Yesterday was my two-week follow-up to learn the pathology results from my day surgery lumpectomy. What can I say? I’m just a mysteriously lumpy person. Yet another young doctor poked and prodded my neck and jaw and performed my third ever exploratory scope up the nose and down the throat. This one without any freezing. I’d like to say I’m getting used to this procedure and that it hardly bothers me, but that would be a big fat lie. My eyes tear and my nose runs for the rest of the day afterwards. This handsome young doctor (yes, I’m not so ancient that I don’t notice and appreciate such things) wanted to give me a clean bill of health because this more thorough lymph node biopsy showed the same thing as the needle biopsy did. Nothing more than inflammation. From an infection. But of what, and from where? The ENT surgeon is still curious to figure it out and wants more pathology tests done. He also wants me to take Prednisone for five days. And come back to see him in a month.
The wait in the office was over an hour, during which time we watched, on an overhead waiting room TV, the latest updates on the situation in Ottawa from Wednesday. Social media and news coverage seems to be centered on information about fallen soldier Nathan Cirillo and the heroic actions of Sergeant at Arms Kevin Vickers, with very little about the perpetrator of this cowardly crime. And that is as it should be.
I am happy to be alive and to once again be declared cancer free. I never know how stressed I really am about something until it’s over and I suddenly feel lighter and able to breathe great refreshing deep breaths again. A lone gunman in the nation’s capital will forever be associated with this little moment in my life.
After my appointment, W decided to look up a former co-worker from back in his government days who now works at the University Hospital doing bookings. I met her once at a long ago Christmas party which I barely remember being dragged to, so she and I didn’t have a lot to talk about. I mostly listened to her and W catch up on what happened to every person they ever knew. She decided to give us a little tour of the Edmonton Oilers Ambulatory Clinic at the Stollery Children’s Hospital. At the U of A hospital everything is connected to everything else. I just wanted to go home and make soup.
Because this is exactly the kind of brilliant and exciting anti-social personality I have been nurturing these days. I just want to stay at home, read books and blogs, watch movies and sneak Halloween candy from the cupboard. All of this activity gives me so many topics to blog about (stop – you can’t see the computer screen when your eyes are rolling like that) I just can’t seem to make myself focus on any one thing. Until – SOUP. And the things that can be said about it. In list form. Why not.
1. The process involved in making home-made soup is very therapeutic. At the dinner table a much-loved uncle used to say, with the passing of every dish – “here, have some of this, it’s good for what ails you”. Well the making of soup can be curative and good for what ails you. If you have no clue what I’m talking about, make some and find out for yourself.
2. Butternut Squash will make soup orange. I don’t like the taste of squash on its own, so I mixed in all of the following things – white onion, the last of the cabbage, a parsnip, one small white turnip, lots of celery, a zucchini, 2 cloves of crushed garlic, some red and green pepper, a can of chick peas. All of this was added to vegetable broth, a couple of packages of chicken broth powder, vegetable seasoning, fresh ground pepper and sea salt. So no ordinary salt and pepper in this house. There could have been more things than this added, I can’t remember. I put a yam back in the fridge because the pot was full. Maybe I threw in a carrot.
3. When everything is happily boiling away and you turn the heat down to simmer, the house fills with the best aroma ever. Assuming you like the smell of stuff cooking.
4. Creamed soups are more yummy than the ones in which you are able to pick out all the vegetables you don’t like. I don’t like adding flour or cornstarch, so I don’t. My little hand mixer turns this concoction into a smooth and creamy
hot mess delight. I throw in some butter, because the body absorbs vitamins from vegetables better when there’s fat involved. Never mind how good it makes things taste.
5. A piping hot bowl of orange soup on a windy fall day restores your faith in whatever you’ve lost conviction and confidence in. It’s good for whatever needs rejuvenating. It promises you that everything will once again be all right. It’s damned near magical.
And now I’m hungry.