traveler, and frankly, I’ve never felt a need to go to a religious site. So this was a surprising calling.
First the dog, which I never thought I would want but love, and now this.
The question was, how to get there. Between chemo, the kids’ schedules and needs, my funky diet, and the emotional hurdle of leaving the kids for the first time and going that far away, it just didn’t seem to be do-able. Still, I was drawn.
Have you heard the story of the woman in the flood? It goes something like this:
A flood was coming and the police drove by a woman standing on her porch.
“We are evacuating the town. Get in our car and we’ll drive you out,” they said to her.
“I’ll wait here and God will come for me,” she replied.
As the flood waters rose, a rowboat went by. The rowers said to her, “Everyone is evacuating. Get in our rowboat and we’ll keep you safe.”
“I’ll wait here and God will come for me,” she replied.
The flood waters rose higher and she sat on her roof. A helicopter flew over and the pilot said, “The town has evacuated. Get in the helicopter and we’ll get you out of here.”
“I’ll wait here and God will come for me,” she replied.
After she died in the flood, she asked God, “Why didn’t you come for me?”
To which He replied, “I sent a car, a boat and a helicopter. Why didn’t you take them?”
One of my favorite things is when God works through people, and I feel like that is what happened here. Our dear friends invited us to their apartment in Paris. Coincidentally, it was during a week that worked well for us, both kid- and chemo-wise, and we decided to go! There was no way we could have done it without them (and my parents to watch the kids), and I truly feel like God was working through Julie. Thank goodness she let him!
So, after the chemo and surgery appointments, we flew to Paris. It was my first time there. Paris is wonderful, of course. We did all the things I love to do: visit with friends, wander the streets of a beautiful, vibrant city, shop for food and cook. Well, I didn’t cook, since I eat mostly raw, but we ate our meals at the apartment in order to accommodate four different diets. So I was able to mostly stick to my diet. The baguettes and cheese are impossible to resist!
Then Tiron and I headed to Lourdes.
For you non-Catholics, Lourdes is a pilgrimage site. Think, Mecca. I never in my life thought I would be doing a pilgrimage, but then, life is full of surprises, especially these days.
I met some wonderful people. Father Brian (pronounced Bree-un) and Father Patrick, both from Ireland, shared jokes and stories with soul. Anne and Claire from Scotland were like two angels who appeared out of nowhere and guided me on my journey. Plus, they told me they thought I was in my 30’s – loved that! Or maybe I just didn’t understand their Scottish accent…Little Monica (age 5 ½ -- she insists on the “1/2”) from Rochester was so joyful and fun, skipping as we retraced the difficult steps of life of St. Bernadette.
The place itself is incredibly large. There were over 25,000 people there and it didn’t feel crowded. In two days, I only saw a portion of it. There were two cathedrals and numerous chapels, the Grotto area, the baths, a bookstore, museum, information booth, and much more. Except for the bookstore items and candles, everything was free.
I have no idea how this place operates and pays to keep the lights on. It was clean without constant street sweepers, had no graffiti, and, despite being so welcoming and open 24/7, had no homeless people sleeping on the benches or police patrolling the streets.
It felt calm and peaceful, interesting and reverent. And, like many places that touch the soul, difficult to describe.
People go to Lourdes for miracles. I’m not sure whether I got a miracle, but I don’t feel like I was there looking for one (though, I would not turn away a healing miracle, in case anyone is listening!). I just felt like I had to be there. Anne and Claire from Scotland said that it appears I was “invited by Our Lady” and that felt right – that I was invited there and just had to go. The pull was so strong. The reason may not be clear to me, but that is okay. I did what I had to do, and I hope I did it well.
It is clear to me that I couldn’t have done it alone. I appreciate your prayers and good wishes, which give me energy and keep me going. I appreciate all that you did to take care of the kids (those of you who are local) – thank you for that. They had a great week and felt loved and secure.
