Doudou the lion
I don't think I've told you about Doudou yet. Doudou is Marie's dog. His real name is Idwall, the guardian of the wall. He is known for being kind, genuinely kind. And affectionate. This kindness has made him famous in central Étampes. Many people know him and call him when he passes by for a pat, a kind word, or a treat to slip him on the sly. Only children who don't know him sometimes look at his 40 kg and his big golden muzzle with a little apprehension. Marie, for some, is “Marie Doudou.” They were very close, always together, helping each other cope with the ups and downs of life.
Doudou was also battling cancer, a much more aggressive form than mine. Marie tried everything, and managed to keep him alive longer than expected. But for some time, we knew that his condition was worsening, and on Monday, when we came back from our evening walk, Doudou stayed downstairs for a long time, and it took him ten minutes to climb the three flights of stairs. Last night, the same thing happened when he went downstairs and then back up again.
Doudou passed away this morning at 4:30 a.m. Marie stayed by his side all night. He was a kind, brave dog, and even though I'm not much of a dog person, I shed a few tears as I wrote this because Doudou was truly a good soul.
I went to bed around 1 a.m. because I had to get up at 7:30 a.m. to go for my usual tests. So, it was a difficult wake-up call. I felt bad that I couldn't stay with Marie during this very difficult time for her. But I absolutely had to take the exams on Thursday; they can't be canceled and are part of the protocol I committed to following. Bertrand, a friend, will come help her this morning, so thanks to him.
Lucky Fredd
Hassan is there at 8:30 a.m., even a little earlier. I'm happy to see him since we haven't spoken in six weeks. The trip is longer than usual, and we arrive at the day hospital at 10:10 a.m., a little late. This doesn't happen often, but I have to say that today Cochin seems a little disorganized. Nothing serious, but it doesn't feel as calm as usual—at least, at my place it does! My place is the pulmonology department. But at Achard, we're waiting around, whereas usually things run more smoothly. What's more, I don't recognize many of the staff, and some of them ask questions but don't listen to the answers:
— Have you ever had a scanner?
— Yes, it must be the 5th or 6th, so I know the process.
— Okay, so here's what's going to happen: we're going to inject you with a substance that will warm up your throat and belly...
— Yeah, I know, I've already been...
— And there will be times when you have to hold your breath.
— …
Since the guy is nice and friendly, I don't want to ruin the mood, but he could have spared himself all those explanations. Same thing with the MRI: after I told him it must be my fifth or sixth, he explained that I mustn't move my head during the exam, that it makes a lot of noise but that they'll give me earplugs. Oh, really? No kidding? Again, I let him get on with it because he obviously meant well. Back to HDJ to eat.
Early in the afternoon, Zeus comes to visit me, all smiles, accompanied by Rachida and Imen, who is in charge of the protocol (Master Protocol, remember?). They have just seen the scan and the MRI. Zeus tells me that unless the MRI report shows something else, I no longer have any metastases in my brain. Champagne! It sounds silly, but it's an incredible relief. I couldn't watch any shows with flashing lights, even on video, and I couldn't drive, especially at night, for the same reason: too much light stimulation could trigger a epileptic seizure. And that weighed heavily on me: I'm the only one who drives in our family, so it greatly limited our ability to get around. Then he told me that both metastases on my pelvic bones are becoming transparent, a sign that they are not doing well at all. I've no sympathy for those two anyway. Everything else is stable. Am I Gladstone Gander or what? I chat with Rachida for a while before leaving to pick up my medication at the hospital pharmacy, and I accidentally address her informally twice, syain "tu" instead of "vous" (in France you = vous if you don't know the person or want to show her respect and you = tu if you're more informal or close to the person). I don't apologize because these untimely slips are a sign of how important she is in my "new life".
Back in Etampes, Marie and Bertrand did what needed to be done for Doudou. I try my best to comfort her.
A complicated, rollercoaster ride of a day.
