1. I have had a hard time trying to blog the past few weeks. I have been insanely busy, but who isn’t. And that never stopped me before. I love this time of year. I usually sink into a slight depression after Christmas because I hate that its over. This year I am not where I should be. Its more than just feeling rushed. Its more than getting older and having time move at lightening speed. I am preoccupied with what I hope will turn out to be a minor health concern. My salivary gland started swelling on my anniversary. Since then it seems to be swollen all the time. I don’t know if it is a lump or not, but there is a constant mass on my jaw just under my ear. I know it is fairly common to have salivary gland damage from RAI. But the thing that is nagging at me is the possibility of it being more cancer. I basically sailed through thyroid cancer without suffering much. It always felt too easy. Wouldn’t it be ironic if curing my thyroid cancer caused another more serious cancer? What if RAI is the cause and solution to all my problems? Which brings me to the other sad irony, Doctors aren’t my friends. It isn’t something I take personally, but when you need someone to just look at your weird lump there doesn’t seem to be anyone available. My Endo washed his hands of this because (he says) it has nothing to do with thyroid cancer. My primary care Dr., conveniently, is on vacation for 2 weeks. My nuclear medicine Dr. is willing to see me, but the earliest I can get in is Jan 29th. Waiting a month and a half does not put me at ease about the whole thing. Maybe, hopefully the swelling will go down by then… I just don’t know when I’m being melodramatic or just intuitive. Two of the 3 surgeries I’ve had in my life to remove some kind of lump have resulted in cancer. Those aren’t good odds, really. But then maybe that means I’m due for some good luck.
2. I really enjoyed going out to lunch today with the little ones and BJay. For some reason I just couldn’t stop hugging Gabe. Who knew it was so lovable and endearing to see a 3 year old eat a cheeseburger?
3. This is one of my favorite poems:
THE CINNAMON PEELER by Michael Ondaatje
(Author of the English Patient)
If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.
Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.
Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbor to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler’s wife.
I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
– your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers…
When we swam once
I touched you in water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said
this is how you touch other women
the grasscutter’s wife, the lime burner’s daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume.
and knew
what good is it
to be the lime burner’s daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in an act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of scar.
You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler’s wife. Smell me.
Before I was married, the poem was about ownership and possession. I was naive. Now that I’ve been married forever I see it differently. The beauty is not the mark of scent, it is in becoming marked by the scent. In a true partnership, you gain something positive from loving and being loved. You accept all kind of beautiful gifts that change you, enhance you, make you better and stronger. (And you hope that you are returning the favor.) Jealousy looses its grip. A few years ago I met the woman my husband loved his whole childhood and adolescence. He fully expected to marry her after his mission. I wanted to meet her. I don’t think I had any expectations how I would feel or how I would measure myself against her. I was surprised to find out how evolved I’ve become. Years ago when love was about possessing someone I may not have seen her as a person. But as an adult, I fully understood why he loved her. Why he has that place in his heart for her. And that didn’t diminish his love for me at all. What we are as husband and wife has evolved. I carry the scent of that love with me everywhere. When I approach a problem I think of his counsel. I try to anticipate his feelings. I still love this poem. I’ve grown to appreciate it even more. Is it me or are Indian writers just more poetic?
