The Emerald Belt
This isn’t a poem:
The Archipelago,
or large group of islands
that make up Indonesia,
is known as the Emerald Belt,
first named so by Dutch writer Multatuli,
pseudonym of Eduard Douwes Dekker (1820-1887),
who referred to Indonesia’s beautiful nature
and the numerous islands
the country consists of.
Did you know?
The artwork is provided by the ever brilliant Alias Jinksy,
who invites us to hop on her bicycle and write something if we feel inspired by it.
First I’d like to thank you all for thinking of Hans and me and sending us good thoughts, prayers, positive energy etc. It really helps to know that so many people care. We’re Teflon coated by positivity now, so everything bad just has to slide off immediately.
THIS
Hubs’ case nurse, Jitty (who seems to be quite relaxed, even though her name suggests otherwise), turns out to be a little gem. She managed to twist some arms so hubs will have his MRI scan this Friday after all. In stead of a week later. So we will hear the good news (provided his Teflon coating works) Tuesday next week. The best news would be that the cancer hasn’t spread and that they’ll only have to remove a small portion of his colon to get rid of the tumour.
We’ll see.
THAT
And now for something totally different: salads. I had a salad on the menu for tonight. With some Nasturtium flowers from my vegetable patch I thought. And then this morning, or it could have been this afternoon, I visited Jabblog who had a post about a beautiful looking, and no doubt very tasty, summer salad. With Nasturtium flowers! And Pansy flowers too. Some people just exaggerate things. Anyway, I told her that we would be having a similar salad tonight and that I’d post some photos of it. So…
Salad leaves, toasted pine nuts and walnuts, Nasturtium flowers and a dressing made of extra virgin olive oil, Balsamic vinegar, mustard and honey. Doesn’t only look good, tastes nice too.
THE OTHER
Or should I say: the others. Some of the others anyway. This is part of our private zoo:
Tumtum, in half winter/half summer coat (summer coat = bald) is looking at us, Nufnuf is just in front of him inspecting the box hedge. Naloma is in the first stable, Evie in the second (from your left).
And next to Evie is Willem.
No you’re not drunk, or maybe you are, but if you were sober you’d also see the wall leaning. It’s not the wall. It’s the camera. Or actually; it’s not the camera either and I wasn’t drunk when I took the photo. I can honestly say I’m never drunk. But this is far too much information. I could have just Photoshopped the photo straight, but it is 30 degrees Celsius and I couldn’t be bothered. In real life the wall is straight. There. That’s what I wanted to say.
And look, we have a little chick. Its (we don’t know yet if it is a he or a she) mom is one of our brown chickens and she’s in there with him, just not in the photo. We’ve put the both of them into a run and their (con)temporary home is a travel box for the cats. They like it in there. Chick is too small to go up and down the ladder in the big coop yet. But when he'/she is a little bigger, we’ll put the both of them back with the rest of the family and keep them all locked up for a while in their coop and run. Hopefully it is a ‘she’, so she can stay with us. Otherwise I’m afraid he’ll end up in someone’s soup ;-(
Unless you thought that I’m extremely brave.
Today is colonoscopy day. After drinking litres of apple juice and laxative concoction and multiple toilet visits, hubs’ bowels were empty and he was ready to be dropped off at the hospital. And that I did. No point in me hanging around there for hours to wait for his return, so I went back home.
On my way home I paid a visit to a supermarket to get some odds and ends. I often joke that the parking lot of this particular supermarket is the most dangerous spot in the whole of the province. Mostly because of the very elderly people who still drive a car. Which is nice. For them. Apparently after hundreds of years of driving a car, one has the right to just back up without looking if there is perhaps another car or a pedestrian coming. They probably can’t turn their heads enough anymore. And mirrors… what? Mirrors? No, one just backs up and everyone else in the parking lot should respect the elderly and give them room to manoeuvre. And boy, do they need room to manoeuvre. Where people like you and me just look if we can back up, back up while turning the car and drive away, these people don’t look, they just back up in a straight line, go forward, back, forward, back, forward, back….each time turning the wheel about an inch at the most.
