I am at Church, or to be exact, by the Church. I'm right outside leaning on the tree, sitting on the grass in front of the Church. I just had to take a nap, or to be precise, I crashed, I was so tired this morning. After going to bed at 2 am and waking up at 7 am I am not very spiritually tined today and my body is exhausted.
Ever since moving to La Maison du Bonheur, my schedule is all messed up. On weekdays I sleep in till 9 in the morning, then shower, get ready, go down to pastry shop to get my croissants, then I go back up to eat breakfast. After that I study scriptures and learn French until noon when it's finally time to go to the hospital. I come home at around 10 pm by which time I get texts asking me about Scott. Since my roaming fees are probably sky high, I save my updates till I get home that has a free wi-fi connection. I eat while people in our apartment finish their day with a good night smoke in a smoking room (which also happens to be a common computer room with one laptop for our use). When they are gone, I break through the smoke and log in to Skype so I can hear and see my kids. We talk forever. We cry, we share good bits of news, we tell jokes and they show me their new sandals. We even say a family prayer on Skype. At around midnight I start typing up the updates and reading my "homework".
You didn't know that half a dozen times I sneaked into the Nurses station and read Scott's medical records (in French!), copied some numbers and names of his medications, no matter how little sense they made to me. Somehow it was reassuring to have as much info as I could get. Because then I would get online and research all I could and hopefully find somebody going through the same thing.
I have never found anyone who went through exactly what Scott did. I can't even start to explain what a horrible feeling it is to dwell on the idea that all earthly elements are against you, that God had forsaken you, and you are completely ALONE. I knew it was not true, but I sure let myself sulk into this self-pity mode from time to time.
Until I found a lady, whose 19-yr old daughter was sick with ARDS and made it! Charlotte has become a source of inspiration and comfort to me. I would panic and go nuts - she would remember her exact feelings, I would be scared - she would give me courage, I would tell her about the numbers on Scott's machines - she would know what I was talking about. It was really nice to have a friend who KNEW what I was going through. This is probably why I am driven to write our experience, so someone in a similar situation can find comfort during their trial and know, that they are never alone.
I tell ya, that second-hand smoke thing is evil. My brain goes numb and does not work as fast as I want it to. I usually finish with updates and e-mails long after 1 am. Then I get ready for bed. My Happy House room facing lively Maleussena street with its drunk singing, train rumbling, motorcycles revving under my window, is about the coziest place at the end of my day where I find peace for my body and soul. I do feel like I'm working 8-hour shifts at the hospital. I feel drained of my life juices at the end of the day, so that's how come Church at 9 am on Sundays has been a challenge. But I haven't missed one Sunday since I got to France!
I know God knows of my circumstances and I feel at peace just being on Church grounds writing this instead of absorbing my Sunday school lesson in French.
I have had an opportunity to say a closing prayer today at the Relief Society. It seemed strange that I was given an opportunity to pray for sisters and their well-being and not just for myself and my needs. It was hard not to switch to pleas for Scott's recovery. While praying there, I felt so much love and gratitude for the Nice Ward. They embraced me from day one. The very first Sunday, I remember, the Sacrament meeting started with the Bishopric member addressing the congregation to please fast and pray for OUR brother Scott Thompson. Whoever said that French people are grumpy and unfriendly was wrong. I felt so much love and support in their midst. When they meet you, they kiss you on your cheeks. And they try hard to speak English. They are lovely, delightful people. I love France!
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