I. Slow Farewells
Days like today always move slowly. There is not much doing after the holidays as new routines slowly take form. On my end, it’s the beginning of a new chapter – one I’ve had a year to think through with recent events propelling me to make a clear, resolute decision. 🛂
A year ago today, I had time to reflect on how I wanted things to be different in 2023. I started working out again – I stuck with it! Went to see my doctors, continued with my recovery until March arrived bringing a shock that, though cognizant, still jolted my senses. After my grandfather died, I was forced to confront and live in a new reality; a reality I had yet embraced. After my grandfather died, I had come to a halt.
As I wrote before, to me we were still kids in 30-year-old bodies, parenting ourselves since we had decided not to have our own. To me, we were still children.
Less than two months later, I walked into my mom on the phone. The pool of tears that had formed behind her thick glasses only looked more apparent despite her efforts to hold them back and wipe them off. She was on a video call with my aunt and her daughter. I stood on the side not wanting to take any attention away. My aunt, whom I had not seen in almost two decades almost looked unrecognizable. She was lying on a hospital bed with tubes connected to her.
“She has hours left,” my mom said. I don’t say anything. I sat beside my mom in silence. Four of my aunts joined the call. Crying, sending their last messages, and offering last-minute prayers. They also threw a few more I love you’s and “It’s okay we’re going to be okay. You can rest now.”
My aunt died from breast cancer. It feels vulnerable to tell you that I found it seemingly hard to make 2023 different without grappling with the complexities of adult life, and I know I will have to face more of it as we go on.
One of my aunt’s final wishes was to keep this among close friends and family – so we did. There wasn’t a wake. There wasn’t a ceremony. There were just her ashes, an urn, and a website for family and friends to send their last messages sent by her daughter. My aunt and I were not close and we did not get the chance to get to know each other even if we were friends on Facebook, especially since she lived in the US, but I could feel the closeness she shared with my mother growing up.
II. Outlines
I created a foundation for the kind of person I always wanted to be and I slowly built myself up, and it has long taken shape. Some things take furnishing over time and I am grateful for where I am now.
I have hard days too and sometimes I am afraid of writing the same story – if I am not careful. These past months have been harder. There has been more clarity in solidarity spaces while maintaining our full commitment to each other in the face of frustration, rage, and division. Others find it challenging to keep one foot on the ground or even find their footing at all.
“You cannot pretend for long that you hold certain beliefs and principles outside with people who are not your own if you cannot start doing that in your own home!” I said to him. Upset. Impatient. Angry at the ignorance; at the dishonesty and lack of self-awareness. “You like to judge and talk about what you think is right and yet you fail to do exactly that! There is a complete disconnection between what you say you believe in and your actions! Who are you really?!” I continued. I’m not one to mince my words. Others have decided to point out my anger and how I express that anger openly rather than point at the actions of the person I called out.
[And to be honest, it is hurtful to be gaslit by people I trust slowly breaking it and claiming to possess certain values, yet whose actions are the complete opposite of what they claim to be. And I feel like no matter what I do, because I express my frustration out loud. After all, I am unafraid to be this vulnerable, I will always be the bad guy. They say be yourself, as long as you are following a script.]
I will always remember what my cousin said, “It’s easy to hide abuse under a calm demeanour.”
The way we form and find relationships is inextricably tied to the way we organize around our communities, which often serves as a reflection of how we show up and fight against oppressive regimes. It’s often an indication of how we stick up for people at the receiving end of harm and violence; people who are at MOST risk.
To show up fully for Palestinians, requires ALL of us to be grounded in basic principles of collectivism. We are most effective when we are rooted in our communities and spend time building relationships with ourselves and others.
I am part of an organization here, an organization some of you might even follow. Before Clay’s passing, I started devising some reflection questions to help people who are new to the Palestinian struggle help shape their politics and help others in their process of understanding:
- Do I trust the US media/mainstream media to report accurately on issues of social justice? Why or why not?
- Considering my media literacy skills, how might I consider the alliance between US and Israel as part of my understanding when interpreting reports?
- If applicable, as you reach out to friends who are impacted by genocide, ask yourself, why do I have more White/Jewish friends than Arab/Muslim friends? Follow it up with the question: why might I have more empathy for White people than Black and Brown people?
- What are my politics around policing and militarism?
- What are my politics around war and violence?
- How well is my understanding of power and oppression? Abuse and abuser? Oppressor and oppressed? How might that understanding apply here?
- How was Israel created?
- What is an ethnostate?
- How are terrorist groups designated? Who claims them? How are terrorist groups and threats of certain groups of people designated in your country?
- Which countries are actively fighting for the Palestinian liberation?
- What is antisemitism?
- Why do you, as someone who is not directly impacted by this, living in the West, in your comfortable home, feel compelled to condemn unpalatable Palestinian resistance?
- Why are freedom fighters equated with the same degree as the violent, brutal, colonizing, occupying, apartheid state of Israel?
I was not able to send them all of the questions I had devised in my head but I always think of them and these questions often resurface anytime I read the same watered-down statements that pander to both sides on our socials. The same fluffy, positive language so vague that when one of them says it, they are applauded for it. It’s not new. It is not surprising, and it does not help Palestinians on the ground. Anyone who questions and defies the government, anyone who resists has always been called a terrorist.
“Hate cannot drive out hate.” I disagree. Would you tell that to a victim of abuse? Say, an adult child whose father beat him an inch of his life every day until he found the strength to fight back? I disagree in the same breath I stress I don’t need nor have to forgive my abuser. I say in the same breath as I say time does not heal all wounds. I stress that my healing came from my anger – my refusal to forget what almost killed me, and it was/is my love for myself that protect/ed me.
