[2023-07-16] Green heron and recovery day 9

Green Heron

Today, Chris and I returned to Rice Lake, the pond next to Bruce Pit in Ottawa's west end. We hadn't been there since my birthday, the day before my surgery.

It's a picturesque spot to watch birds and other wildlife. We were rewarded with our first sighting of a green heron. It landed on a tree near the little bridge overlooking the south end of the pond. It then descended to the stream that flows east out of Rice Lake, perching on a log and quietly observing the water for prey.

According to Cornell University's Merlin app, the green heron is a:

Small dark heron with a blue-green back, rusty coloured neck and dark cap. Usually in a crouched position, partly concealed in vegetation, waiting patiently for prey. In flight, looks like an awkward crow with broad wings, neck tucked in, and legs extending just beyond the tail.

Cornell's webpage on the green heron describes it this way:

From a distance, the Green Heron is a dark, stocky bird hunched on slender yellow legs at the water’s edge, often hidden behind a tangle of leaves. Seen up close, it is a striking bird with a velvet-green back, rich chestnut body, and a dark cap often raised into a short crest. These small herons crouch patiently to surprise fish with a snatch of their daggerlike bill. They sometimes lure in fish using small items such as twigs or insects as bait.

I wish that I had had my more professional camera with me, but that device is still a little heavy for me to carry on a walk. So I had to make due with my cell phone. On the west side of the bridge, I caught a gorgeous Canada goose, preening itself on top of a beaver hut.

HOPE

This morning, I sent a friend this paragraph that I had written in my November 2020 post HOPE:

Today's message from Action for Happiness is about HOPE, which they equate to Hold On Pain Ends. It's both simple and profound. Easy to remember and easy to forget. Why is it easy to forget? Because when we're in pain—be it physical or emotional—we sometimes think that it will always be thus. It's this fear that the pain will never end that can lead to a loss of hope.

I noted to my friend that the P in HOPE is PAIN not POSITIVITY. I added:

I've learned that people need to have their pain acknowledged and validated. Hope is not about ignoring that reality. It's about believing that life will get better. In the meantime, if we can find joy in life even while experiencing pain (e.g., going for a walk, watching our garden grow, trying a new recipe) all the better.

Joy

Even with this latest medical intervention—my third surgery in three years—I am finding joy. As part of my convalescence, I've taken up Sudoku. I can manage the easy levels on my own and am increasingly able to solve the medium levels solo. But I've needed my daughter's help on some of the hard puzzles (especially those from the New York Times, which my daughter describes as approaching expert level). I'll take them as far as I can, then call out, "Help!" Mel happily pops over to my room, takes a glance at my puzzle and shows me the next step to take, along with the logic that got her there so that I will learn.

As for my recovery, the next steps are getting the drains removed, which is proving to be frustratingly slow. As I've said before, I need two consecutive days of less than 20 mL of drainage per breast. I got close yesterday, but my levels today are on track to exceed that threshold. Fingers crossed that I'll get them out soon.