The other very dangerous drivers are the chic housewives of which there are plenty in our neck of the woods, with no hair out of place and a very shiny car to take the children to school or to hockey in. They think along these lines: “My husband is rich, my children are gorgeous, I never have a bad-hair-day, so even though I should give you right of way, I think you should hit the brakes and let me go my merry way.”
And then there is the third category; the young guys who got their drivers license yesterday and think they are invincible. The usually drive a Peugeot 205 or a VW Golf. They are in a hurry, because they need a bag of crisps/chips and a Coke (I mean the drink. I know you think that we Dutch can get marihuana, coke and other mind blowing stuff in our supermarkets, but no. We have to go to a coffee shop for that.).
When I came out of the supermarket and walked my shopping trolley to my car, a guy from the last category (although he drove a Mini) drove into the parking lot. He had to stop for one of the 150-year olds who had been driving back, forward, back, forward and had almost managed to turn the car enough to drive away. So young guy had to wait for what… 10 seconds at the most. But he was hungry and thirsty and in a hurry, and 10 seconds seem like a lifetime when you are 18, so as soon as he could he put his foot down and speeded up to an empty parking space. At an abnormally high speed, even, or especially, for what is the most dangerous parking lot in the whole of the province anyway. So everyone looked at him with killer looks, but then they all went on with putting their shopping in their car.
And now I’ll tell you why I’m braver than you’d think, unless you thought I’m extremely brave anyway.
The guy parked his car, got out of it and I walked up to him. “Can I tell you something?”, I asked, not waiting for an answer. “Do you realize there are often people with children in this parking lot? And those children could run in front of your car. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to run over a child.”
“No”, he said.
“Okay. That’s what I wanted to say to you and I hope you’ll think about it.”
And then I returned to my car and got in, while he went on his way to the supermarket.
Now, don’t think that I didn’t need a bit of courage to confront this guy with his action. I didn’t know him. I mean, he could have been one of those aggressive guys who carries a knife or something. But it turned out that he carried an MP3-player and a phone. And he listened politely.
Perhaps he’ll think about what I’ve said. Perhaps not. Probably not. Well, he probably thinks of me as an old nag who should mind her own business. And of course on my way back home I thought of lots of cleverer things I could have said to him.
But I feel better for having talked to him. And that is a positive result.
Now I have to wait for a phone call from hubs to tell me that I can pick him up from the hospital. And hopefully there will be a positive result at the end of his examinations and scans too. We’ll see.
UPDATE:
They didn’t find anymore worrying things in his colon, apart from two small polyps which they removed. They marked the malignant tumour with ink, so the surgeon can find it easily. I hope it is long lasting ink, because it might take a while before hubs will be operated on. I wonder if they drew a little face on it. I would have done that. But then again my sense of humour is working overtime at the moment.
They warned hubs not to worry if his poo turns blue. That would be the ink. Good to know.
Tomorrow he’ll have a CT scan and a Thorax photo. Fingers crossed.
Kim, over at Frogpondsrock, has provided us with a place to put those photos that would otherwise be hanging around aimlessly in some folders on our computers. Sunday Selections it is called, and this is my selection for this Sunday. After the shitty (pardon my French) news of this past week, I thought we could use something nice, calm and relaxing. So take a deep breath and enjoy:
I love these lights. They are solar powered led lights. So, even though they are black, they are green. Talking about green: how many different shades of green are there anyway?
And breathe out.
Feeling all relaxed now?
Good.
Now hop over to the rocking frog ponds to see more Sunday Selections.
Have a great week everyone!