Thank you for all that you continue to do for all of us, and thank you for sharing all this with me. One of the Stations of the Cross depicts Simon of Cyrene helping Jesus carry the cross, and making me think of the ways that others help us carry our burdens. You truly do that. This path would be entirely different and way more difficult without you. You make a difference in our lives.
Chemo on Tuesday….
Love, Marie
P.S. If you are interested in the stories from my experiences at Lourdes, I will be posting them on
http://adventures-in-colon-cancer.blogspot.com/
or let me know if you prefer an email.
To keep them readable, I wrote a different post for each event. They aren’t all there as I write this, but I expect to have them up soon.
If you want to read only one story, I would recommend the one on the baths:
http://adventures-in-colon-cancer.blogspot.com/2010/09/baths-at-lourdes.html
Friday, September 24, 2010
Lourdes: The Baths
The Baths
Friday, September 24, 2010
8:00 a.m.
Our Lady of Lourdes identified an underground spring to Saint Bernadette. Today, you can bathe in the water from that spring. I decided to do this. Everyone warned that the women’s lines were hours long. They advised me to arrive well before it opened and to plan my day accordingly.
The baths were open from 9 – 11 a.m. and again from 2 – 4 p.m. Since I had only one day available to do this, I decided to aim for the 9 – 11 slot, using the 2 – 4 slot as backup. I didn’t know what they did at closing time; did they send everyone away who had been waiting all that time? I planned to get in line by 7:15 a.m. At that time, I may not be first in line, but I expected to get in.
When the alarm rang the next morning at 6:30, the baths suddenly seemed less important than getting a bit more sleep.
Dragging myself out of bed at 7:30, I was glad to see that last night’s thunderstorms were over and, while the skies weren’t clear, it stopped raining. I put on the only outfit I had: a sleeveless summer top, a light cotton sweater, a pair of tights and flat shoes. I grabbed my raincoat just in case I needed it.
When I reached the baths at 8:00 a.m., all 17 covered rows of seating (with 12 – 14 women each) were full, so I filed in behind about 20 women standing in line outside between two white metal bars. The bars were set far enough apart for one person to stand comfortably. Two could squeeze side-by-side.
As I waited, a few drops of water fell on my head from the trees above. No big deal. I looked at the sky: clear on one side, and dark and foreboding on the other. Ha – like life. I hoped that the clear side was pushing out the dark one.
The two women ahead of me looked more like they were going out to a club than to the baths. In their mid to late twenties, tall and thin with long, straight hair, stylish clothing, nice make-up and finished nails, they held themselves confidently. One of them took a tissue to carefully wipe off the railing before she leaned on it. It reminded me of something my mother would do, and I briefly thought, they must be Italian.
Soon, I noticed the conversation of the three Italian women behind me, who were about my mother’s age. They stood on the shorter side of average and a bit stocky, well-dressed with beautiful jewelry and handbags.
My Italian is rusty and like a toddler’s at best, but it sounded like one of the women needed to go to the bathroom. So, I moved aside to let her pass, as did all the women ahead of me.
She was almost to the front of the line when, whoosh – a thin woman with short grey hair who stood all of 4’11” blocked the way. Standing squarely next to the metal barrier on her right, she slid four long, thin candles across her stomach until they reached to the metal bar on the left, effectively blocking the narrow pass. The Italian lady talked with her, but Candle Lady apparently did not understand Italian. So, Italian Lady walked back along the line to return to her spot.
In my observation, every group of Italian women has one strong personality who directs the group, and this was no different. Strong Italian Lady said, in no uncertain terms and in a slightly demeaning tone (loosely translated), “What do you mean, she said no? You just go back there, say, ‘Mi Scusi’, then you walk by.”
They argued a bit over this (as the Italians I know do) but Strong Italian Lady won and Bathroom Italian Lady tried again to make her way through the line. And again, when she reached the Candle Lady, whoop, the candles came out and blocked the way.
This time Candle Lady wouldn’t talk or even look at Bathroom Italian Lady. She just stood there facing forward, holding her candles sideways.
