6 January 2013

Sisters In Arms

I was standing in line at the dinner buffet at our fabulous all-inclusive resort in Cuba. More specifically, I was standing at the pasta bar.  The amount of food was overwhelming and a lot of it was porky pig, which I prefer not to eat. It was also a good chance to practice my Spanish. I could point to the various ingredients and request  peas, onions, and cheese. Or I may have actually asked for thumb tacks, an eraser, and teeth. I’m not really sure, but pointing goes a long long way.

Carefree in Cuba
The pasta bar was very popular and there was always a slow moving line-up. At one point I looked behind me to see how many people were waiting. I saw a few sun burnt faces and drunken Brits, and then I saw her. She was about my age and had two little kids hanging off her. Her hair, I knew immediately, was baby hair. Short in the front, a little mullet in the back, and an unnatural post - chemo curl. 

She was wearing some super cool glasses and to someone else she may have looked like any old lesbian with tattoos on one arm. But she wasn’t a lesbian (I don’t think) and she didn’t have tattoos. She had a rocking lymphediva compression sleeve in with black and white roses. It was beautiful!

My first instinct was to scream out ‘HEY! SISTER! I love your sleeve!’ Had I been wearing my fleshy suasage, I would have held it up in solidarity. As it was, my ugly compression garment was in my beach bag, where I’d left it that afternoon.

But I didn’t say anything. I was zapped back to the present, thinking about treatments and hair-do’s and puffy arms and future surgeries. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, thinking how some people are so cool. There are gals that make do with their situation, and there are gals that ‘Buckle the Fuck Up’ and elevate their situation to awesome.  She was obviously that latter, and I'm always grateful for inspiration. It's something to strive for. But before thoughts about canceritis could float into my head, I was interrupted by a much more urgent matter.

'Buenos Tardes lady! What you like in your pasta?’