A PLUM-SHAPED TUMOR, A BANANA TATTOO, AND A CHERRY ON TOP.

The past 6 months have not been dull.

It started in September with a cough and sore throat that would not go away. I also had some other pretty funky symptoms.

I would wake up during the night feeling like someone had their hands around my neck, choking me to death. I would sit up gasping for air and cough for the next thirty minutes, tears streaming down my face. There was also a lot of coughing during the day.

And… I was spontaneously passing out. Theatrical, old school, Victorian style, as in my corset, is squeezing the life out of me, swooning and dropping to the floor.

While I kind of enjoyed the drama, my passing out was scaring the hell out of Dennis. Also, if I had not revived quickly, he would have had to call 911 on Alexa. Dennis and Alexa have a prickly relationship (she doesn’t speak Southern), so that conversation may have ended with Alexa ordering an abacus instead of an ambulance to assist me.

I went to various doctors 6 times before a plum-sized tumor in my Parotid gland was discovered! No worries, Dibbuns, it was benign, but we had a tense month.

I guess denial took over for me because I never considered it would be cancer. Dennis, on the other hand, was terrified. He behaved like an old, nervous grandma, clutching her handbag, sniffing and crying into a handkerchief, “It’s all over; she’s dying.” I nicknamed Dennis Grandma Miriam to my friends, a nod to a friend’s grandma, who was quite the piece of work.

Predicting a good prognosis, I decided that being a patient instead of a caregiver would be the silver lining of the growth of the plum. Lounging around in a Housecoat and slippers, meals on silver trays (probably not), while Dennis was well cared for by professionals, not this hack amateur, didn’t sound so bad. So, I packed my cat slippers and waited to go to the hospital. The best part of this was Coach Conway was going to show up!

I have witnessed Dennis shepherd everything from young children to old people. His deep voice is perfect for speaking truth and words of encouragement. Also, Dennis has been to hell and back and lives a productive life filled with joy, despite conditions that would emotionally paralyze many.

But when the plum tumor showed up,

No Coach Conway for me,

Nope, I got Grandma Miriam, 24/7.

Miriam was a mess. She didn’t sleep, which meant I didn’t sleep. Auntie Lee-Lee needs her sleep. Every time I opened my eyes at night, I saw her staring at me; I felt like she was trying to decide how long a visitation there should be before my funeral and how we would get to the chemotherapy I would need for ten years. Everything was too much for Miriam, “How would we find the van in the parking lot at the hospital? It’s so big? Who was going to take care of him after my agonizingly painful death? How were we going to eat for the next months? Was there even food left in Woodstock?”

This lasted until the surgery was over, and I was pissed off. A good friend chastised me when I complained and said, “Leana, Dennis cannot live without you. Yes, he could get a nurse to keep his body alive, but you allow him to live; there is a big difference between those two things.”

Oh… I suppose I needed to give Miriam some grace. Truth be told, Dennis has been my coach many, many times over the last 21 years together. Plus, if he saw I was nosediving, he would have rallied. Marriage is a seesaw, and you can’t both be down at the same time, or it breaks and nobody enjoys the ride.

After the Plumectomy, my sister Carla came to stay with us for a week. It was wonderful. Most little sisters complain about bossy older sisters, not me! I am smart enough to know she is wiser than me, so I don’t argue. Sitting, making no decisions, and concentrating on healing was a great relief.

Secretly, I hope I grow some other innocuous blob in my body, so she must return. Not as big as a plum, but maybe the size of an immature champagne grape?

When big sister went home and the Dr. took out the icky drain, I looked at my new neck for a long time. The scar was bigger than I anticipated and had a curve; it was also lower and more toward the middle of my neck than advertised. Huh, would you look at that! My scar was shaped like a banana!

If life gives you a scar shaped like a banana, get a banana tattoo, right?

Banana tattoos are far more popular than you would think. This Unicorn tattoo was under the subheading traditional tattoos?

The Grumpy Cat Tatoo was under the subheading, Ethnic Tatoo. What ethnicity is Grumpy Cat? Or is it the banana they refer to because most bananas come from India?

So, with camouflaging my scar taken care of, I now had time to process what had transpired since they had found the plum tumor.

It could have been a cancer plum. It could have been deadly. I’m 55; I remember thinking when I was in my twenties if I heard someone dying in their fifties, “Well, they had a good run.” good run! I’m just getting started! Twenty-year-olds are twits.

I had been given a benign wake-up call.

Wake up, Leana.

Time is a greedy Bitch.

