Colombification of my Brain

In the few days since my arrival in Canada I have noticed, with varying degrees of embarrassment and sometimes surprise, that the assumptions I make about the world around me, and my manner of interacting with it, have been influenced by my time away.

The first incident actually occurred at 5:00am in Mexico City after two consecutive nights of very little sleep. Speaking Spanish in such a state is a hopeless affair, so when I approached the Information Guy in the Mexicana Airlines check-in area my sluggish brain defaulted to English. Sort of. "Sir, already I have the boarding pass, I just want to drop off my suitcase. Do I have to make that long line over there?"

This being the literal translation from Spanish to English, I figured the Mexican guy would get it and anyway I couldn't be bothered to correct myself. He didn't bat an eyelash as he directed me to a shorter line. (I am still not certain though if he was helping me or punishing me for my impatience, since he sent me to the 'Special Circumstances' line which was so slow that the man in front of me eventually turned around and kindly suggested that I might try taking some deep breaths and counting to ten...)

Several hours later Mel collected me at the Vancouver airport (see above) and we commenced our journey northward. Driving down a skinny little street, Mel asked me if she had room on my side of the car. "Yeah, you could fit two motorcycles in there!" was my helpful reply. (Though upon further observation, motorcycles here are BIG. You could probably only have fit one Canada-sized motorcycle in that gap.) Mel just looked at me funny and pulled through the tight spot, pushing the barrier of the invisible space-bubble that all vehicles here seem to travel in.

Mel and I drove on, and in the afternoon we saw signs for the approaching Hell's Gate tourist trap. My sensible sister suggested that we shouldn't ride the little cable car across the river because we didn't want to arrive late for our dinner with her friends in Merritt. I added that I didn't want to miss the scenery by traveling at night. It was 4:00p.m.



Yesterday my sister and I, with our grandparents, went on a little tour of the Penticton-Naramata area. It was hot-hot-hot so we decided to stop at a beach to dip our feet. I agreed immediately to this plan thinking we could get some cold drinks from one of the many vendors who would inevitably be at the beach on such a nice day. I imagined little carts full of juices and ice-creams...that would make sense, right? In Colombia you can't get away from these guys. In Canada, it would seem, they are not so easy to find. (I was also shocked by the lack of other beach-goers. Our only company at the first beach was a stray peacock who was admiring his reflection in a parked vehicle...)

We ended up visiting two beaches in the area and no such vendors were present. The second beach, however, did have a permanent kiosk where a friendly teenager sold me a JUMBO Mr. Freeze which hit the spot. While I ate it, I mulled over what had become obvious to me: it was time to turn my brain ON and remember where I was, because I suspect that mildly culturally disoriented will quickly take on the appearance of just plain ridiculous.

But at least I'm not speaking with an English accent anymore, right?

The Papers of Life

Living the ex-pat lifestyle has its perks, but today I would like to focus on one of the more tedious aspects of living abroad - excessive paperwork and dealings with local bureaucracy. Now, what follows is likely true to some degree or another in all countries, but South America is special.

I realized several months ago that my passport was going to expire sometime this summer, but it seemed a distant and frankly low-priority issue at the time. Then I got back to Manizales and was getting settled in a school, and having a social life, and it escaped my mind. It wasn't until May 14th that I finally sent my passport application to the Canadian Embassy in Bogota, where, upon arrival it was promptly misplaced for two weeks. (This I learned after calling to confirm its arrival, not having received any word from the Embassy.)

Meanwhile, my work visa and my cedula (Colombia identification) were set to expire...this week. Thursday, to be exact. And they couldn't renew my work visa (which needs to be done in Bogota) until my new passport was issued, and they couldn't renew my cedula until my new work visa was issued. Without these it is unlikely I would be readmitted into the country. And I leave TOMORROW.

So last week the foreign staff coordinator, the school's lawyer and myself concocted a plan: a messenger would be hired to collect my new passport from the Embassy in Bogota and take it to the DAS (department of administration and security) in Bogota, where the school's lawyer would be waiting to complete the paperwork to get the visa issued, and then bring it all back to Manizales. Simple, right?

Except...the new passport isn't valid until I sign it, and they won't put the visa in unless it's valid.

We quickly revised... the messenger could collect my new passport and send it on an airplane to Manizales, where I would sign it, and then we would send it on another airplane back to Bogota.

