Today is our last day here in Saint Raphael. For this vacation, at least.
As you've no doubt noticed, I have posted nearly nothing the past two weeks, other than the photos of our day-trip a week ago. I've been more into the micro-blogging with Twitter and Facebook, which is really Georges' fault -- he's the one who bought me that new iPhone 4, so now I can post quickly from anywhere! (And I have to admit, I kind of love this phone so far. Thank you, sweetie.) Of course, I do have the ability to do full blogging on the iPhone but somehow, sitting on beach writing a lengthy post on Typepad seemed like a misuse of my time.
This was not quite the vacation I hoped or expected to have, to be candid. Yes, we had sun every day... big points for no rain. Yes, we had our beach days, our usual trip to the local zoo, and (finally!) lots of ice cream and gelato. We played mini-golf. We ate good food. And perhaps best and most exciting of all, we were able to give my sister-in-law some serious FUN with several great family outings. That, all by itself, made it worth the trip in my opinion. (Plus Georges got to surprise her with a new computer and he re-arranged her Internet connection to improve the signal in general.)
But for me, the post-operative recovery has been much slower than anticipated (my scar STILL hasn't completely closed up in four places, although one is nearly closed now, and I'm still having a nurse visit every day to work on that -- so there IS progress, but it's just very SLOW progress). And that meant NO SWIMMING. WHAT. SO. EVER.
If you want to torture me, just put me on a beach in 90-degree weather and tell me I can't go in the fucking water, at least not above the thighs. I am NOT a hot-weather person. My skin is fair so I have zero interest in baking myself into a bronze, leathery saddlebag. And what else is there to do at the beach except swim? I LOVE to swim, and the not-swimming has been making me miserable.
I also had lower energy than normal, so ended up staying home in the (blessedly air-conditioned) apartment more than I normally would have. My poor traumatized body needed the rest... but the rest of me wanted to get the hell out of the house and GO somewhere.
Suffice to say, my moods have been all over the map. When I've been able to get out in the evenings (when it's cooler), I've been in a great mood. We went to see the Bastille Day fireworks. We had a couple of dinners out. And sometimes, I welcomed the opportunity to just hang around the house and be a bit lazy. But after a while? Enough is enough.
It's no one's fault, it just is what it is. Who knew I'd get so sick (and right after my trip to the States) that I'd need surgery, and that it would end up being major surgery to remove an internal organ that was so badly infected that who knows what might have happened if they hadn't intervened when they did? And who knew that my skin would end up being the type that would be so sensitive it would take WEEKS of extra time to heal? My doctor had originally anticipated I should be able to go in the water this past Monday, but when the nurse here got a look at my scar, she said "Uh-uh, no swimming at all". And clearly she knew what she was talking about because the damn thing has been taking it's sweet time closing up.
So... tomorrow we go back to Paris. Great weather and being with family notwithstanding, I have to say that I'm actually glad to be going home because I can get into a normal routine again -- and not be tempted by a beach I can't fully enjoy. I have a book to finish that I am now WAY behind on, and a special project I agreed to do with a friend back home that I'm excited about starting. And we have our next vacation to plan for middle or end of August -- a trip to a Club Med, probably in Italy, with the Little Guy.
And that frigging scar had better be sea (and spa) worthy by that time. Because I have a lot of vacationing to make up for.