The always brilliant Jinksy made this painting and invited us bloggers to write something if they felt inspired.
she knew she was probably going too far
always colour coordinating her washing
when she hung it out to dry
but when she squinted her eyes
the sensible not so smalls, towels and sheets
became a wonderful painting
and suffering from this minor case of OCD
definitely made life more fun
Visit for other, better, different inspired posts Alias Jinksy
As you know (if you read my previous post, and if you didn’t, you don’t know, but I’ll tell you now) hubs is diagnosed with colon cancer.
Shit, yes.
Anyway, we heard it last Monday and now he has to undergo all sorts of medical examinations to find out where exactly the tumour is, if the cancer has spread and what kind of treatment he will get. These examinations were to take place in the next two weeks, but since there is only one MRI scanning machine (if there is a different English term for the thing, please let me know) in this particular hospital and it is a very popular MRI scan thing, apparently there is a huge cue of people waiting to get scanned, his scan has been moved to a week later. Which means that his case will be discussed in the surgical team a week later too, which means that we will hear what exactly is going on inside hubs’ intestines and which treatment he will get a week later too. Three weeks from now. Are you still following?
Yesterday we had an appointment with his ‘regieverpleegkundige’ or his ‘director nurse’. She is the nurse who knows everything about his case and will be our main person to talk to. I’ll call her ‘case nurse’.
She wanted to talk to both of us. See, I’m one of those people who like ‘a little less conversation, a little more action please’. Especially in cases like this. But okay, hubs and I went to meet his case nurse. She had a box of tissues at the ready. And was highly surprised that we weren’t crying our eyes out. “Are you always this cool?”, she asked hubs. “Pretty much”, he said.
She looked slightly disappointed at her box of tissues and moved it to one side. Away from us. We clearly didn’t need them. Yet.
“I’d like to know why the MRI scan date has been moved to a later date”, hubs said. “If I’d been a famous football player with a twisted ankle, I’d probably get an MRI scan this afternoon!”
“Uhm, yes. Good point, well made”, she responded and picked up her phone to make a few calls. The people she spoke to agreed that the rescheduled MRI scan wasn’t according to the protocol, but they couldn’t do anything about it (we were not surprised). “I’ll confer with your specialist. Perhaps he can do something about it, but he isn’t working today”, she said. So we’ll have to wait and see again. On the other hand, an earlier MRI scan also means that hubs will go into the ‘treatment-path’ earlier, which means that he will have less time to paint the outside woodwork of the house. Every advantage has its disadvantage.
Next Monday he’ll have a colonoscopy. Next Tuesday he has a CT-scan and we’re planning to have scaffolding delivered on Wednesday so he can start painting. That is No. 1 on my list-of-things-he-has-to-do-before-he-gets-ill. I’m not cruel. Just practical. And I’ll be assistant painter, so it’s not like I’ll be sitting and watching.
She also asked if we have a social network around us; people we could talk to in times of need. HA! We certainly do. Two neighbours came to bring flowers (and every disadvantage has its advantage too; we get pretty bunches of flowers) and to say that ‘if they can do anything, anything at all….’. And yesterday morning a couple of friends came to say the same thing. And yesterday evening another neighbour came to offer help and a shoulder to cry on. We have a lot of great friends and neighbours and I know they mean everything they say. Only, there is a timing issue, because by the time we may need help they probably all have gone on holiday. It is that time of the year.
Again, we’ll just have to wait and see.
On a different and much happier note; last Tuesday a company came to put a dormer window on the roof of a bedroom. Now, that sounds like the doorbell rang and someone surprised us with a dormer window, but no; we knew the thing came. What a huge difference it makes to the space in our bedroom.
Here are some photos:
This is a ‘before’ photo. Obviously. Through the internal windows, the angular ones, you can see into our living room. This is one of the carpenters (not the band) busy preparing things for the arrival of the dormer window.
And then the window arrived….