I thought this was hilarious and giggled out loud. Strong Italian woman started to talk with me. In Italian.
“Non parla Italano,” I said, meaning to say, “I don’t speak Italian” but I actually said, “You don’t speak Italian,” essentially confirming the fact that I don’t.
“Ah, comprende Italiano, no?” she asked with a knowing look. “Un poco?”
“Pocino pocino,” I replied, making a motion of “tiny” with my thumb and forefinger.
Bathroom Italian Lady returned again, defeated and annoyed.
More words, but this time from the girls in front of us, confirming they were Italian. Gorgeous Strong Italian Girl spoke up.
“That woman is crazy. You have to go to the bathroom.” She waved her hand sharply at the gentleman monitoring the line, as if she wanted to order a drink at the bar, and he came right over.
“She needs to go to the bathroom.”
The man told Bathroom Italian Lady to come with him, and she left the line and followed. A few minutes later, as she made her way back to us through the line, she shot daggers with her eyes at Candle Lady. Such good Catholics. I guess we all have room for improvement. As for me, it was good for another laugh.
At some point, a woman started to lead the rosary in French, with intermittent hymns. I love the rhythm of the rosary in any language. It is repetitive and meditative and speaks to something my soul, even if I don’t know what they are saying.
After an entire rosary in French, another woman started one in Italian. The Italians around me responded, almost as in a Pavlovian way.
At one point, the Ave Maria was sung, and everyone automatically sang the refrain.
The rosary continued in French and Italian, French and Italian, interrupted only by hymns, until the doors opened at 9:00. A man gave instructions in French, and several of the women seated in front moved into the bath area.
Though the line now moved ahead, the Italian women and I were still outside, now standing in light rain. Strong Italian Lady shared her umbrella, then offered a chocolate square to me. I said gracie for the umbrella and no thank you for the chocolate, clearly offending her.
“Oomph” she said, simultaneously brushing me off with her hand while returning the chocolate to her designer handbag. I recognized that sound / motion pair. It meant, “Fine. Your loss. See if I offer you anything else.” Fortunately, she kept her umbrella up for me. I was starting to get cold and didn’t want to be wet, too.
The irony was not lost on me that I was headed to a bath. With water.
About five or ten minutes later, the line moved forward again and we could sit on the benches under the roof. I sat between the two gorgeous girls from Naples and the three older Italian women. They occasionally conversed across me, and I loved hearing all the Italian.
By now, I was definitely cold. I pulled a hat and gloves from my handbag, which helped a little but not a lot. They were letting women move ahead at roughly the rate of 4 women every 5 minutes, so the line kept moving enough to give me hope. Each time, we would either stand and walk to our new seats, or shuffle our butts along the bench, depending on how far we got to move.
The rosary and singing continued. Women got up to go to the bathroom and returned to their seats. Though it was still pouring rain, husbands arrived and waved from the walkway to check on their wives in line.
When the Italian women’s husbands arrived, one woman said critically, “Look at him. No umbrella. Crazy.”
It made me smile that her welcoming comment about him was basically a critical one, and that he obviously didn’t really mind.
When I was about halfway to the baths, a woman on the bench in front of me waved me toward her. I leaned in, wondering what on earth she could need from me but happy to help. Smiling, she grabbed my upper arms and rubbed them to help me stay warm. I didn’t realize that I actually looked as cold as I felt. I considered leaving to take a hot shower, but the line moved just enough to keep me in it. Besides, if all these women were doing it, I can do it.
Later, Strong Italian woman reached over to me and rubbed my arms and back. It reminded me a little of a story I once saw about the Holocast: As the women were headed to the showers, the older women took care of the younger ones. I tried to push that image out of my mind.
After three hours of sitting, standing, talking, rosaries and hymns, we made it to the front bench. I had no idea what these baths would be like, but I suspected they would be cold. It is spring water, after all. I wasn’t excited about more cold. I don’t even like a cold swimming pool on a hot day. I assumed they would be outside, in the rain.
