THE BIONIC MAN

A happy Bird with his daughter, Jo

Not so long ago I blogged about the ‘You can’t swear! You’ve got hair!’ episode, which is now one of our inside family jokes. I think every family has them. They occur spontaneously and, at later opportune moments, will be repeated with a sly wink and knowing laugh. A couple of weeks ago, I unwillingly contributed to our family repertoire, and I’m quite sure that I’m going to be teased about this one for years to come.

Refusing the traditional treatment for my brother’s cancer meant finding another way to improve our situation. There is no question of just sitting around and letting the disease take its course. After hours of research, we decided that organic food and homeopathic measures could only help. A juicer was purchased, a Doctor of Naturopathic Medicine consulted, and this lady began reading labels and being very careful about cooking and serving only certified organic products. There is no problem finding fruits and vegetables, but meat (non-boosted) is not so easily accessible in the grocery stores in our small town. My daughter had mentioned buying a batch of grain fed, free range chickens some months ago, so I decided to ask her if I could purchase one or two from her until I could get to the specialized city markets.

I alternate between the English and French languages on a daily or even hourly basis – speaking it, reading it, writing it. Now and then I unconsciously throw a French word or expression into an English conversation, or vice versa. Sometimes I have to stop and think before using a certain word, because I am no longer sure to which language it belongs. The other day, while talking to my daughter, I forgot to pay attention. I was speaking French, where the correct term is biologique, but thinking the English organic. My tongue twisted, and I didn’t even realize what I had said until my daughter started to giggle and answered “Sure, Mom! I’ll sell you a couple of my bionic chickens!”

I guess I don’t have to tell you what happened when my smart-mouthed brother heard about my blunder. After his initial deep rendition of “Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology…we can make him better than he was before…..” (for those who don’t recognize it, it was the introduction to the old Six-Million Dollar Man television series), he has shown no mercy. Each family member, every visiting friend, and even the nurses from the CLSC have been told not to worry about his health - that his sister is now feeding him bionic meals. I’m sure it’s not-so-subtle payback for my refusing to let him eat junk food, or the beet-carrot-apple mixture I force him to drink first thing in the morning! He never did like beets.

I admit I can go a bit overboard when I latch onto an idea. However, my brother’s daughter, who flew in to spend the weekend with us, much to his delight, and my own kids, and his lady friend…even the nurses, all agree. His condition, both physically and mentally, seems to have greatly improved within the past three weeks….the same length of time he has been eating only bionic…uh…I mean, organic.

In spite of his being a smart-ass, I’ll still endeavor to help him. Tomorrow …and each day after that… I will faithfully prepare a glass of organic beet-carrot-apple juice and serve it to him first thing in the morning, now even before his coffee, which he loves. I will dutifully ignore his grimace when I set it down on his table, and pretend that I do not know that he never did like beets. And as I turn my back to walk out of his room, yep! I’ll be SMILING!!

Sending those SMILES out to y’all, and hoping you’ll spread them around!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

A JOYFUL NOISE

Ah – the interwoven yellow and orange and red of a crackling wood fire – the return of the season where we sit and bask in its cozy warmth. The chimney sweep paid us his yearly visit yesterday (actually, it should read I paid HIM for his yearly visit yesterday!). He was no longer done and gone than Grump and I hauled wood upstairs. Well, Grump brings a couple of pieces of cedar kindling; I carry the logs.

The Bird was lying in his bed, pretending to be focused on the TV. Once again his friend had not shown up as promised, and she wasn’t answering her phone when he called. I knew it was bugging him; he feels extremely vulnerable when she does that. Anyone in his position would feel the same.

I strolled into his room with my announcement.

“It’s time you made yourself useful,” I said. His gaze switched to me, his surprise indicated by raised eyebrows. I elaborated. “You know that box of CDs I mentioned the other day?” He remembered. He began the slow preparations necessary to get up and about.