…and they made a hole in the roof…
and then they lifted the dormer window over the house into its new spot…
(I told you the woodwork needs painting)
the guy on the ground used a nifty remote control device to steer the crane
very strong guy, using only one arm to lift the whole construction (yeah, right)
and now it looks like it has always been there (The woodwork on this side of the house looks better. Only here there is a shameful mess on the floor, and the bricks need cleaning on each side of the house. Who knows, we may even do that this year.)
and this is what it now looks like on the inside, with plenty of room for a nice decorative drying rack
And now we have to think about the design of our new bedroom and create it. But it can wait. First things first.
…. so I’ll give it to you straight. Yesterday we heard the news that hubs (his name is Hans, should you want to pray for him or send positive thoughts his way; it probably works better if they are directed towards someone with a name ;-)) has colon cancer. So, for the next two weeks we know what he (and I) will be doing. Hospital visits galore. To find out just where exactly the tumour is and if the cancer has spread. Hopefully not. And then his treatment will start. Depending on where the tumour is located the treatment will be an operation and afterwards radio/chemotherapy if necessary. Or the other way around; first radio/chemotherapy and then an operation.
Quite shocking wouldn’t you say? We thought so. But we’re optimistic people. And hubs needed a vacation anyway. And he doesn’t feel ill or sick. Yet.
Shit.
Talking about shit; next Monday he has to go to the hospital for a second colonoscopy. Today we went to the chemists for the ‘industrial laxatives’ he needs to take beforehand. And I know I’ve posted this Billy Connolly video before, but it is hilarious and very topical, so worth watching again:
(Don’t get me wrong. I know this is a serious situation. But there’s no point in getting all depressed about it. We’ll see what happens. We can always get depressed later.)
Years ago we went camping in the Lake District, Great Britain. Hubs and me and our tent. We found a campsite near Lake Windermere that took tents.We put up our tent in the pouring rain. We cooked something unbelievably tasteful on our small Campingaz stove and crawled into our sleeping bag. The sheep on the hill above the campsite were complaining loudly about whatever it was, probably the weather, all night long. Baaaaaaaa. Baaahaaaahaaaahaaaaahaaaa. Since then, every time we hear sheep, we think of camping out in the rain in the Lake District. That’s how memories work.
The next day we visited the Steam Boat Museum in Windermere and were given the opportunity to take a cruise on a beautiful steam launcher called Osprey. “We have to bring her up to steam first”, the two elderly man who volunteered in the museum said, lovingly referring to their gorgeous lady friend Osprey . “It will take a while, we have to treat her carefully. But it’s worth waiting for.”
While we were waiting until ‘she’ was ready, a British man and an elderly British couple joined us. We were all looking forward to our cruise on Lake Windermere with dotted around its beautiful shoreline many grand mansions, built by wealthy businessmen in the late 19th century. It wasn’t raining anymore, the sun had come out and the weather was actually quite nice. About 15 or 20 minutes later, Osprey was ready to take us out on the lake. If you follow the link to steam launcher Osprey, you’ll see that she is beautiful and has a cabin, but we all sat in the front of the boat, enjoying the sun and the stunning views.
When we were in the middle of the lake, one of the gentlemen came out of the cabin, holding a tray with a teapot, mugs, sugar, milk and a tin of biscuits. And using a cunning device (I’ve forgotten what it was, but I remember that hubs was impressed) and the steam of the engine to heat the water, he made us a real British cup of tea. So there we were, in the middle of Lake Windermere, on a gorgeous wooden steam launcher lady called Osprey, enjoying a cup of tea. Could it be more idyllic?
“Milk?”, the tea-maker asked hubs. Hubs shook his head. “No milk for me, thank you.” The gentleman looked shocked. “Milk?”, he asked me. I shook my head too. “No, thank you. No milk for me either.” He nearly fell overboard from sheer shock. No milk in your tea??? How utterly barbaric. “You must be from the continent”, his conclusion was. “If you were British, you’d have taken milk in your tea!”
So, if you aren’t British, but if you, at some point in your life, have to pretend that you are, take this little tip from me; take milk in your tea.
