Shoes and Ships and Ceiling Wax

My mother began chemotherapy this past Wednesday. Her treatments are once a week, designated to last for four months - which means she will not yet have completed the rounds before I leave for India.

I’m less than happy about this, understandably. Her initial treatment was supposed to last for three months, and while I certainly can’t criticize them for being thorough, she’s also begun the process later than her oncologist would have liked. Jumping through the hoops of doctor appointments and waiting periods and consultations was colorful, to say the least. But she’s doing well - incredibly well, even. At this point her chemo is largely preventative, a final nail in the cancer’s coffin that is comforting but still necessary when one takes our damning family history into consideration.

I leave for Delhi in 58 days (but who’s counting) and I don’t have anything yet - shots, visa, plane ticket. I am beginning to get jittery, and also nervous. I have no anxiety about cutting the proverbial umbilical cord - I don’t have one - or being away from friends or family or school. I mean, I have baggage concerning the fact that I have no concerns, but that’s different. I have regrets up to this point, certainly, but I can’t do anything about those now. Being so far for so long from my mother will be difficult, triply so now that her health is tentative, if stable.

But my two major concerns are this: the humidity and the water. As an asthmatic (suffering from EIA, in particular) my biggest trigger besides cardiovascular stimulation is humidity, and I’ll be arriving in Delhi smack in the middle of sweaty, sweet monsoon season. Six-month advance on my many inhalers coming right up.

Secondly, I worry about the water situation not because I doubt my cognitive abilities - I know to drink bottled water, or boiled water, or to filter and iodine the tap, or preferably three or more of the above. I worry because I get hyper-dehydrated hyper-easily. Seriously, I drink about a gallon and a half of water a day, and that’s a pretty conservative estimate. I’m worried about having enough water available to me when I need it. It’s not a matter of being a little thirsty, it’s a matter of my throat will close and I’ll pass out clean. Especially if it’s going to be 100-plus degree and humid, my body does not conserve moisture in the slightest. I’ll sweat buckets in the middle of December.

So, there you have it. My concerns are probably different than most other people’s.

Also, to neatly combine the topics of my mother and India, when she sent me the advance child support money that I would otherwise miss out on by being, you know, a few continents away, she appended a bit extra (ostensibly for any pre-departure needs like new jeans). I’ve included the following note because, short and sweet though they may be, these words deserve to be immortalized:

Expense money for conquering the world. Only the best dressed win!

It’s things like this that remind me that really, I shouldn’t be all that worried about her. She’ll do just fine.