Tit(s) for Tat

I saw a woman today who makes “nip and tuck” an anemic understatement. She was….well….she’ll never drown. She couldn’t. Noah’s Ark didn’t have her buoyancy. I was at Fundaleu, the leukemia hospital in Buenos Aires. Miss “hey, look at these!” was on one of the insipid Argentine talk shows that grime the airwaves. Half the time the on-air personalities are poorly miked so I don’t understand them; half the time I wish they were not miked since I understand them. It’s just no-win.
Our lady of blessed abundance talked about….wait…did she talk about something? Perhaps she was poorly miked. Yea, that’s it. Anyway, she went on about herself and the important things that required her to fill (yes, fill) the screen. She was so blonde, so obviously enhanced and so forcibly beautiful that I was sickened that she would model what is attractive. Hers was a narcissistic life centering on shallow goals and skin-deep talent. Is this really to what we aspire?
The contrast between her and what went on around me was drastic. Across from me a 10-year-old needed help walking from his seat to the doctor’s office. Near him was a 50ish lady whose goal was to have a good day. She and the boy had the same amount of hair-none. An old, stooped-over man shuffles by, wanting more years. Another lady, maybe late 30s with no hair sits and waits her turn. All of us want life. We want it back. We want to be victors. Certainly that is real. That is substantive. When we are healed, if we are healed, doesn’t that mean, doesn’t it require, that we lead lives of significance?
We at Fundaleu look up at the screen to the stars on TV, but they will never come down and look at us. We don’t fit into their picture, into their glamorous, buxom world. But we have richness; we know suffering. It makes us stronger.The doctor said my counts have stayed stable for three weeks. Next week she plans a biopsy to see if my marrow is bald. I hope it is. I hope all of us leave Fundaleu and live. I hope we turn off the boob tube and live differently. There are already enough Barbies out there. We don’t need a Summer Sun and Surgery doll modeling our future

Hairy Goes Hiking

I just received one of the most meaningful e-mails ever…and even if you don’t count Spam and all those e-mails from some Nigerian woman whose rich husband died requiring her to find a trustworthy US bank account to deposit her money in…I’ve still received quite a few in my day (which, I might add, is not yet over).

I met Jenny last year while visiting the United States, and though I don’t remember the encounter, she wrote saying she hiked the Grand Canyon a few months back. Why? As a member of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, she hiked to raise awareness and money in honor of her grandfather, a member of the hcl club. She passed my name to her coaching mentor, and this year a group of hikers will hike in honor of a group of hcl patients, my name being among them. I don’t think I have ever been so honored. Sure, I won Best Bandsman in 11th grade, a couple of state awards for some awesome tuba playing, I was ALMOST classman of the year at college and won an honorable mention (read: t-shirt 2 sizes too small!) from C-Span for an article on Gerald Ford (yes, that Gerald Ford), but this goes above and beyond.

Seriously, I’ve never been so honored and so humbled. A group I’ve never met is taking leukemia seriously enough to “hike a difference”. If Argentina were closer to the Grand Canyon, I’d give them all hugs.
Jennifer’s grandfather, who eventually died of cancer, went into full remission from hcl. With groups like this working to make a difference, I know that other leukemia and lymphoma victims will benefit as well.