But, the next step was inside to change and there, things felt like they moved a bit faster. I waited so long to get here, I wanted it to go a bit more slowly. But, not a choice.
A woman with a warm smile appeared from behind a curtain and beckoned me into one of the changing rooms. As I approached, she asked what language I speak. A woman who spoke English with a lovely French accent suddenly appeared and led me further into the room. It felt like a group changing room in a discount women’s clothing store, except that each of the five women changing had another woman behind her, holding a blue sheet for privacy.
My helper gave instructions on how to change (“take everything off, and if you are wearing a bra, hold it in your hand”) and pointed to the hooks for my clothes. She held a blue sheet around me for privacy while I undressed, then wrapped it around my shoulders and told me to sit in the plastic chair that is under the clothes hooks.
I noticed that the floor is surprisingly dry for a bathing area through which hundreds of people just passed. Also surprisingly clean.
My sheet is a bit wet, though, and it grosses me out to sit in a plastic chair that held who knows how many naked butts. I opt to stand. I now feel warmer than I did outside, but still a little chilled.
My helper repeated instructions that I saw on a wall chart: Collect your thoughts and choose an intention. Stand in front of the curtain, and I will be called when it is my turn.
I tried to focus on my intention, but I I could hear a big splash in the bath. Did someone fall in? Do we need to jump in? It made me wonder what was behind the curtain. I now assumed that I would step outside into the rain and have to jump into a big, deep puddle with lots of other women.
I was next. The curtain opened, and I was led through.
I’m not so good at going with the flow and like to know the lay of the land before I dive into anything, so I was a bit disoriented. Plus, I wanted to take everything in and it all just seemed to be moving so quickly.
Thankfully, the baths were inside! There were walls around it, and I was the only one going into it right now. The bath itself was stone, long and narrow in front of me, with two steps leading down into it. I wondered if I could just do a step or two, if that would count or if I would have to take the plunge.
The water was surprisingly clear. I don’t like hot tubs because they either feel like I’m getting into someone else’s bath water, or that I am soaking in chemicals. But frankly, I have seen more backwash in my glass of drinking water than there was in that tub, so I was amazed and felt okay about going in. Not that anyone would have asked me.
Two women, one standing on either side of the bath, each held one side of a twisted white sheet, wringing it out together as the water fell into the tub. I was relaxing a bit, then surprised as the woman who led me in now held my shoulders while she reminded me to focus on my intention. She directed me to raise my right arm, which I found a bit confusing, so she did it for me. Then suddenly, the three women removed the blue sheet and replaced it with an ICE COLD WET ONE.
I was adjusting to the shock of having a cold sheet wrapped tightly around my body when I was told to take the first step into the bath.
I did and, as cold as the water was, the sheet was colder and distracting me. I really wanted to get rid of it and just do this without it on. I also wanted to go slowly into the bath, like I do with a cold swimming pool, but the other two women (who were previously wringing the sheet) grabbed one arm each and insistently led me into the deeper part of the bath. One of them told me to sit while my brain responded “Are you crazy? This is freezing!” Then they told me to relax and basically pushed me down until I was sitting in the bath.
I was so focused on freezing that I didn’t exactly revel in the experience. I think that I briefly remembered my intention but definitely forgot to say the prayer I was supposed to say while in the water, and before I knew it, they pulled my arms up to guide me out of the bath and were saying the post-bath prayers of thanks to Our Lady of Lourdes and to Saint Bernadette. I was supposed to say those with them, but I was more than two steps behind.
They put my bra on, replaced the blue sheet, and guided me through the curtain to the dressing room.
When I started to get dressed (again, with someone holding the blue sheet for privacy), I noticed that most of my body was already dry. How on earth was that?
I walked out of the bath house alone. It was pouring outside, and I had no umbrella. Cold bath. Cold rain water. Water was everywhere.
