Long time...
At times, returning is hard. Returning to work after time off, returning to writing a blog entry after big changes. And I guess I was starting to think that so many things had changed since I last wrote to you on December 12th that I couldn't possibly catch up - so maybe I shouldn't try. After all, Kirstin has been receiving rave reviews as L'Editor-in-Chief, so perhaps I could just leave it to her.
But I thought, even though I don't have the ability to sum it all up, to write a little to all of you who've been following the stories of our life in France.
Where to begin? I guess with an operation. Some people have been hassling for pictures, so why not a few of my head? Here are a pair of the MRI images I had which initialliy told us there was a problem. The white ball is the tumour, about 3cm across, and possibly more by the time I was on the table.
(I'm actually most impressed by the low-contrast image - the brain stem has been shoved right out of the way to make way for my little friend).
So they wanted it out, and feeling like I was discussing an interesting scientific curiosity, I agreed. Thirteen hours of hard work later and it was done - my memories are only of the green tiles of the operating theatre as I spied the operating microscope hanging above me, five seconds before going under, and a beautiful intensive-care nurse (the smell of her soap and the sight of her eyes above and below sterile masks).
You've all read about the stuff after that, and I guess I think more about the 'now' and the 'to be' than the past, so I'll tell you about these things instead.
I'm back at work. Day 6 or so now, and not doing to badly. Bike to the train station about 10am, 25 minutes on the train (great time for sorting photos and replying to personal emails) and then another 5 minutes to bike to the lab. Coffee. Work. Lunch. Coffee. Work. Coffee. Work. Reverse direction of cycling, and home by about 7:15pm. Not too bad. The most tiring thing is telling people in the 'had just gotten to know you before I left in December' category about why I'm looking like a pirate sans parrot with a black eye-patch above my immobile face.
I guess the exposure to lots more people has made me much more aware of my face. I'd gotten used to the response of friends that was to ask questions about progress, but not to only see the face. Walking the streets, talking to shop keepers, buying stamps from the post office - it's all stuff where I feel people see only half of me - and as I don't really see the smile from my demi-grin, I suspect other people don't either. (I'd like to take some photos of myself to show you what I mean, but not tonight). However, I suspect this is probably a matter requiring a bit of a rethink on my part - ongoing work.
The day to day hassles are decreasing. I noticed today I can probably get away with much less goop in my eye at a time. Some cautious experiments are in order to see if I can recover some detail in my vision on that side - anything would be better than the polar bear against a snowy background with a white paintbrush in her hand fug I get at the moment. My cycling pushes the envelope of my balance again, as the kiné has encouraged me to. The act of riding is fine, but sudden head movements send me careering off track, as I did this morning when my shoelace got caught in the chain and I ended up in a field. Slow head movements were the order of the day after that, and all was well.
Plans for the future? Well, I went skiing last Sunday on the kiddy-slope where we went tobogganing. I'm proud to report that I'm as rubbish a skier now as I was before my operation! That being said, I didn't fall a single time. Very satisfactory. Wolfgang says I still need further practise before we can go ski mountaineering, though...
But all this introspection is one thing - I know Kirstin has written of her appreciation for all your letters and email and phonecalls over what has, at times, been a pretty rought period. I wanted to thank you myself. The great gift of your love has surrounded us.
Enough for one night. Sleep well.
But I thought, even though I don't have the ability to sum it all up, to write a little to all of you who've been following the stories of our life in France.
Where to begin? I guess with an operation. Some people have been hassling for pictures, so why not a few of my head? Here are a pair of the MRI images I had which initialliy told us there was a problem. The white ball is the tumour, about 3cm across, and possibly more by the time I was on the table.
(I'm actually most impressed by the low-contrast image - the brain stem has been shoved right out of the way to make way for my little friend).
So they wanted it out, and feeling like I was discussing an interesting scientific curiosity, I agreed. Thirteen hours of hard work later and it was done - my memories are only of the green tiles of the operating theatre as I spied the operating microscope hanging above me, five seconds before going under, and a beautiful intensive-care nurse (the smell of her soap and the sight of her eyes above and below sterile masks).
You've all read about the stuff after that, and I guess I think more about the 'now' and the 'to be' than the past, so I'll tell you about these things instead.
I'm back at work. Day 6 or so now, and not doing to badly. Bike to the train station about 10am, 25 minutes on the train (great time for sorting photos and replying to personal emails) and then another 5 minutes to bike to the lab. Coffee. Work. Lunch. Coffee. Work. Coffee. Work. Reverse direction of cycling, and home by about 7:15pm. Not too bad. The most tiring thing is telling people in the 'had just gotten to know you before I left in December' category about why I'm looking like a pirate sans parrot with a black eye-patch above my immobile face.
I guess the exposure to lots more people has made me much more aware of my face. I'd gotten used to the response of friends that was to ask questions about progress, but not to only see the face. Walking the streets, talking to shop keepers, buying stamps from the post office - it's all stuff where I feel people see only half of me - and as I don't really see the smile from my demi-grin, I suspect other people don't either. (I'd like to take some photos of myself to show you what I mean, but not tonight). However, I suspect this is probably a matter requiring a bit of a rethink on my part - ongoing work.
The day to day hassles are decreasing. I noticed today I can probably get away with much less goop in my eye at a time. Some cautious experiments are in order to see if I can recover some detail in my vision on that side - anything would be better than the polar bear against a snowy background with a white paintbrush in her hand fug I get at the moment. My cycling pushes the envelope of my balance again, as the kiné has encouraged me to. The act of riding is fine, but sudden head movements send me careering off track, as I did this morning when my shoelace got caught in the chain and I ended up in a field. Slow head movements were the order of the day after that, and all was well.
Plans for the future? Well, I went skiing last Sunday on the kiddy-slope where we went tobogganing. I'm proud to report that I'm as rubbish a skier now as I was before my operation! That being said, I didn't fall a single time. Very satisfactory. Wolfgang says I still need further practise before we can go ski mountaineering, though...
But all this introspection is one thing - I know Kirstin has written of her appreciation for all your letters and email and phonecalls over what has, at times, been a pretty rought period. I wanted to thank you myself. The great gift of your love has surrounded us.
Enough for one night. Sleep well.
posted by Kirstin Jeffrey Johnson at 10:06 pm
5 Comments:
Hey there,
Lovely picture of you brewing. Glad to see you joined the "dark" side (beer that is).
Missing you both
amy
Great to hear from you Greg! Welcome back.
Love,
Adrienne
Greg:
I got a bit bogged down with work during January and early February, so I hadn't visited for a while. Great to see that you are skiing, cycling and back at work. Thanks for continuing to post your updates. Forza!
Dwayne
We would love to see you on your bike!! And skiing. I (chelle) am writing a little letter now, but know it will be awhile before it is finished, sent and then actually delivered. We think of you all often.
Much love, Chelle & Dave
Hey there "Long Time...", now it's been an even longer time. We need an update. Start typing please!
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