But... it rained for three days straight, which meant the airport was closed, which meant no passport...(no visa...no cedula).

In the end, I think the lawyer had to stay a couple of extra days in Bogota, and my passport arrived (I am afraid to ask how, or when exactly) and after an hour in the Manizales DAS, and eight different attempts at putting a fingerprint on a page (no, that just won't do! Try another one. No, no, no, it's smudged. Don't push too hard, this is no good. We'll have to do the form over again, and try some more...) I now have all the necessary items stowed in my backpack for tomorrow's departure. And, I can leave a fingerprint like nobody's business.

I knew all along, of course, that it would work out in the end. I've had my run of bad luck, at least for awhile, so missing my trip home was never really an option. The universe wouldn't dare f**k with me again so soon.

Some random thoughts

Someone asked me yesterday what I had learned from my cancer experience. This is a fair question, but a rather big one to tackle in a passing conversation in the corridor at school. I kept my answer sincere, but brief. I guess...I've learned to take ownership of my life.

Lumbering through the limbo of severe illness, it was difficult to feel I was the owner of much of anything. My body belonged to the doctors and nurses who cared for me, and my mind had become a foreign entity, struggling to fulfil the one command that everyone (including me) felt compelled to issue at regular intervals: be strong, for just a little bit longer, be strong...

So when the treatment was over, and my doctor cautiously confirmed, "Well, that's it. Theoretically." I felt ecstatic, but I also felt this tremendous pressure. I get to live, so I owe it to...the universe to do it right. No more fear, no more excuses.

In practice, this has meant taking a serious personal inventory and trying very hard not to shy away from the results. This is an ongoing process in which certain things need to be changed, while others can only be accepted. Uncomfortable questions are faced, responsibility is assumed, and along the way hopefully a large quantity of mental garbage can be disposed of.

Ten years ago I had a picture of who I thought I would be, and I am nothing like I predicted. Ten months ago I had a notion of who I thought I should be, and the disparity between that idea and the reality was oppressive. Somehow, cancer has given me the strength to shake off these ideas and begin to form new and healthier ones, on my own terms.

(A bit of a downer for the last day of school, no? I should be celebrating. But this is where my mind is, so I thought I would share.)

What comes out, what goes in - a day of (relative) self-discipline

So, if you've never had an MRI, this is what the machine looks like. Or some variation of this, at least.

I had a close encounter with one such a machine this morning. After filling out a number of forms (or at least marking them with question marks where I didn't understand the words) I was invited to get prepared for the test.

First - take off everything metal. Done.

Then - take off everything else, and put on this lovely transparent little hospital gown that almost-but-not-quite closes completely in the back. ... ... ... Done.

Now, after my previous hospital encounters, I have learned not to be terribly shy about these sorts of things. But still, I was a bit put off when I was invited to sit down in the middle of the corridor in my little see-through dress while the nurse put the IV in. Fortunately, the nurse was skilled (or lucky herself) and my fried and feeble veins cooperated on the first try. They started me on liquids right away, though ultimately the IV was for the contrast liquid they would be using in the test. We'll get to that in a minute.

I shivered in the corridor and greeted passers-by while trying to keep all the right parts covered up for about fifteen minutes before they called me into the room and had me lay down on the moving bed. Eyes closed, try not to move. Quieta.

If you are curious, you can watch this video to hear some of the 'beeping' sounds. The clip is 16 seconds long, the test itself lasts at least 30 minutes.

It's annoying, but it doesn't hurt. At least this time they gave me ear-plugs. No big deal, right?About halfway through the test they stopped, had me lay with my head at the opposite end of the bed, and switched the normal liquids for the contrast liquid. I have never had a reaction to contrast liquid before, in the MRI or the CAT scan, but just to keep things interesting, today was different.

The hot flush throughout my entire body was totally expected. Fine. But I did not anticipate the unpleasant sensation that someone had opened a faucet in my mouth (how can one person generate so much saliva???) nor the intense and immediate impulse to vomit everywhere.

I didn't though. Instead I peeked with one eye for the 'emergency' button whose existence I had presumed. I was mistaken - there was no button, and I was stuck in the tube, and the situation was growing increasingly desperate. I found myself thinking how much does this machine cost, and how much damage will it sustain if I puke all over it? (It costs between one and three-million dollars, it turns out, though I wasn't able to find any information about vomit-damage. Ha.)