Friday, September 24, 2010
8:00 a.m.
Our Lady of Lourdes identified an underground spring to Saint Bernadette. Today, you can bathe in the water from that spring. I decided to do this. Everyone warned that the women’s lines were hours long. They advised me to arrive well before it opened and to plan my day accordingly.
The baths were open from 9 – 11 a.m. and again from 2 – 4 p.m. Since I had only one day available to do this, I decided to aim for the 9 – 11 slot, using the 2 – 4 slot as backup. I didn’t know what they did at closing time; did they send everyone away who had been waiting all that time? I planned to get in line by 7:15 a.m. At that time, I may not be first in line, but I expected to get in.
When the alarm rang the next morning at 6:30, the baths suddenly seemed less important than getting a bit more sleep.
Dragging myself out of bed at 7:30, I was glad to see that last night’s thunderstorms were over and, while the skies weren’t clear, it stopped raining. I put on the only outfit I had: a sleeveless summer top, a light cotton sweater, a pair of tights and flat shoes. I grabbed my raincoat just in case I needed it.
When I reached the baths at 8:00 a.m., all 17 covered rows of seating (with 12 – 14 women each) were full, so I filed in behind about 20 women standing in line outside between two white metal bars. The bars were set far enough apart for one person to stand comfortably. Two could squeeze side-by-side.
As I waited, a few drops of water fell on my head from the trees above. No big deal. I looked at the sky: clear on one side, and dark and foreboding on the other. Ha – like life. I hoped that the clear side was pushing out the dark one.
The two women ahead of me looked more like they were going out to a club than to the baths. In their mid to late twenties, tall and thin with long, straight hair, stylish clothing, nice make-up and finished nails, they held themselves confidently. One of them took a tissue to carefully wipe off the railing before she leaned on it. It reminded me of something my mother would do, and I briefly thought, they must be Italian.
Soon, I noticed the conversation of the three Italian women behind me, who were about my mother’s age. They stood on the shorter side of average and a bit stocky, well-dressed with beautiful jewelry and handbags.
My Italian is rusty and like a toddler’s at best, but it sounded like one of the women needed to go to the bathroom. So, I moved aside to let her pass, as did all the women ahead of me.
She was almost to the front of the line when, whoosh – a thin woman with short grey hair who stood all of 4’11” blocked the way. Standing squarely next to the metal barrier on her right, she slid four long, thin candles across her stomach until they reached to the metal bar on the left, effectively blocking the narrow pass. The Italian lady talked with her, but Candle Lady apparently did not understand Italian. So, Italian Lady walked back along the line to return to her spot.
In my observation, every group of Italian women has one strong personality who directs the group, and this was no different. Strong Italian Lady said, in no uncertain terms and in a slightly demeaning tone (loosely translated), “What do you mean, she said no? You just go back there, say, ‘Mi Scusi’, then you walk by.”
They argued a bit over this (as the Italians I know do) but Strong Italian Lady won and Bathroom Italian Lady tried again to make her way through the line. And again, when she reached the Candle Lady, whoop, the candles came out and blocked the way.
This time Candle Lady wouldn’t talk or even look at Bathroom Italian Lady. She just stood there facing forward, holding her candles sideways.
I thought this was hilarious and giggled out loud. Strong Italian woman started to talk with me. In Italian.
“Non parla Italano,” I said, meaning to say, “I don’t speak Italian” but I actually said, “You don’t speak Italian,” essentially confirming the fact that I don’t.
“Ah, comprende Italiano, no?” she asked with a knowing look. “Un poco?”
“Pocino pocino,” I replied, making a motion of “tiny” with my thumb and forefinger.
Bathroom Italian Lady returned again, defeated and annoyed.
More words, but this time from the girls in front of us, confirming they were Italian. Gorgeous Strong Italian Girl spoke up.
“That woman is crazy. You have to go to the bathroom.” She waved her hand sharply at the gentleman monitoring the line, as if she wanted to order a drink at the bar, and he came right over.
