Part 10: A Cup of Soup, Chemo 3
On Christmas morning, the boys were up early. They sat before a giant pile of presents, too big to fit under the tree. Bruce was the Christmas orchestrator and said, “Just wait patiently boys — let Mommy get a coffee.” It was barely 6 am. I’d had chemo 2 days prior and it was my 5th and last day without food. I was the weakest link that morning as both boys squealed, “hurry, Mommy, hurry!” As I got comfortable on the sofa with my coffee, the present opening began.
The cancer had caused Bruce and me to really live in the now. This was reflected in the number, size, and cost of the presents under the tree. Even Santa was more generous this year. In previous Christmas years, I have always felt like we gave the boys too many gifts and that we were at risk of spoiling them and turning them into consumers. Bruce has always called me Scrooge, but this year I would have agreed to give them an entire toy store each.
Bruce handed us each an envelope to open. I knew most of the gifts, but I had no idea what these envelopes were. We opened them, and our oldest boy read his out loud and told the room we were flying to Prague. I thought that was random, we’d been talking about returning to Paris but we had never discussed Prague. Then Bruce asked our oldest, “Look at your paper — what date are you coming back?” Max said, “March 5th”. Bruce turned to our youngest “Look at your paper — what date are you coming back?” Louis said, “March 5th.” Bruce read his out loud “I’m also coming back on March 5th.” Bruce turned to me. “Look at your paper. What date are you coming back?”
I read out loud, “March 11th.” A funny family moment ensued, where everyone looked around at everyone else with anticipation. Our oldest said, “What the heck?” with a big shrug, and the youngest repeated, “What the heck?” My husband let the excitement hang in the air. I looked at my husband questioningly and said, “Yeah, Bruce, what the heck?”
Then he handed me another envelope to open. Inside was a piece of paper, and I read the words Wim Hof Expedition — I jumped off the sofa, spilling my coffee, “You’re joking? Really? Is this for real?” I had my hand over my mouth and fell silent as Bruce explained that he had booked me into Wim Hof’s winter expedition in Poland shortly after my chemo was due to end and that his idea was that this would be a tool in my recovery and mark the transition from being sick to being back on the road to health.
I was utterly overwhelmed. My husband knows me so well. In my pre-kids days, I was an adventurer — running marathons, climbing mountains, skiing the Haute Route and more. I had seen various documentaries about this expedition and it looked hardcore to say the least, especially for someone who would be at their all-time physical weakest following two surgeries and many months of chemo. It was the most thoughtful and generous gift I have ever received.
Later that Christmas day, contrary to rumour and legend, I did NOT break my 4.5-day fast with a glass of champagne. Don’t believe everything you hear! No, specifically to avoid that very accusation, I had already consumed a cup of soup. Only then did I have champagne — after all, it was Christmas Day ;-).
I’m not sure what my excuse was for all the days that followed over the two-week break, or maybe I didn’t need one. I spent a lovely holiday break enjoying wine and margaritas with friends, always combined with chat and laughter and occasionally combined with food or dancing. I thought to myself, “this is what cancer looks like,” maybe not all of the time, but this is what cancer looked like for me at that juncture. I was full of life and joy and fun.
My friend took this video during a night out, a video I will forever cherish, a video full of lots of my favourite people, my family, and my favourite singer. And there I am in the middle of it all, dancing my heart out in my headscarf.