Tossing my cookies in the machine would always have been highly embarrassing, so I wiggled around a little bit thinking that if I moved perhaps they would pause the test and ask me what was wrong. But...they didn't. I hazarded a few bangs on the inner wall of the tube, and when that didn't yield any results I kicked my legs, which I know they could see. Nothing.

Aaaargh!! I quickly assessed the situation: I couldn't scoot up because there were head supporters blocking me, and it would also have pulled the IV needle out of my arm. I couldn't go down because there really wasn't enough manoeuvring room unless I was prepared to scoot myself right off the table onto the floor, which I concluded would be no less embarrassing than puking. My only option was to lay back down and try to get it under control. Mind over matter. I swallowed. And swallowed. And tried to breathe deeply.

Eventually it passed. I am the boss! I hope I don't have to do that again anytime soon though.

So later in the day, to reward myself for having endured this unpleasantness, I told myself I would eat...meat. It's been cold and rainy here, and I have been craving comfort food. I wanted beef stew. I mean, one little indulgence isn't the end of the world, right? It's not as though I am conflicted over some deep ethical issues. My choice to avoid meat was to support my health, and what is one little steak?

I went to the vegetable section first, and collected all the necessary items before heading to the meat section. Perhaps if they had had pre-cut steaks available, I would have grabbed one and carried out my plan, but to get a steak at the grocery store here you need to actually speak to the butcher. I'm not sure what happened, but I hovered at the counter for several minutes before acknowledging that I wasn't really going to go through with it.

I decided that as a compromise I would buy some beef stock cubes and use those for flavour. But when I got to the soups and stocks aisle, I changed my mind about those as well.

Is it just the fear of appearing hypocritical? I will have to think about it. I hope it has more to do with the belief that I am actually doing my body some good with my food choices, though who really knows. All I know for sure is that I had vegetable soup for dinner.

It was...okay.

A cheesy thank you to the universe and some of the people in it...

Gratitude helps me put things into perspective. Taking the time to acknowledge the things that I have, and feel that gratitude in my mind, and deep down in my gut as well, is a experience that can change my day. A shitty day becomes more of a nuisance than a real spirit-crusher, and a good day feels that much sweeter.

In the hospital I used to write down (or sometimes just think if writing was too much work) of the things I was grateful for. You might be surprised how long the list can get, even under those circumstances.

So today my gift to myself is to have a little thankful-fest. Here is a collection of things that I am fortunate to enjoy in my life at this very moment.

1. Health - My monthly auto-prescribed blood work came back looking excellent. Better than last month, in fact. That's one more month completed in my goal of one year without relapse, after which point the doctor assures me the chances of getting sick again drop significantly.

2. Upcoming Canada tour to visit friends and family - Vancouver, Penticton, Nanaimo, Winnipeg, Kenora, Toronto, North Bay,... Soooo many things to do! Lots of visiting! It's going to be go-go-go, but I can rest when I get back. Ten more sleeps until the adventure begins!

(I can't wait to go down to the dock and enjoy the quiet...it is a good place to think.)

3. My apartment - My little corner of the world has a positive vibe, and coming home always feels good. Especially the day that the cleaning lady has been here.

4. The cleaning lady - Affordable, and ever so thorough, I love that I live somewhere where this is possible.

5. The views around the city, and specifically the ride to work every morning - In the morning on the bus (except the days when I miss the bus and have to take a taxi - more than I care to admit) I invariably find myself thinking this is so beautiful! Is this really where I live?! And that is a good way to start the day.

6. My place of work - It also has a good vibe. It's bright, and open, and green, and vibrant. Most days, I like being there.


7. Fruit salad bars - This is a beautiful concept. Pick the fruit you want, in the quantities that you want, and pay by weight. A custom-created fruit salad, topped with a panela-soaked fig, a bit of shredded coconut and something they claim is strawberry sauce, this is the most delicious snack in the world. There are several fruit bars in the area, but it is worth walking to the furthest one for the bigger fruit selection and sauces.

8. Functioning Internet, kitchen tap, and water heater - little repairs make big differences. And with my trusty new set of pliers, I will never be left without hot water again - I can fix the bloody thing myself, as many times as I need to!

9. To my friends who participated in the Relay for Life - That is awesome. I hope next year I can make it home to walk with you!


(Becca and team Prairie Dawn raised over $5000 - you guys are amazing!!)
(Jillanne and team Cougars for Cancer raised $8350 - woohoo!!!)