“She needs to go to the bathroom.”
The man told Bathroom Italian Lady to come with him, and she left the line and followed. A few minutes later, as she made her way back to us through the line, she shot daggers with her eyes at Candle Lady. Such good Catholics. I guess we all have room for improvement. As for me, it was good for another laugh.
At some point, a woman started to lead the rosary in French, with intermittent hymns. I love the rhythm of the rosary in any language. It is repetitive and meditative and speaks to something my soul, even if I don’t know what they are saying.
After an entire rosary in French, another woman started one in Italian. The Italians around me responded, almost as in a Pavlovian way.
At one point, the Ave Maria was sung, and everyone automatically sang the refrain.
The rosary continued in French and Italian, French and Italian, interrupted only by hymns, until the doors opened at 9:00. A man gave instructions in French, and several of the women seated in front moved into the bath area.
Though the line now moved ahead, the Italian women and I were still outside, now standing in light rain. Strong Italian Lady shared her umbrella, then offered a chocolate square to me. I said gracie for the umbrella and no thank you for the chocolate, clearly offending her.
“Oomph” she said, simultaneously brushing me off with her hand while returning the chocolate to her designer handbag. I recognized that sound / motion pair. It meant, “Fine. Your loss. See if I offer you anything else.” Fortunately, she kept her umbrella up for me. I was starting to get cold and didn’t want to be wet, too.
The irony was not lost on me that I was headed to a bath. With water.
About five or ten minutes later, the line moved forward again and we could sit on the benches under the roof. I sat between the two gorgeous girls from Naples and the three older Italian women. They occasionally conversed across me, and I loved hearing all the Italian.
By now, I was definitely cold. I pulled a hat and gloves from my handbag, which helped a little but not a lot. They were letting women move ahead at roughly the rate of 4 women every 5 minutes, so the line kept moving enough to give me hope. Each time, we would either stand and walk to our new seats, or shuffle our butts along the bench, depending on how far we got to move.
The rosary and singing continued. Women got up to go to the bathroom and returned to their seats. Though it was still pouring rain, husbands arrived and waved from the walkway to check on their wives in line.
When the Italian women’s husbands arrived, one woman said critically, “Look at him. No umbrella. Crazy.”
It made me smile that her welcoming comment about him was basically a critical one, and that he obviously didn’t really mind.
When I was about halfway to the baths, a woman on the bench in front of me waved me toward her. I leaned in, wondering what on earth she could need from me but happy to help. Smiling, she grabbed my upper arms and rubbed them to help me stay warm. I didn’t realize that I actually looked as cold as I felt. I considered leaving to take a hot shower, but the line moved just enough to keep me in it. Besides, if all these women were doing it, I can do it.
Later, Strong Italian woman reached over to me and rubbed my arms and back. It reminded me a little of a story I once saw about the Holocast: As the women were headed to the showers, the older women took care of the younger ones. I tried to push that image out of my mind.
After three hours of sitting, standing, talking, rosaries and hymns, we made it to the front bench. I had no idea what these baths would be like, but I suspected they would be cold. It is spring water, after all. I wasn’t excited about more cold. I don’t even like a cold swimming pool on a hot day. I assumed they would be outside, in the rain.
But, the next step was inside to change and there, things felt like they moved a bit faster. I waited so long to get here, I wanted it to go a bit more slowly. But, not a choice.
A woman with a warm smile appeared from behind a curtain and beckoned me into one of the changing rooms. As I approached, she asked what language I speak. A woman who spoke English with a lovely French accent suddenly appeared and led me further into the room. It felt like a group changing room in a discount women’s clothing store, except that each of the five women changing had another woman behind her, holding a blue sheet for privacy.
My helper gave instructions on how to change (“take everything off, and if you are wearing a bra, hold it in your hand”) and pointed to the hooks for my clothes. She held a blue sheet around me for privacy while I undressed, then wrapped it around my shoulders and told me to sit in the plastic chair that is under the clothes hooks.
