Chlorine, chlorine, chlorinnneeeeee.

It has been almost 12 weeks since my mum and sister last arrived in Toronto to support me during my surgery, under a blanket of trepidation and icy, frozen winter weather.

That feels like forever ago now, sitting in the most eye penetrating, dense fog of humid, chlorine-saturated air. Memories of that time of fear, worry and open-heart-anxiety all seem like such a distant memory. I truly feel like the worst parts of the whole experience are totally behind me.

My family is visiting for the Easter weekend, this time with tiny nephew creatures in tow. We are staying in a Niagara Falls Waterpark hotel. Because children really love this sort of shit.

Under the immense dome-shaped roof that encases this vast selection of tipping buckets, wave pools, metal coconut trees, snaking slides and gallons upon thousands of gallons of gushing, shooting, splashing, spilling and spraying water. I give no thought of worry to my heart and any of its functions anymore. Instead today my priority of concern is making sure that none of this human slicked and crowd-stewed-in water splashes on any part of my completely clothed body. (That and the wish that I had packed a flask of wine to sneak into this ridiculous place)

The temperature variation builds to equatorial proportions as we crossed the hotel-connected walkway into the biosphere of chlorine, half-naked humans and enough water to make the actual Falls envious. Sweaters and spring jackets were immediately shed and the nephew-creatures change into swimming trunks. My sister is the only adult in our group forced to don spandex because mum and I are unmoving in our stance of NOT going into the water. Plus my sister made these tiny humans in the first place, so this splash fest is her problem.

The humid and sticky temperature is a stark difference to the chilled, crisp April air outside. There is an outdoor pool where some brave Canadian youth are frolicking about, as steam swirls off their leaping and cavorting bodies. On a whole people – adults and kids alike – seem to love being here to a degree of frantic proportions. Or perhaps they are just dizzy from the multitude of endless overhead swishing slides and massive Niagara Falls size buckets, tipping their entire contents, at timed intervals, onto children and adults shrieking with frenzied glee – like it hadn’t just happen 17 zillion times before.

The overarching rules seem to be simple:

1. Wear as little body covering as possible if you are a heavyset hairy male.

2. Small children must scream loudly and hysterically at all times.

3. Be surprised and squeal at everything the water does. (**Even though that shit is as timed as the clock arms of Big Ben)

Luckily small children are not as horribly cynical as I am and my nephews are absolutely thrilled by the entire scene. By the end of it the tiniest one is a waterlogged package of sleepiness, as we head back to the hotel room to rest up for the next adventures.

Life never plays victim to the concept of stopping. Events just keep rolling on and you just have to keep moving. The surgery and all the painful healing and slow recovery just fade to be replaced with memories of family time like this. Family and friends have made it all worthwhile.

Next time I might even go into the splash pool at the waterpark.
Just kidding, that shit is nasty.