It’s a sleepy bunch of cats and dogs in our house. And they like to snuggle up together. This is our 14 year old labrador Phoebe, holding paws with Snoes. What can I say… they obviously haven’t read the books or seen the cartoons in which cats and dogs hate each other.
Something I read in Blogworld stirred up the memory of when I had to take one of our cats to the vet. He seemed to have kidney problems. Not the vet, the cat. The vet said we had to catch some of his pee; the cat’s, not the vet’s (that would have been even weirder) and bring it to him so he could analyse it. I asked the vet if he could give any tips as to how exactly I could catch the cat’s pee and he said that I could follow the cat to the litter box and hold a shallow dish underneath the cat’s bottom.
I felt there were a couple of problems in his plan:
1. our litter boxes have lids so I would have insert my arm, holding the shallow dish, carefully into the opening in the lid and manoeuvre the dish in the right spot to catch the pee without being able to see what I was doing,
2. the cat would no doubt be highly surprised to see an arm, holding a dish, appear in this normally so private litter box and would probably close his urinal ways until further notice,
3. I’d have to follow the cat’s every move until he’d be going to the litter box. That could take a while.
So I asked the vet if he had a better idea.
“You can bring the cat to the surgery, so we can keep an eye on him and catch his pee ourselves”, vet said optimistically.
So I brought the cat to the surgery, where he got his own comfortable cage with a nice, soft bed and his own private litter box. Without litter. So the pee would stay clean.
That afternoon I telephoned the vet. “And?”, I asked. “Did Fleetwood (the cat) pee?”
“No, not yet”, vet said. “But you can collect him tonight. He must have done something by then.”
But Fleetwood saw the litter box without the litter and without the lid and thought: “I’m not going to pee into that thing. I’ll just wait till I get home again and pee in my own litter box.”
So when I came to collect Fleetwood that night, the vet saw me sitting in the waiting room, amongst some other people with their poorly pets, and said: “Oh, wait, he hasn’t peed yet, but I’ll try and massage something out of him. I’ll be just a moment.” And he disappeared into his surgery again to perform the delicate procedure of pee-massaging.
The other people in the waiting room looked at me, eyebrows raised in question marks. What kind of animal was this about, they seemed to wonder. And what was this intriguing story about pee-massaging?
“It’s a cat”, I said. “They need to catch some pee.”
“Ahh”, the other people said, collectively nodding. They understood.
Then we heard the hair raising sound of a cat screaming and growling, coming from the surgery.
The other people in the waiting room looked at me, eyebrows raised again, but this time I felt it was more of an accusatory look. As if I could help it that the vet’s procedure had turned Fleetwood into a malicious tiger. “He’s never made sounds like that before”, I defended Fleetwood truthfully. “He really is a very sweet cat.”
We all looked anxiously at the surgery door, expecting to see the vet turn up in the door opening, covered in bloody scratches, clothes shredded and a red&white cat clinging to his head. But the door opened and the vet turned up with a big smile on his face, holding a travel box with my usually very sweet Fleetwood in it. “Judging from the sounds coming from there, it all went smoothly?”, I asked. Vet laughed out loud. “Not really. He really really didn’t want to pee. But I could feel that his bladder was full, so I laid him on the table, with Paulien (his assistant) standing at the other end, holding a cup to catch the urine and I was massaging his bladder to get him to pee.
He did. Right in Paulien’s face hahahaha! But… marvellous assistant she is, she did also manage to catch something in the cup, so finally we can analyse it to see what’s wrong with him. He didn’t really like the procedure. But he took his sweet revenge hahaha.
Paulien appeared, drying her face with a towel. “I really did think he was a sweet cat, until just now”, she giggled. “He peed right into my face. Bloody cat!”
(Fleetwood did have kidney problems and needed to go on a diet for the rest of his life. Sadly he died about 6 years ago. He had a malignant tumour in his mouth and when the vet operated on him, it became clear that he couldn’t save him, so… that was the end of Fleetwood. Famous for peeing in the assistant’s face.)
