Wintering In...

Today, like yesterday and many of the past days, is cloudy, cold and wet. Only a few degrees separate us from snow. Only the calendar tells us it is not time.

I woke Saturday morning in my hospital room to a clear sky. The leaves on the cottonwoods lining the Mississippi River below me held a tarnished bronzed color and the sky was warming from a cold orange to a pale blue. It was the first sunshine I had seen since I was admitted on Tuesday and I was happy be sitting up and alive. I did not know that soon the morning would become a flurry of activity, aimed at my discharge to home. The question was put to me and for a moment I thought there was a wrong answer. I was not prepared to decide so soon and without any adult medical supervision. But if the doctor thought I was good enough, why not?

The trip home was difficult, mainly because my 'cushion' has been altered a bit and sitting for long periods without padding is painful and I have to shift around a lot. But Saturday night I slept with my love in our own bed. There is nothing like being home after trauma. Familiarity and safety and love count for a lot; much more than it is possible to provide medically. Those of you who have had similar experiences know what I mean. The doctors can only do so much. The rest is up to us.

So, I was at hospital camp for four nights and now I am in recovery camp. Yesterday I walked a mile. I felt good outside and was able to unfold and stand straight and move. Walking is likely to be one of the best things I can do for myself, mentally and physically.

I know I am still in the early stages of recovery and learning how to deal with my new life and new look. I do not mean to be derogatory, but I feel like a really old guy with skinny, flabby arms, no muscle tone and my pants hiked up halfway up to my armpits, with my belly pooched out. I am too young to look like that already and I hope I can gain back some muscle tone and strength as I heal.

I also have this crinkly baggy stuck on my belly that has to be emptied every few hours. I won't go into what that is like today. It is the price of being free from colon cancer and being alive. I expect after a while I won't even give it a second thought.

Today I feel like an old time voyageur that reached the post before winter. Hivernant is the term used for those that stayed overwinter. They were the true men of the north. Pork-eaters is the term for the voyageurs that hauled the gear in and hauled the furs out, back to civilization before winter set in. Most of our pork-eaters are gone now. Only Linda remains and she will help dump the garbage at the transfer station today. After she leaves tomorrow it will be just Karen and I and the other local hivernants. We should be alright. So many people have stepped up to help us and I cannot thank all of you by name at this time. You know who you are and again, we thank all of you from the depths of our hearts.

So, this is life in recovery camp. I believe another walk will be order. The goal is to keep our feet moving and keep the healing strong. My best to all of you.

Love and peace,
Mike
(and Portagerat, the old 'homme du nort')