Fighting for your community by any means necessary is love. It is your rage and your love for your community that propels you to protect each other.
III. Mildly Pleasant
I still had to look after myself even though I knew we were still kids in 30-year-old bodies, we were still 30-year-olds. I opened the app on my phone to schedule an appointment with my OB. It has been a month since my aunt passed. Another aunt, who too was diagnosed with cancer, has now experienced metastatis.
I typed very clearly, “Hello I need a request for an ultrasound, please. And then I’ll revert to you for the results.” I took a really deep breath and headed to the shower. The hot water relieved my body as the soap rinsed off my limbs. I thought about my aunt. I think about how many young people now who haven’t even reached their 50’s are getting diagnosed with cancer. I turned the heat up and scrubbed even harder. I ask myself, what would you do if they do find something? What if you’ve had it for quite some time now and you’ve put off seeing a doctor for so long that it is now stage 4? Could this be the reason why I’ve been getting sick a lot? I knew I was gonna die early anyway. Should I just end it now? Why should I go through all that shit with chemo and therapy? I’ll have to shave my head. I am going to look like my father! Oh my god… I . AM . GOING . TO . DIE
My phone dings and it’s my OB – she sent me the request. I take another deep breath. Now all I had to do was get my ultrasound. I decided to go the next day.
I wore the warmest most comfortable sweater I could find and layered it with an oversized hoodie and cargo pants. I put my cap on, tied my hair up and remembered to wear my mask before heading out. I love going out when I am the most comfortable and I am blending in the background especially on days like today when there is a ball of anxiety in the bottom of my stomach on my way to get a breast ultrasound to check for any signs of cancer.
I arrived at the lab overwhelmed by the number of people waiting for their turn at 8:30 in the morning. I decided to stand on the side hoping at least one nurse could see me and offer to help. A guy who looks like he’s in his early 20’s named Karl asked me to come closer to the counter. “I need to get an ultrasound for my breasts please.” I scrolled up to unlock my phone and showed Karl the request on my phone. “Please sit down. I’ll call you when it’s your turn.”
I sat on the only seat left in the waiting area. Took deep breaths. There’s only one other person who looks closer to my age. Most of the people in the room are older people and everyone brought someone along with them. I came alone.
I have experienced different pieces of grief and this one was just ill-timed. I did not want to go to the hospital again. I did not want to sit in the waiting area for hours, especially when I was alone. I was so sure that I was fine in the sense that my body was good.
One of the patients who just finished his ultrasound not only came with his wife, but his two children followed. They sat next to me while the wife held his hand close, “we will get through this, I promise.” The husband smiled back. Two of their children walk in asking how the test went. A woman approached them and gently said that they had to speak to their doctor so they could schedule chemotherapy at their earliest convenience. They thanked the lady, smiling as the couple left, holding hands, keeping each other close on their way out.
Another young couple was beside me waiting for their turn holding each other close, and there I was in the middle just me and my tender breasts.
When it was my turn, Karl called me in. As I entered the room I immediately asked, “You’re not the one checking me, are you?” he said no the doctor will be back. I said, “Okay, great.” I watched Karl walk outside and I changed into a hospital gown and laid on the bed.
I ran my fingers gently on the side of my right breast, and again on my left. I took another deep breath and closed my eyes, it’s gonna be okay… it’s gonna okay… it’s gonna be okay… I gently tapped the bridge of my nose, as I slowly exhaled. it’s gonna be okay… it’s gonna okay… it’s gonna be okay…
The doctor walks in with a smile on her face and introduces herself. Although I had already forgotten her name. She went through the list of questions they usually ask patients while she prepared the machine. “It’s painful,” I said. She asked which one, and I said my right breast. I raised my right arm over my head while she put the cold gel on my breast. She glides the wand over my skin, we sat there in silence for about 30 seconds. In those seconds, a wave of anxiety washes over me. “Did you find anything?” I ask. She said, “okay, you’re right. The reason why it’s painful is because you do have a cyst in your right breast, but don’t worry it’s benign.” She said trying to assure me. “Let’s check your left just to be sure.” I was so nervous that it must have slipped my mind that I did not realize we were checking both breasts as if I only had one. “Okay, so there’s two more in your left breast.” She said gently. “One in here, and another on top.”
“Oh…” I responded but, in my head, all I could think to say was Oh great… of course, there are two more. Of course, you have cysts… You do not just have one, not two, you have THREE. Perfect.
“I want to assure you that your cysts are non-cancerous—”
“I come from a long line of breast cancer in my family,” I cut her off immediately. “In fact, last month my aunt just died. The other one just finished chemo last year.” It is important to let you know how kind this woman was to me. The lab was exceptionally busy, even on a weekday. She had been walking around, probably had a lot going on. Yet, when I told her my aunt just died, her eyes welled and her expression filled with empathy. This immediate, obvious empathy during an already tough and isolating time is something I hold dearly.
She told me that I can choose to have them removed if it worries me or I could wait for another 6 months to have them checked. I said I still have to see my doctor.
When I scheduled an appointment with another OB she said the same thing and assured me that for now it’s benign.
6 months later, not only am I getting another checkup but I have reached a point where I am asking myself, do I really want to be anxious and nervous and scared every 6 months when I schedule an appointment waiting and wondering whether or not my cysts have developed into cancer? I am at the point where I’m thinking I do not just want my cysts removed – I want my breast tissues removed.
to be continued…