There was something else, though. All this sickness, coughing, choking, and being forced to be quiet pointed straight to my favorite activity, talking. What was the lesson?

Communication, whether speaking or writing, is my best and worst quality. It can be my best because I love seeing the best in others and helping them see it. It is the worst because of what I omit, all the feelings and thoughts I want to express but shove deep down. What I don’t dare to say, even to myself. It’s also the worst of me because I sometimes don’t know when not to say things, and I unintentionally hurt people.

What if all those words I denied knit together to form that strange tangle of useless cells and quietly grew inside me until it finally got my attention. I wonder?

So, that’s the plum and banana in my life; now let me tell you about the Cherry on top.

December 2016, Christmastime

I am always homesick for Canada in December. A Canadian Christmas is mountains of fluffy white snow, outside skating rinks with lights, cold toes on sleigh rides, and long dark winter nights by cheery fires.

A Georgia Christmas is the air conditioning on so we can wear sweaters to Christmas Cocktail parties and green lawns with giant signs that say Let it Snow, ya, I don’t think so. To make it worse, my daughter, Amanda, had decided at the end of November to move to Vancouver, British Columbia, where her brother lives, to try the West Coast.

I was quietly (Amanda says not so quietly) devastated. I figured both of my children were returning to the country of their birth, Canada, never to return, to have marvelous cheery white Christmases together every damn year without me! Eventually, I would see them once a year, and in the end, our relationship would consist of a cheque sent to a mediocre nursing home in Georgia to keep me out of their hair. Yes… I worked myself into quite a state.

Weeks before leaving, Amanda casually mentioned she had a date that night but “didn’t think it would become anything; because he seemed way too nice.” Oh, for heaven’s sake, I told her, go on your date and enjoy the company of someone nice, you’re r moving anyway.

Later that day, I returned to the house to see a pair of shoes neatly lined up outside the front door. Everyone in Canada takes their shoes off outside, it was the tiniest touch of home, but it made me smile. I walked inside, and there, right where he was supposed to be, was brown Harry Potter organizing my DVDs.

Pakistani Potter & Princess Panda

His timing was horrible and exactly on time, and he seemed to belong. He also seemed sweet, warm, and genuine, and I just knew we had met before. Amanda looked non-commital but he looked smitten, although he was trying hard not to; I’m assuming that’s what the free Maria Kondo organizing was about.

He introduced himself to me as Sheryar, and as I tried to pronounce it correctly, he told me I could call him Cherry, CHERRY Surely you jest!

My beloved Grandmother Defehr was called Cherry by my grandfather (Opa), sometimes Cherry Pie when he felt extra. Most of you probably think it’s just a coincidence; What does my white Grandmother, who emigrated from Russia, have to do with a young man of Pakistani origin besides the startling resemblance?

I will tell you. It is the thread. You can see it better looking into the past, but sometimes it is visible immediately, and I saw it.

I saw the thread!

The thread that runs through life. It stitches everything, the good, the dreadful, and everything in between, creating a beautiful work of art. You just have to hold onto that thread and let it work magic.

I had let go of it.

I was leaning into fear and worry. You can’t hold on to fear and worry and love and trust simultaneously.

And just like that, I was back on track.

Here we are today, almost six years later, and guess what Sheryar (Cherry) recently got down on one knee and proposed to my beautiful daughter Amanda, AND I CALLED IT, LOVED HIM FIRST. I don’t usually get many things right, but I saw this one.

SO,

Even if it was random that a bunch of cells grew together in my neck, whenever I see the banana scar on my neck, I remember months of choking, coughing, and being unable to breathe. Whether or not my emotional issues caused the plum, it doesn’t matter; it is a visible reminder to speak my truth, even if it’s just for myself.

Whether or not my Oma hand-picked Sheryar, the NC, New Cherry, to join our family, I won’t know until I see her. I still am constantly reminded of her and the love that generation had for me when I see him. NC alone brings joy just for who he is, whether or not dead grandmas had anything to do with it; he, CC and Jake represent the future of our growing family.

In February and March, I kept saying, “When I am back to myself,” but that hasn’t happened; I have realized I will never be the person I was before the plum, the banana, and the Cherry, And that my wee Dibbuns is a good thing.

BTW, scarves are huge this spring and summer, Even with bathing suits.

My blessings overflow like a fruit basket from Harry & David.

Hold on to the thread my Dibbuns,

Notice the fancy brooch that takes the scarf and outfit from day to night. The brooch was one of the OC’s (Original Cherry’s) jewelry pieces.

Much love Auntie Lee-Lee