“The question is, what will it be like after the last day?”Mary Oliver
You may have heard me say that the journey travelled as of late has been one graced by many challenges. I don’t consider those challenges to be empty or merely something to just get through. There are more times than not when I wish for those challenges to just disappear but then I come to the appreciation of their presence in my life whilst they are there. There is a strength in my bones, even when my legs dare not walk any more, and there is a fire in my veins even when my heart musters to beat just one more.
I’ve talked to Bobby about how much to reveal on this project. Do I leave these words to rest on the surface, as a feather balancing on the skin of the ocean’s edge? Or do I use this medium as the ledge of a mountain overlooking the precipice of the void below, yet still open my lungs and exhale to the abyss? I’ve always been an open person. I talk about where I have been, what I have seen and how my fingers are blistered from touching the reality of all that I have travelled through. But in the last few years, through the manipulation of my own words and pure hearted gestures, I came to the harsh reality that not all those that we encounter are worthy to hear the story which we have to share. And because of that, I closed myself off. But as I’ve continued down this path, growing older with wisdom in each passing day, I grow more confirmed that the only way to bring about change and progress is to share the most vulnerable sides of our inner selves. I’m going to use this as my home of bravery, an exploration through imagery coupled with the road ahead.
So here I am, telling you about my world, where my steps have taken me and what dark paths my mind has led me down to get through to the light. There is no reason to ever be ashamed of who you are, what you feel and what makes you human.
Two weeks ago, I underwent some tests to find out why Bobby and I were taking longer to become parents. Through a series of events, we discovered that not only do I have cysts bound to the eggs of life within me, but there was a chance of cancer. Elevated tumour markers in a blood test terrified my world for two weeks as my mind kept wondering of what I could have done differently. My heart, my bones, my skin, everything melted away as anxiety crept into my body and slowly started to take over. But as I went through that CT scan, everything went momentarily silent. It was not until that point that a deep surging sea of humility flowed over and through me. As the dye coursed it’s way through my body and tainted my mouth with the taste of blood, I felt so small, so still, so nothing. I thought I knew everything I needed to know about my body, I thought I was in control. And there it was, writing scribbled all over the wall in front of me, “You. Are. Not.” The machine swirled into a dance of delirium and I couldn’t help but think of two people, my uncle Parviz and my dear friend Hoda. Two people, who had cancer creep into their bodies like the cuckoo creeping into the nest of the unbeknownst bird, stealing away their dreams. What would it be like, after the last day?
I walked out of that clinic, not any lesser of a person, or defeated by something bigger, but humbled to be wiser for my experiences in ways that I cannot explain.
I have come through this knowing that for the most part in all uncertain terms by the accounts of two doctors, that I am ok, and will be ok. That there is nothing to worry about but only precaution to be taken. The cysts need to go, and they will very soon, but until then the worry has been replaced by positive reinforcement through my experiences.
Next time you look at the flowers in the garden reaching to the sky, or the ocean and the sand embraced in the toeing and fro of a dance of lovers, or the bird that sings in the early morning ray of light, remember that they all too desperately cling onto the love of life and all the beauty that it brings. When you think that your world is clouded with an impenetrable fog, you will once again feel that sun on your skin with more of an intensity than you ever thought possible.
