The Swimmer

When in NYC, and nausea-free, we like to go to a restaurant called Artisanal.  The food is French, and they have a legit fromagerie, which pleases our Grace to no end.  What I really like though, is the art.  There is a huge painting (c. 1926) that was brought over from a train station bistro in Amiens, France.  It is called La Baigneuse, or The Swimmer.  

Every time I see this painting, I see myself.  The first time I saw it six years ago, I was having lunch after apprenticing with some brilliant floral and event designers.  I was starting my own floral and event company, and felt I was standing where the girl is - on the precipice of a cliff, blue sky above, about to jump -confident, excited, scared, naked, into the water below.  

Over the years of visiting this painting....I mean restaurant, the painting always felt like a mirror - from getting my first big event, to celebrating the conclusion of my last very big wedding, and then recently when I was diagnosed with cancer.  Except for being anxious and not excited about the last one, the adjectives were the same; vulnerable, confident, scared, naked.  The painting silently said  everything.  Today, the night before this surgery that will take out the cancer, and a few of my leg bones with it, it was again a reflection:

Naked - I am pretty sure I don't get to wear my jammies for the occasion.  Aside from the literal sense of the word naked, I don't have my wedding ring on for the first time in 23 1/2 years.  

Vulnerable - I have no control over anything my body does for nine hours, including breathing.  Plus, essential (though diseased) body parts are being removed from my person.  My life and leg is very clearly going to be in someone else's hands.

Scared - see above.

Confident - Between my giant sturdy tree (John and my family) standing with me, the Chief of Surgery on my team (albeit standing over me with a knife), and the prayers of many (including my own incessant badgering of the saints), I am confident that the surgery will be a success.  

I was reminded recently that although cancer is an overwhelming fight sometimes, I can't lose sight that every person is doing battle of some kind.  It is even true of 'my' painting.  La Baigneuse witnessed the occupation of the Germans in that bistro in France in 1940.  At which time, I am sure France felt very much like the bather in the painting. A much more drastic and trepidatious state of affairs than my own.  

Ciff jump-off time tomorrow is at 7am.  MSK called to inform me that I am the first 'case' and to be there at 6am.  I hope for my surgeon's sake that after my nine-hour surgery, I am his only 'case' of the day. He is going to need a sandwich and a beer after he's done with me.  In any case, my plan is to take another swimmer's advice- Dory the fish from Finding Nemo- "Just keep swimming."

BTW- My surgeon's plan (other than a large breakfast) is Plan A.  There is a shadow on the MRI that the radiologist is unable to confirm as not cancer. So, to be safe and not have to go back in later, they are going with the bigger surgery.  Just keep swimming...and praying!