Talk to a musician about music, and it’s pretty much a given that his attention will be all yours. Soon there we were – the Bird and Grump and me – installed comfortably on the sofas beside the fire, fresh coffee in hand…and that huge box of jumbled CDs between us.

This box has been bugging me for ages. Every loose CD found lying around in any part of the house, the garage, the office, or the cars had been gathered up and shoved into it with the notion that I would find time to organize them somehow. Many were mixed copies burned and received from friends, some from my brother himself, with no labeling information. Others were just loose, or had been hurriedly stuck into whichever jacket that was on hand, not necessarily the right one…and the box was one of two! It was a mess!

Bird is a whiz when it comes to music. More times than not he can rhyme off not only the tune, but also the name of the artist doing it. The whole family on my father’s side is musically inclined; they can play various instruments and have sweet singing voices. I believe I am the only sibling who wasn’t included in that bank of talent; my calling in that domain is limited to loving nearly all types, and knowing what I like to hear.

Time passed as we worked together – Bird naming the tune and artist while I made lists to insert in the CD jacket. I would press the button to skip forward to the next song…then the next. Occasionally one of us would say ‘Hey, wait – haven’t heard that for awhile. Let it play through!’, and we’d sit back to enjoy that particular special sound. At one point I started to sing along. Bird glanced over at me, his expression inscrutable.

“What?” I asked. “Am I that bad?” He thought about it for a moment.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it bad,” he answered. Then added – “But I wouldn’t call it singing neither.” His face was serious as he studied my hurt expression. He grinned. “It’s more like…a joyful noise.”

That darned Bird managed to duck in time again, and the plastic CD jacket I let go flew right by him to land on an innocent sleeping Grump. The startled dog lifted his head to stare at us, then relaxed… we were both SMILING.

Luv from The Bush in Quebec

STILL SMILING

When scans showed that the lung tumours are growing in spite of radiation and chemo injections, the doc prescribed an oral chemo called Tarceva. It is terribly expensive but is “the last resort” (the term the doc used). Because Bird was already on a disability pension, the government agreed to pay for it. Bird read over the side effects, and has refused to take it. It is not a cure, but a palliative measure. He has decided to go with dignity; once again the quality of life wins out over the quantity.

In the meantime, we have visited a Naturopath. I read Kevin Trudeau’s books (still growling!), at the suggestion of the Bird, by the way, and have been preparing organic food and juices for the past two weeks. It HAS made a difference. He has more energy, is more alert...just feels all-round better. The Naturopathic doctor suggested injections of Vitamin C and mistletoe. These cannot be done legally in Quebec; only traditional doctors can administer such a thing, so we have made an appointment to have them done in Ottawa. Ontario is more lenient it seems. I made sure to inform his lung specialist who, although disappointed that Bird is not doing the Tarceva, asked us to meet the Homeopathic representative from the hospital just to be certain that any treatment, be it pharmaceutical or organic, is not in conflict with the other. Problem: the injections were to start on Sept. 20th, but the appointment with the hospital rep is on Sept. 27th...which means another delay for time that is already short.

What we are living right now is not easy, nor is it made easier by knowing that others have, and will again, go through the same thing....or worse. However, there are special moments of love, of sharing, of laughter, that would probably not occur during days of ordinary existence, and for that I am grateful. We have been allowed time for a proper goodbye and, as Bird quips “We’ll just take our time saying it, thank you!”

The sense of humour is still intact. When going for a scan of his spine (a tumour has shown up there too), the Bird was wearing his Toronto Maple Leaf cap. The young technician grimaced when he saw it.

“You’re lucky I allow you into my scanning room wearing that hat,” he told Bird. Used to the reaction he gets in this Hab-fevered city, Bird smiled.

“Been waiting for years to see them take the Stanley Cup,” he answered. “Now that I’m dying, they’ll probably get it.”

“Ha!” scoffed the technician. “If that’s what you’re waiting on, you’ll live for another 30 years!”

The Bird winked. “Exactly!” he exclaimed.

And we all SMILED.