I noticed that the floor is surprisingly dry for a bathing area through which hundreds of people just passed. Also surprisingly clean.
My sheet is a bit wet, though, and it grosses me out to sit in a plastic chair that held who knows how many naked butts. I opt to stand. I now feel warmer than I did outside, but still a little chilled.
My helper repeated instructions that I saw on a wall chart: Collect your thoughts and choose an intention. Stand in front of the curtain, and I will be called when it is my turn.
I tried to focus on my intention, but I I could hear a big splash in the bath. Did someone fall in? Do we need to jump in? It made me wonder what was behind the curtain. I now assumed that I would step outside into the rain and have to jump into a big, deep puddle with lots of other women.
I was next. The curtain opened, and I was led through.
I’m not so good at going with the flow and like to know the lay of the land before I dive into anything, so I was a bit disoriented. Plus, I wanted to take everything in and it all just seemed to be moving so quickly.
Thankfully, the baths were inside! There were walls around it, and I was the only one going into it right now. The bath itself was stone, long and narrow in front of me, with two steps leading down into it. I wondered if I could just do a step or two, if that would count or if I would have to take the plunge.
The water was surprisingly clear. I don’t like hot tubs because they either feel like I’m getting into someone else’s bath water, or that I am soaking in chemicals. But frankly, I have seen more backwash in my glass of drinking water than there was in that tub, so I was amazed and felt okay about going in. Not that anyone would have asked me.
Two women, one standing on either side of the bath, each held one side of a twisted white sheet, wringing it out together as the water fell into the tub. I was relaxing a bit, then surprised as the woman who led me in now held my shoulders while she reminded me to focus on my intention. She directed me to raise my right arm, which I found a bit confusing, so she did it for me. Then suddenly, the three women removed the blue sheet and replaced it with an ICE COLD WET ONE.
I was adjusting to the shock of having a cold sheet wrapped tightly around my body when I was told to take the first step into the bath.
I did and, as cold as the water was, the sheet was colder and distracting me. I really wanted to get rid of it and just do this without it on. I also wanted to go slowly into the bath, like I do with a cold swimming pool, but the other two women (who were previously wringing the sheet) grabbed one arm each and insistently led me into the deeper part of the bath. One of them told me to sit while my brain responded “Are you crazy? This is freezing!” Then they told me to relax and basically pushed me down until I was sitting in the bath.
I was so focused on freezing that I didn’t exactly revel in the experience. I think that I briefly remembered my intention but definitely forgot to say the prayer I was supposed to say while in the water, and before I knew it, they pulled my arms up to guide me out of the bath and were saying the post-bath prayers of thanks to Our Lady of Lourdes and to Saint Bernadette. I was supposed to say those with them, but I was more than two steps behind.
They put my bra on, replaced the blue sheet, and guided me through the curtain to the dressing room.
When I started to get dressed (again, with someone holding the blue sheet for privacy), I noticed that most of my body was already dry. How on earth was that?
I walked out of the bath house alone. It was pouring outside, and I had no umbrella. Cold bath. Cold rain water. Water was everywhere.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Lourdes: In need of healing foods
Lunch break
Thursday, September 23, 2010
12:00 noon
I stopped at the bookstore and bought a few small books, then met Tiron for lunch. He had done a tour of Bernadette’s life that morning and recommended it for me for the afternoon.
After all the walking for the Way of the Cross, I didn’t feel like wandering the city. So we decided to try the hotel restaurant for lunch.
The hotel restaurant had two salads. One had lettuce, eggs, tomatoes, duck and pine nuts. I could eat the lettuce and pine nuts. The other had lettuce, goat cheese and olives. I selected the first.
The pine nuts arrived charred, but the service was great. The salad was large enough to hold me over for the afternoon, and I cheated on my diet with a bit of mediocre bread.
For a town that attracts people who need healing, the food could be healthier.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)