January 7, Belleville General

My Angela, a polar bear, is also an orchid.  Far from a knight, I, myself, am only a witness, now to her great strength, now to her fragility.


The first days of the new year have been difficult.  Angela's left arm is always numb.  Any brief use of her hand increases her pain.  She is plagued by headaches whenever she lies down.  Alas, she is much more cautious in all of her movements, and moves very little.

We have placed our orchids in the only room that might allow them enough sun, but it is a room that, for various reasons, is difficult to keep warm.  They look magnificent in the windows with the winter scene of the forest and meadow behind them.

I repeat to Angela many times, in ever greater detail, medical explanations for her worsened symptoms.  I explain to her how steroids work.  I explain what we might expect if her tumor is, in fact, shrinking.  These are, definitely, good explanations.  There is, medically, good reason to hope.  These explanations require, nevertheless, at these moments, great efforts to believe.  

We watch over the orchids like fools.  We marvel that they exist, and check regularly that they are not wilting or otherwise turning brown.  We have two thermometers in their room.  The heater that is meant to keep the room above 13 degrees will be replaced because it has the tendency to shut off spontaneously.  We are awake to check on it in the night.  We know we worry in excess.


I am back to long hours at work.  I am at the hospital in Belleville presently, and will be for most of the weekend.  Somehow, this week, I have also been for auto service twice, for groceries a few times, and I have visited my own doctor.  Although I know I am doing well, I am fighting, in my daily obligations, a helpless feeling.  At times, we know, there is so little we can do.  Orchids, of course, are not meant for winter.  A bear is not meant to cry.  

I am, in the light of day, convinced that angela will be soon rid of this cancer.  I insist, clinically, that the odds are good.  I am braced with her for the next step.  We see the oncologist on Wednesday.  In the meantime I look often at the new Inuit sculptures, a+c, that we bought eachother for Christmas, and which are with us on this blog.  We believe that one captures Angela's loving gaze, and the other, my priestly devotion.  We aspire to old ideals.  Along with radiation and chemotherapy, we count on love and faith.  

Today it is hard to speak without tears.  Angela had wanted to make some calls.  She wanted to wish a friend a happy birthday.  She wanted to speak to her cousin.  She was too tired.  If my explanations are correct she will make these calls soon.  In the meantime, I will buy more plants, maybe orchids, and we will, my friends, be in touch.