We've made it, Owl and I. We've been to Paris.
I will admit, now that we are safely back, that I was somewhat concerned about getting there. The furthest I ventured during the previous four days was to the hospital shop and back, and that gave me a fever. Paris was more optimistic than I dared admit (in case a doctor heard me and forbid it).
But it was fine. My husband and daughters acted as my luggage carriers. Once in Paris, I could lounge in the appartment whilst the others went off sightseeing. Better than being at home, in fact, where I'd be tempted to start cooking, shopping and doing the laundry.
On the final day, I even managed a spot of sightseeing myself. It's a long climb up to the Sacre Coeur, but there are plenty of steps and benches to sit on. Once I'd made it, I just sat in the church for an hour, listening to the nuns singing, which was kind of restful.
I'm still exhausted. I still spend every afternoon in bed. This is the New Normal, and I am beginning to wonder how I ever managed to fit any kind of Life into my day. (Will it return, that thing called Life? Or is this it? Waving the family off to see the Eiffel Tower and go back to bed?)
But never mind. At least I didn't have to test my theory that the chocolat chaud in French hospitals is superior to NHS hot chocolate.
And let me tell you, the offering in one Paris cafe was superior to any hot chocolate I have ever tasted. Almost better than karnemelk, and that is saying something.
A Dutch friend brought 3 litres of the stuff last week.
|Chocolat chaud in Paris. The best.|