10. Colombia's penchant for 3-day weekends - two this month, before school even lets out. TWO.

There are many many more, but that's a start...

Lessons From Stick People

Being a woman in Colombia is hard. Or rather, it appears to me that being a Colombian woman must at times be difficult. Uncomfortable. The tall shoes, the tight clothes, the absurd poses...

And yet many of them are succeeding in looking like Colombia's number one export (above), which frankly I find astounding since typical Colombian food looks like this:

(beans + fried plantain + sausage + rice + beef + fried egg + pork rind + avocado + arepa = typical dish called bandeja paisa - enough food in one meal to keep you full for days)

Hey wait a minute, you are perhaps thinking, Celeste just wrote about how lazy she is these days, and about how she fell off the vegan wagon - she is just bitter and envious that she doesn't look like Shakira!!

Bitter...no way. Envious...maybe a little. Shakira is hot. I'm not going to argue with that. (Would anybody?) And it would be pretty cool to have a body like that. Powerful, right? But I don't. And this post isn't about my feelings about my body. End of story. There are bigger things to worry about.

Except that in Colombia, that's not the end of the story.

I'm sure you can guess where this is going, but allow me to tell my little story anyway. A few weeks ago I visited a private clinic to have an ultrasound done (internal organs all present, and appropriately shaped and sized - yay) and it was a warm and sunny day, so I sat outside the main entrance while I waited for the test results to be printed.

I noticed a sign standing just next to the door; it would have been hard not to notice, as it was at least six feet tall and had a nearly naked woman on it. I didn't have my camera with me, so I wrote down what it said with the intention of sharing it with you. I fear that the real image would distract you from the message being conveyed. Instead, I have for your benefit re-created a less distracting version of the poster, with translated text. This is better than the real thing. I swear.

There is only one clarification I would like to make. In the real advert, the woman was slightly less sticky, and much more...perfect. Well, her body was perfect, but apparently she was concealing some very disturbing flaws. Her ego, for instance, had somehow migrated to her ass. No wonder she hasn't been feeling great, she's been sitting on her sense of self-worth all day. Indeed - lift that sucker up to where it ought to be - somewhere in the vicinity of the brain, perhaps.

Also worrying is the fact that she has been storing her dreams in her...breasts. Possibly her heart had a leak?

It may be that she is on to something though with the whole stomach/love handles situation - that is where my fears are? Fuck. I've been trying to get rid of mine for months now - if I had known that they were hiding in my stomach fat, I'd have had it sucked out ages ago!

So, there you have it folks - an inner-self makeover via outer-self manipulation. And they will help you finance it! Just a quick bit of cutting and/or pasting. And perhaps some sucking. It's so easy to be what everyone else thinks you should be!!

Now, before anyone gets defensive or upset with me, I am not condemning all plastic surgery. People have their reasons for things, and everyone can do as they like, blah blah blah. Nor am I going to get into a discussion about the cultural influences that cause the women here to think that butt implants look good, or that breasts are only worth having if they are perky like a 15-year-old's and at least a D cup. But I will say this, and without apology: that advert is wrong. It is wrong to try to sell women the idea that their self-worth, confidence, potential, and peace of mind depend on how closely their bodies resemble the current ideal (refer to first photograph, or insert the words pornified Barbie doll.)

When I first read the sign, I laughed. But then I got angry. What bullshit! Women everywhere should be offended by this - it is demeaning crap, and it is sitting outside a medical facility. Medical facilities help people, right? Not screw with their minds for profit? But nobody else appeared to be bothered by the obscene poster, so I seethed in silence until my results were ready.

For my own peace of mind I'm going to get a Botox injection and some liposuction. Wait, damn it, they almost got to me!! No, I'm going to create an alternate advertisement. Maybe I could cut out bits and take them down to the clinic, do some light editing...what do you think?

Common Sense Makes You Feel Good!

You are not only what you look like!

Be Healthy!

*sigh* By the number of women walking around who have quite obviously had work done though, I know myself to be in the minority thinking this way.

Or maybe I am just selective and hypocritical - I got a mole removed once. And I had my eyes corrected. Is the convenience of not wearing glasses comparable to the convenience of having a gigantic round butt, or large and unnaturally round, perky breasts when that is what is considered beautiful? Because nobody could deny that being beautiful must be very convenient indeed. I'm open to discussion!